I remember very clearly the first time I hit the friendship ‘wealth gap’. I had recently graduated and was working as a trainee for a London PR firm. I hated the job with a passion and was earning less than I did pulling pints behind the bar at university — a truly depressing combination.
One particular Monday, a colleague and I spent all day trying to track down someone who would clean a taxidermy bear for my awful boss after he spilt a drink on it. In need of a drink myself, I headed into Soho after work to meet my then-boyfriend and his friends. When I arrived, they had already ordered an eye-watering array of food for the table, along with a selection of drinks including a bottle of Champagne. Most of them had recently started jobs in ‘the City’, earning the kind of money that I could genuinely only dream about.
The anxiety was instant and all-consuming. How much were they spending? How much would I be expected to contribute? A quick glance at the menu told me that we were at the kind of place I would maybe go for a drink or two on a special occasion. But an average Monday? The food and drinks kept coming, even when I said I wasn’t hungry.
When the bill arrived, they asked for it to be split equally between everyone at the table. I should have spoken up, but instead I paid my share, praying that my card wouldn’t get declined. It went through, but took me so far into my overdraft that I had to borrow £20 from my mum to get the train to the office for the rest of the week.
Thinking about that night still makes me feel awful, even years later. I hate how ashamed I felt; how I was scared they would think less of me because I couldn’t spend that kind of money. I hate the fact that I didn’t stand up for myself. But most of all, I hate the way money governs so much of our lives, yet we’re so unable to talk honestly about it.
It seems I’m not alone in letting shame push me into situations I can’t afford. A 2023 study from Credit Karma revealed that more than a third of Gen Z and millennials have friends who drive them to overspend, and over 80% have taken on more debt as a result of spending time with wealthier peers. Another 2024 survey from Standard Life found that seven in ten Gen Z adults have turned down social occasions because of their financial situation.
“Money and self-worth are deeply entangled at a subconscious level,” says hypnotherapist Emma Thompson, whose work specialises in exploring how hidden beliefs shape our behaviours. “That’s why when friends earn very different amounts, both sides can experience discomfort. It’s rarely about the money itself, but about what it symbolises in terms of belonging and value.”
Thanks to my questionable decision to pursue a creative career, I’m very aware of how it feels to be the one earning less. But according to Thompson, the discomfort and complex dynamics affect both sides. So how does it feel to be the one in the group that earns more than everyone else?
“When I first started working in the City, I suddenly had a real insight into just how much money some people had,” says Ayesha Ofori, a former Goldman Sachs executive director. “It was exciting but it also changed the dynamics of some of my friendships. I was able to pay for trips and nice dinners and felt guilty if I knew others weren’t able to do the same.” She describes one friend who missed out on her hen party because she felt like it was out of her budget, and often counted herself out of group plans.
Ayesha notes that while earnings are a huge factor, there’s also a huge disparity in how different people want to spend their money and what is ‘worth it’ — or not. “This can make for uncomfortable conversations around money, which many people don’t want to have,” she says.
This discomfort became immediately evident while I was researching this article and I started asking people about their experiences. Everyone had a lot to say, but many only felt comfortable talking openly if I didn’t use their real name.
Among them is a successful lawyer who feels that income disparity really hit in her 30s, largely as a result of some of her peers staying at home or cutting back on work due to starting a family.
“I’ve had friends who abruptly stopped speaking to me, and only later I found out it was because they were uncomfortable with my job and earnings,” she tells me. “The biggest challenge in friendships currently is that I’m my family’s primary breadwinner, and all my peers rely on their male partners for financial support.”
For her, this is particularly difficult as her drive for financial independence stems from an unstable, abusive upbringing — something those around her often fail to understand or take into account.
“As soon as I left home I decided to support myself financially. I worked two jobs while in law school to pay the bills, and then worked two jobs after graduation to pay off my loans,” the lawyer explains. “I have worked extremely hard to get to where I am, but most of my friends think I'm privileged, which makes me angry and disappointed.”
Envy and discomfort with other people’s success can often go hand in hand with clashes over finances. I speak to a 20-something video editor who has recently started gaining more significant traction in her work. She feels it has affected one of her closest friendships, ironically, with the same person who initially encouraged her to go ‘all-in’ on her business.
“Ever since my growth became visible, it’s been increasingly difficult for her to celebrate my wins,” she explains. “There’s this underlying tension, like she’s only comfortable hearing about the struggles of entrepreneurship, but not the successes. I’ve always tried to strike a healthy balance between sharing the highs and being real about the lows, but when a friend only engages when things are hard, it becomes emotionally draining.”
Entrepreneur and speaker Stephanie Melodia started her first business almost 10 years ago, and found that this side step created a “natural shift” in her circles, both personal and professional. “Gradually, out of a weird discomfort, I found myself playing smaller in some groups, downplaying my goals or what I was achieving in business,” she tells me. “On the rare occasion money would come up, the responses would be pretty surprised or even shocked at how much I was making.”
One thing that really strikes me speaking to these successful women is our collective discomfort with achievement and abundance. I see it in myself, when my friends are excited to read an article I’ve written and I instantly feel the need to list all the titles that have recently turned me down. I see it in my friends who have been promoted and respond by saying something like, ‘Oh it’s not a big jump’, or go into self-deprecating ‘I have no idea what I’m doing’ mode.
I ask Dr. Tony Banerjee, Founder of HarleyDoc, why success (something we often spend so much of our lives striving for) can bring up such uncomfortable feelings. “Abundance can be surprisingly difficult to sit with because it challenges our early beliefs about fairness, scarcity, and identity” he explains. “Many of us grow up with messages like ‘don’t show off’ or ‘don’t get too comfortable’, so when we do achieve financial success, it can trigger guilt, anxiety, or even self-sabotage. In friendships, this often plays out as people downplaying their achievements or avoiding certain conversations, because money touches on vulnerability and fear of rejection.”
For so many women, our relationship with success is further complicated by unspoken but ever-present societal expectations. “Men are taught that economic success is a priority,” explains Harriet Minter, coach and director of Lea_p Leadership. “As women, we’re often taught that our worth is determined by ‘goodness’: how good we are as a friend; a partner; a mother. Often in order to become financially successful, we have to set different priorities, and it can feel really uncomfortable to talk about that.”
Getting stuck in this ‘good girl’ role can hold us back from true financial success. “We don’t associate ‘goodness’ with wealth,” Minter adds. “Think of all the films and TV shows mocking rich people. We don’t see wealth as a good thing. We’re taught this awkwardness around our own success and capabilities.”
So how can we start to break down this collective shame and stop our dysfunctional relationships with money from damaging our actual relationships?
Since leaving the City, Ayesha has set up Propelle, a female-first investment platform, and is passionate about breaking down taboos about money and the discomfort it brings up for so many of us.
“The first step to overcoming these negative feelings around money stresses is to normalise finances. Look at your bank account more, talk to your friends more,” she advises. “There are more resources than ever before to help you unpack that financial jargon and give you tips on how to incorporate better money habits into your everyday life. Listen to the podcasts, join the webinars, read the books and articles. These financial check-ins are just as important as our healthcare ones.”
For me, the discussions I’ve had while writing this have been really eye-opening. I’ve realised how little I actually talk about money, even with those closest to me. More importantly, I’ve realised the extent to which issues around money are rarely actually about money at all. Underneath the credit card statement we’re scared to open or the unspoken resentments when the bill arrives are a plethora of underlying emotions: guilt, fear, shame, confusion, anger, pain, vulnerability.
Ultimately, wealth disparity manifests differently for different people, explains Thompson, the hypnotherapist. “When you have less, shame often kicks in. The subconscious translates, ‘I can’t afford what my friends can’ as, ‘I don’t belong here’, which can feel like rejection.”
On the flipside, she continues: “Having more [money] can spark guilt. The subconscious holds beliefs like, ‘I shouldn’t outshine others’ or ‘if I have more, I’ll be judged’. So success becomes tied to a fear of losing connection. This guilt often shows up as always offering to pay, downplaying achievements, or avoiding money conversations altogether. [Fundamentally], money threatens the sense of belonging that friendships are built on.”
I recognise myself — at different times in my life — in both those descriptions. And perhaps it’s true that every friendship issue, at its core, comes down to a fear of not belonging. One thing I have learned, though, is that the people who really matter will always make you feel like you belong.
There’s a reason that my core group of school friends is still standing strong, despite wildly differing pay cheque. And the finance bros who made me feel bad all those years ago in an overpriced Soho bar? Well, my time is pretty valuable, and I haven’t seen them since.
