WHEN THE PARTY’S OVER
PAY GAPS HAVE ALWAYS EXISTED AMONG FRIENDSHIP GROUPS, BUT THE ECONOMIC DIVIDE CAUSED BY COVID-19 HAS CREATED FAULTLINES WITHIN THE TIGHTEST OF FRIENDSHIP GROUPS. ALEX HOLDER INVESTIGATES
Money is often an unspoken topic within friendships: some earn more, others less. But the economic divide caused by Covid has become an issue even the closest relationships can’t ignore
ONE EVENING IN LATE JULY, WILLOW WAS SCROLLING THROUGH INSTAGRAM when she came across an image that unsettled her. It was of a group of people she recognised – tanned, smiling, their arms linked in the manner of decade-long friendships. In the background she could make out the cerulean seas of Greece; Santorini, to be precise. These were her friends, people she had spent the past year partying with across Europe. Friends who had always progressed through life at a similar rate – they’d all climbed the career ladder together, bought property around the same time and holidayed in the same places. Except now. As Willow* sat in her London flat gazing at the photo, she felt the unfamiliar edges of a new divide.
That summer, Willow, 34, had found herself on furlough, a consequence of the hospitality business she managed. And so, over the stifling hot months, she had spent her days clearing her house, tidying up loose ends, wondering when, or if, she would keep the job she had worked so hard to get. By September, the news she had been expecting
“FRIENDS HAVE OFFERED TO PAY FOR DINNER, BUT I don’t know how
I FEEL ABOUT THAT. IT’S OK THE FIRST TIME, BUT TWICE? ”
finally came – she was being made redundant. The finality of it hit her hard, but one of the things that shocked her the most was the unexpected feeling she had towards her peers, most of whom were safe in their jobs, continuing their lives as normal.
She had spent the first part of lockdown navigating frustrating conversations with friends. When the conversation circled to money, as it often did, her friends would talk about how much they were saving now they weren’t buying £5 fruit pots on their commute. ‘They’ve had the garden done, bought iPads, booked more holidays,’ says Willow.
‘The pandemic exposed just how fragile my and my husband’s finances were.’ She had always been a high earner: ‘I took huge pride in that.’ But, unlike her friends, she didn’t have the security and savings to get her through six months of low to no pay. Not only is she suffering from a period of no earnings, Willow is also dealing with the realisation that her friendship circle was intrinsically tied to her salary.
Pay-gaps between friends have always existed to some degree – the drifting apart in your twenties as the gulf widens and careers take off, only to settle in your thirties as friendships consolidate and lifestyles are established. But the pandemic has thrown all of this off course, creating a heightened source of tension as unexpected cracks appear along friendship fault lines.
‘It was a really swift, sharp shock that made me realise the difference between my situation and that of others closest to me.’ Elissa, 27, is an actor, who, after securing various well-paid roles, including starring in a Tony award-winning musical, had beaten the odds of her industry to finally get to a place that felt financially stable. She had some savings, and was starting to feel that the dream of pulling together a deposit for a flat might be a tangible reality, when Covid hit. She didn’t qualify for help from the government, and has since had to rely on charity and hardship grants to be able to pay her rent and bills. But, in a cruel twist, while Elissa has been left with zero earnings and felt like she was moving backwards in life, many of her friends are actually better off from the pandemic and able to forge ahead, planning for the future and spending savings redoing their flats or buying a car for weekend escapes.
This has left Elissa thinking about the future of her friendships. ‘Some friends have offered to pay for dinner, but I haven’t quite figured out how I feel about that. It’s OK when they do it the first time, but twice?’ As the group’s fortunes have surfaced, she’s found herself spending more time with friends who are in a similar financial situation. There’s a camaraderie in having to watch every penny spent and they understand each other’s daily stress of trying to stay afloat. ‘But I have found that it has led to coffees where we just moan about our lives in circles,’ Elissa says. ‘Which just underlines the horribleness and helplessness of it all.’ Meanwhile, Elissa’s other friendships have started to become increasingly tense. ‘I feel that certain friends don’t understand how hard it is, and how hard it will continue to be. It can be difficult to watch as other people get to carry on with their lives unchanged.’
Even friends who live together aren’t immune to the new Covid divide. Flatmates who previously drank the same wine, bought the same shampoo and wouldn’t think twice about going Dutch on a Deliveroo are now simmering in the same rooms while existing in two very different financial bubbles. ‘I am – gratefully – in the more secure position,’ says Keeley, 3O, who works in music law. Although she has dropped to a four-day week, she is still earning just over £6,OOO a month (before tax), whereas her flatmate, a costume designer, has lost all secure income.
‘If anything, my finances have benefitted from lockdown,’ says Keeley. ‘I have saved a lot from not going out and I’ve actually reached the point where I’m like, Wow… I might be able to buy somewhere in London on my own.’
This change of circumstances has caused a lot of tension in the flat – when Keeley orders a takeaway or gets her hair cut, it can feel like a comment on her flatmate’s situation. Keeley has tried to help by encouraging her to start the Etsy business she’s always talked about. Her flatmate did just this, but she’s now working all hours and earning just £3O-£6O a week from it.
There’s another layer of tension, too. While on the surface Keeley’s situation is better than her flatmate’s, it’s more complicated than it first seems. Keeley earns more, but she doesn’t have any financial scaffolding around her: she is single and both her parents have gone through bankruptcy and still rent their homes. Covid has been quite a sobering moment for her, as she’s realised that if she lost her job, there would be no one to bail her out. Whereas, while her flatmate is earning next to nothing, she has an incredibly supportive – and financially secure – family about 2O minutes down the road. This has inevitably created feelings of resentment: before the pandemic, Keeley and her flatmate had never had to confront the differences between them, but lockdown has exposed several financial realities that weren’t clear before. ‘We both think our own situation is much worse than the other’s. We each express our woes and mindlessly listen to the other’s gripes, but deep down I suspect we are both thinking, They don’t have a f*cking clue.’
It took Hattie, 37, a Los Angeles TV producer, some time to adjust to the sudden blow to her finances. Before Covid, she was running her own successful business and had all the trimmings of a high-salary life: the therapist, the trainer, the tweakments. And then, just like that, her TV company folded. ‘At first, out of guilt, I was paying my trainer the same amount for online sessions, but why? Who was I kidding that I could still afford them?’
The first month passed where Hattie couldn’t pay her credit card bill, then the second, and she realised that she had to cut back in a major way. She sat down and, for the first time in a decade, examined her spending. She’d already stopped buying clothes and wasn’t socialising, but her trainer and therapist were still causing her bank account to bleed money. Having to admit she couldn’t afford them was worse than actually having to abandon her sessions with them. She wrote and rewrote several emails to cancel their services before she could finally press send. ‘I guess a part of my identity was being the person who could actually afford this life.’
Money has always been a crude measure for comparing ourselves to others, but it’s especially so now. With much out of our control, perhaps it’s time to question whether our identity should be so closely tied to our material worth. You’d think the pandemic might have presented us with the perfect opportunity to reappraise the importance of money, but it’s hard to change a mindset we’ve spent decades building.
Whether it’s our friends or our weekly personal training sessions that add up to our self-worth, adjusting to a new financial situation is difficult, especially when your social circle no longer reflects your own circumstances. This year has upended many friendship groups, leaving people wondering where the common ground is. And, sadly, some divides are deeper than ever. Perhaps a lasting effect of 2O2O will be the realignment of social circles, because one thing is for certain – there’s nothing like the comfort of a friend who is in exactly the same situation as you, and with exactly the same budget for dinner.
“I GUESS A PART OF MY IDENTITY WAS BEING THE PERSON WHO COULD actually afford
THIS LIFE ”