There I was, innocently scrolling through my social media feed, minding my own business, perhaps contemplating the existential dread of another Tuesday, when it happened.
An innocuous-looking post, a cheerful selfie and beneath it, the digital equivalent of someone holding out a grubby cup: a Venmo or Cash App link, accompanied by a caption that fundamentally broke my brain.
Something along the lines of, "It's my birthday! Send me some love (and money!)" or the even more egregious, "Just feeling like it's a good day to get some cash. My Venmo is @NoShameInAskingStrangersForMoney!"
I nearly dropped my phone. Not out of shock but out of a profound and growing sense of bewilderment.
Is this… a thing now?
Is the social contract officially null and void? Because if I’m honest, my internal monologue immediately spiraled into a furious, yet strangely tickled, monologue that went something like this: "Wait, you're just... asking for money? For what? Because it's Tuesday? Because you woke up? Because the sun rose without your explicit permission?"
Back in my day – and yes, I'm already sounding like a cranky old man yelling at clouds, but hear me out – there was a distinct social membrane between "I need money" and "I deserve money." Panhandling, for example, was usually born of desperation, and even then, often accompanied by a certain amount of understandable shame or at least a compelling, if brief, explanation. You’d avert your eyes, feel a twinge of discomfort, maybe offer a few coins, and then move on. It was a transaction steeped in acknowledged hardship.
But now?
Now, it’s like embarrassment got an eviction notice and moved into a parallel dimension. The digital landscape has apparently fostered a new species of human that feels zero compunction about essentially saying, "Hey, I exist. Therefore, I am owed your hard-earned cash. No reason, just because." It's not for a medical emergency, not a GoFundMe for a struggling small business, not even a plea to save the last remaining rainforest (though, honestly, I'd probably throw a few bucks at that last one). No, it's just… a casual solicitation for gratuitous funds. My wallet, bless its little leather heart, is starting to develop an anxiety disorder.
Let's tackle the birthday phenomenon specifically because that's where my eyebrows truly migrate into my perfectly Buff'ed hairline.
Imagine, if you will, the real-life equivalent. You craft a lovely, artisanal birthday invitation. It smells faintly of lavender and good intentions. You send it out to your nearest and dearest. They open it, enchanted by the elegant script and the promise of cake and camaraderie. And then, nestled between the date and time, they read: "Cash gifts please. My bank account number is..."
See? You just cringed so hard your spine probably tried to escape your body. In the physical realm, such a blatant request for money on a birthday invitation is not just tacky, it's borderline offensive. It implies that your presence is less important than your financial contribution, turning a celebration of friendship and life into a transactional shakedown. Yet, somehow, when it's mediated by a glowing screen and a convenient link, all those social inhibitions apparently vanish faster than my motivation on a Monday morning.
I find myself wondering: how do these people look at themselves in the mirror? Do they give themselves a high-five for their entrepreneurial spirit? Do they feel like savvy financial strategists, cleverly tapping into the boundless well of internet generosity? Or do they perhaps, just perhaps, have a tiny, fleeting moment of "Did I just send out a digital begging bowl?"
I’m all for supporting friends and family in genuine times of need. I’ve chipped in for countless baby showers and housewarmings. But those were predicated on a discernible need or an occasion that involved an actual exchange of pleasantries, not a passive expectation of monetary tribute.
This casual "hey, I accept money if you're giving" attitude feels like a bizarre social experiment gone awry. Are we so desensitized to online interactions that we've forgotten the basic tenets of adult decorum? When did "being a grown-up" stop meaning "earning your own way" and start meaning "strategically placing digital tip jars everywhere"? And, this isn't even about the rising cost of living that sees people legitimately struggling, because, bitch, I better not see you drinking cocktails on the beach all summer if you have the nerve to solicit money for no goddamn reason other than selfishness.
Maybe I’m just old-fashioned. Maybe I’m stuck in a time when asking for money felt like a last resort, not a first thought for a Tuesday afternoon. But I can't help but feel that somewhere along the line, we traded a little bit of self-respect for a lot of digital convenience.
Honestly, while I appreciate the thought, my wallet and I are going to respectfully decline your birthday Venmo. We're busy saving up for something important: like resisting the urge to post our own "just because" money links. Because, you know, dignity.