Andie was my first friend in college. We connected instantly over music, TV shows, and our shared secular Jewish habit of complaining about everything. But after the excitement of the first month faded, I started to notice that she got uneasy whenever I suggested going out to eat. I loved exploring new meals like a dog chasing a squirrel, but Andie didn’t understand why I would spend money on food outside when we had unlimited dining hall swipes included. At the time, I felt hurt and a little rejected because sharing food adventures was my main way of bonding. Looking back, I realize she had a valid point—there was plenty of food already paid for right downstairs—and her resistance probably came from worries about her own financial situation.
Before meeting Andie, I hadn’t thought much about my economic background. I arrived at college, an insanely expensive private liberal arts school in a wealthy, old-money city, 3,000 miles away from my California suburb. Back home, I had friends from all kinds of backgrounds—some lived in gigantic houses, others in small apartments, and my family was somewhere in the middle. But at college, the invisible lines around wealth became sharply clear, with some students stressed about money and others flaunting it, casually chatting about yacht parking spaces.
Thanks to scholarships and financial aid, my family managed the cost without too much strain, though it still was a big deal for them—something they didn’t really discuss at home. They never talked about how financially easier it would have been for me to stay in California with discounted tuition. The bottom line was I was going to college somewhere, no matter what. I never questioned it.
Many college students call themselves “poor,” but few really mean it like Andie did. She was open about her family’s financial struggles and the strain of affording this pricey education. If she felt poor, I wasn’t sure how to describe myself. But I knew I didn’t carry the same anxiety about money that seemed to follow her everywhere.
At 18, I wasn’t equipped to talk about socioeconomic status because I hadn’t yet recognized my own. That lack of awareness was itself a form of privilege. My parents only sat me down once during the 2008 recession to talk money, and after that, it was mostly silent.
Financial therapist Aja Evans explains that those in the middle and upper middle class tend to know less about their family’s finances, while those on the extremes—either very wealthy or low-income—usually understand money realities more clearly. Wealthy kids often overhear conversations about money, and poorer kids learn early how to budget carefully. But kids like me, comfortable but without trust funds, often don’t have that education. So going to college, surrounded by such diverse economic backgrounds, can be a shock.
"It can be really shocking to enter a new bubble where economic, social, racial, and other differences become visible," Evans says. You might notice things like 18-year-olds driving brand-new luxury cars or peers who don’t even have a car—different from what you’re used to.
If my family had talked openly about money before college, it might have helped me understand Andie better. I might have been less judgmental or anxious about her anxieties. And maybe I would have made smarter financial choices after college, instead of overspending on a modest media salary.
I don’t blame my parents or grandparents for not having these talks. They worked hard to give us a comfortable life, and I’m immensely grateful for everything they’ve given me—including great hair genes.
Plus, I now know these conversations are tough. Evans confirms that parents often struggle to talk about money with their kids. But this is starting to change, especially with recent recessions, the pandemic, and financial wellness influencers challenging the money taboo.
Evans also reminds us not to assume anything about someone’s financial situation without asking. People can appear to afford things but may be dealing with debt or financial stress beneath the surface.
One important lesson from college is to avoid tying your self-worth to your net worth. Your value as a person isn’t measured by money. And if someone treats you badly regardless of your financial status, they simply aren’t the right people for you—something both Andie and I needed to hear back then.
Andie and I didn’t remain friends, not because of money but due to other differences. (It probably didn’t help that, in an incredibly closeted phase, I once said bisexuality wasn’t real—oops.) Though our friendship ended, the lessons I learned about my socioeconomic status and myself have lasted, and I’m thankful for that.