Gay Finances: Why My Wallet Is Emptier Than My Dating App Inbox

by Jay Stewart

Let’s not sugarcoat it: having a gay life after 40 is expensive, darling. Between skincare routines that require a master’s degree and brunches that qualify as full-day festivals, we’re out here swiping our cards like we’re trying to unlock a secret level. And no, I don’t regret spending $120 on concert tickets to see a pop star I cried to during my first breakup. That was therapy. Cheaper than actual therapy? Absolutely not. But did I leave emotionally healed and covered in glitter? Yes.

Skincare is where the spiral begins. One day you’re buying a humble moisturizer. Next thing you know, you’ve got a ten-step routine, two mini-fridges, and a loyalty program at Sephora that knows your birthday and your blood type. We don’t age, we invest in anti-aging. That $90 hyaluronic acid serum? It tingles. That means it’s working. Science. Also, if the bottle is glass and vaguely French, it has to be good, right?

Then there’s fashion. Gay spending logic: “I have nothing to wear”—while standing in front of a closet so full it could legally qualify as a fire hazard. But how could I not buy those designer boots I saw on Instagram at 3 a.m.? They spoke to me. Whispered, really. In Italian. Add in gym memberships we use mostly for mirror selfies, plant babies we forget to water, and drag shows where we tip like we’re Oprah giving away cars, and boom: savings account? Never met her.

But here’s the thing—this isn’t wasteful. It’s curated chaos. It’s self-expression, it’s survival, it’s art. If straight people can spend hundreds on fantasy football, we can absolutely drop cash on fantasy facials. So yes, we may be broke, but we’re aesthetic. And if I’m going down with an overdrawn bank account, I’m doing it wearing SPF 50, designer sunglasses, and a knowing smirk. Financial literacy? Not really. Financial fabulosity? Always.