THIS is the average bank balance of someone your age…

Words by Michelle Andrews.

Hey there 20-something-reader, I need to ask you a serious question:

How much money do you have?

I mean, I don’t want to intrude (I do) or make you think that I’m a really nosey person (I am), but if you could let me know the total in your savings account right now that would be great.

You see I’m sitting here, looking at my bank balance, and I’m panicky. Super panicky. Starting-to-see-lots-of-little-black-dots panicky. I’m staring at the depressing, measly digits next to the word ‘Savings’ and I’m desperately trying to keep my shit together.

“Why” – I hear you telepathically call-out from behind your laptop – “why are you struggling to keep your shit together, Michelle?”

You’re just so cute when you care, empathetic-20-something-reader! You see, I just found out what the average bank balance/disposable wealth of someone our age is. And, um, it’s a fair amount higher than what’s in my bank account right now. And by ‘fair amount higher’ I mean ‘a shit-tonne higher’… obviously.

Curious? Of course you freaking are. You’re probably even nosier than I am (jks, impossible). Drum roll, pls…


The. Average. Bank. Balance. Is. $7656.

And that’s $7656 after all debts are taken out! That’s $7656 of sweet cashola that is sitting pretty in a bank account, just gathering sweet cashola-dust, waiting to be spent. And the average Gen-Y kid has that at their disposal RIGHT NOW.


GIPHY (52)

Okay, okay, okay, so I know that I am only 21, and that the age-range of Generation-Y goes far beyond 21, but still. $7656?! That’s a Donald Trump level of insanity. Personally, once I minus the amount I need to repay my mum for my Shitty Holden Barina, my savings is so far off the $7656 benchmark that I’m forever accepting a life of filling my petrol tank up $20 a time (who in their twenties has enough money to completely fill up their petrol tank?! Reveal yourselves, you rich sons of bitches fiscally conservative youths).

In all fairness, these last twelve months haven’t been easy on ye olde bank balance, either. My Shitty Holden Barina did decide to break down twice ($900 a pop), and I did kinda spill a full glass of Pepsi Max into my brand new MacBook Air ($1200 to replace) during my Uni-exam-mental-breakdown (at one point I literally curled up into the foetal position and said “I can’t Mum, I can’t do life. I can’t do life, Mum. I just can’t Mum. Mum. Life. Can’t”).

Consider the cruel fact that I have to move out of home at the end of this year, and yeah, money’s a wee bit tight.

GIPHY (50)

It’s moments like these that I begin to regret past spending decisions, like:

  1. $100 for white jeans.
    Well, white jeans that are actually just an impressive magnet for any and all stains known to mankind. Ate a sausage roll for lunch? Have friends who smoke? Or one who is particularly clumsy and loves red wine? Don’t you worry, Sonny Jim, thanks to your new white jeans the entire world now knows about it.
  2. $45 for 1kg of Chia Seeds.
    Look, it was a health kick of the vegan try-hard hipster variety, okay? No, I don’t even like chia seeds. Yes, I am now aware that they actually taste like mutant jelly beans. Yes, about 980g has been sitting in my pantry for 10 months now.
  3. Taxi rides home from the city, approximately $65 a pop.
    These just suck. Particularly when, after a night out last month, my cabbie longingly looked into my eyes and said the words every girl wants to hear from their taxi driver: “I can make this fare cheaper for you if you do me a special favour” *wink*. Which, you know, really only made me concerned about two things:
    A. The fact that my cab driver mistook me for a prostitute.
    B. The fact that my cab driver mistook me for a cheap prostitute, and one who would actually consider giving him a blowie for less than $65.

Considering that my weekly coffee budget (four coffees every day, $3.50 each) usurps most people’s grocery budgets, I may need to reassess my spending habits if I want to hit that $7656 mark any time soon. Until then, I hold a crippling envy towards the fat-cat-Gen-Y-ers who waltz around with 7k in their bank accounts. If one of you could shout me my next soy latte that would be sweet. Or, you know, pay my Mum that $3500 I still owe her for Shitty Holden Barina.

For now I must face the harsh reality that I don’t even have a taxi-driving Sugar Daddy to pay me $60 for a blow job.

Damn it.

At least I have you guys, right?

… Right? …Guys?

*Disposable wealth figure is for a Gen-Y-er from Melbourne (like me). This figure varies slightly between states.*

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