The Cost of Cool

I used to pay $18 for a cocktail.

It wasn’t even a big cocktail. It was a small glass with a giant ice cube and a sprig of rosemary that hit me in the eye when I drank.

I paid it gladly. Because I wasn’t buying a drink. I was buying membership.

I was buying the feeling of being “Cool.”

The Cool Tax

Living in a Tier 1 City comes with a tax. It’s not just the city tax or the sales tax. It is the Cool Tax.

The Cool Tax is the premium you pay for “Vibes.”

You pay $2,800 for a studio apartment because it is in a “cool” neighborhood (even though the heat doesn’t work). You pay $7 for a coffee because the shop has “cool” branding. You pay with your sanity to stand in line for a “cool” brunch spot.

I spent a decade paying the Cool Tax. I was broke. I had no savings. I had credit card debt.

But I had Social Capital.

I could tell people I lived in [Neighborhood]. I could tag myself at [Venue]. I was participating in the cultural zeitgeist.

But you can’t eat the zeitgeist.

Cool is a Depreciating Asset

Here is the thing about Cool: It rots.

The neighborhood that is cool today will be gentrified and “lame” in five years. The bar that is cool tonight will be closed next year. The outfit that is cool this season will be a meme next season.

I was investing all my money in an asset class that was guaranteed to go to zero.

I was building a portfolio of memories of being at parties.

Don’t get me wrong—parties are fun. But parties don’t pay for your retirement. Parties don’t comfort you when you’re sick.

I looked at my bank account one day and realized: I am rich in Cool and poor in Dollars.

And Cool doesn’t pay the rent.

The Freedom of Uncool

Moving to a “Normal” place felt like social suicide.

“You’re moving where?” my friends sneered. “There’s nothing to do there!”

“Exactly,” I said.

My new town is decidedly Uncool. The best restaurant is a diner that hasn’t changed its menu since 1987. The bars serve beer, not “mixology.” The rent is… well, the rent is laughable.

I pay 1/3 of what I used to pay.

And suddenly, I have money.

I have money to travel (ironically, I can visit the Cool City now and actually enjoy it). I have money to save. I have money to buy a house (a whole house! with a yard!).

But more importantly, I have stopped paying the Cool Tax.

I no longer feel the pressure to keep up. I wear what is comfortable. I drink what I like.

Financial Peace is the New Cool

There is nothing cooler than sleeping at night because you aren’t worried about bills.

There is nothing cooler than owning your time because you aren’t a slave to your rent.

I realized that “Cool” was just a marketing term for “Consumerism.” It was a way to trick me into spending money to impress people I didn’t like.

I opted out.

I am Uncool now. I am a dad in a fleece vest (metaphorically, and sometimes literally).

But I am free.

And freedom tastes better than an $18 rosemary-infused gin fizz.

If you are broke because you are trying to be cool, stop.

Be lame. Be rich. Be free.