Budgets and priorities

[deewayne2003]

I think I did this debate already on a different thread, but I'll give it another go, this time with a personal anecdote as data didn't seem effective last time.

I don't care very much about the 'fancy house' thing, never have, so when I bought my house in 2022, I intentionally chose something pretty small and pretty cheap.

It's a 3 bed, 1.5bath, 1500sqft house in Milwaukee. Built in the 1930's, and in a traditionally 'blue collar / lower middle class' neighborhood with a big Latin American population. Safe, low crime, nice people, close to the office, but not 'fancy' or especially 'desirable'.

It's everything I need what with me living alone, and for my salary it's very affordable.


That's not interesting. But what is interesting, is who I bought it from.

The previous owner was a guy called John C. He'd bought the place in 1984 at the age of 32. I met him when I viewed this place and again at closing. Both times we had a chat about his history with the house and his background. Basic small talk stuff whilst the paperwork got completed.

He worked as a mail carrier for USPS all his life. His wife didn't work.

I expect that buying this house was a real challenge for him back then, and I won't detract from that. Lots of scrimping and saving, lots of sleepless night worrying about money, lots of intentional lifestyle choices. Certainly not much eating out, and no fancy cars.

And yet, in 1984, a mail carrier bought my house on a single salary.


Fast forwards to 2022. I paid $315,000 for the place. In 2025, at least on paper, it's worth $357,000. Still a fair chunk below the median US house price.

A USPS mail carrier, in Milwaukee, is today earning $42,617/yr (https://www.ziprecruiter.com/Salaries/Postal-Carrier-Salary-in-Milwaukee,WI).

After taxes, they take home $2926/month (https://smartasset.com/taxes/wisconsin-paycheck-calculator#axo5RqtmJp).

This house is worth approximately 8.4x annual gross earnings if John were to do the exact same job, and try to buy the exact same house in 2025.

No matter how hard '2025 John' tries, there is no mathematical way he'd be able to buy the place now on that single income. None.

Let's say '2025 John' still scrimped and saved, just as I'm sure he did in 1984. In doing so, he manages to save roughly 80% of his gross annual salary by 32 and get a 10% deposit. Not easy what with needing to pay for food, and rent, and everything, but not impossible with 5-10 years or so of careful budgeting.

However, worth remembering that finding that 10% in 2025 would require more scrimping and saving today than 1984 John would have done to find 30% down... and 1984 John had rent equalling 10% less of his monthly take home than 2025 John does...

Anyhow, now 2025 John has $35,000 and wants to buy a $357,000 house. Okay, what's the mortgage (including house insurance and property tax)?

$2,660.58 a month. https://www.mortgagecalculator.org/

So, 90.9% of his total monthly take home pay. Yeah...

Even if a bank would underwrite that mortgage, it doesn't matter how careful you are in every other aspect of your spending, the math simply does not math.

It leaves $265.42 a month, for everything else.

Utilities, car insurance, you're already underwater. Plus it'd be nice if you could afford to buy some ramen every once in a while, or you know, buy such luxuries as 'a tank of gas'...

Exact same house. Exact same job. Doable, if difficult, in 1984. Not a hope in 2025.

That's why people can't afford a house on a single salary like they used to, and that's why young people bitch and moan.

Fun fact, John told me that the reason that he was selling... is because he couldn't afford the property tax anymore, what with the skyrocketing value of the place.

I believe him. The property tax rate in Milwaukee is 2.03%. I paid nearly $7,000 for that expense last year, and if you're only earning $35,000 a year after taxes, I can see why that's stressful even without a mortgage.

It's the same story with all the houses round here. The older neighbors are all in lower-middle class professions, and most of them are single salary households. Yet the new families moving in, they're all upper-middle class dual income households.

This isn't gentrification. It's Milwaukee, and this neighborhood still isn't a particularly desirable area. Property prices here are still a fair bit below US median values.

It's just the simple fact that these days a 70th percentile, dual income family, is the bare minimum needed to buy pretty much any house comfortably...

What do the USPS carriers of today do? Or the 30 year old 2025 equivalent of all my older neighbors with their respectable, but lower-middle income jobs?

I guess they rent, then they die. Retirement is probably difficult under that paradigm too, at least 1984 John had 30 odd years of no rent to pay, and got a $315k lump sum at 70 or so out of this place.

Still, these lazy young people should just cut back on those $12 Starbucks I guess... that'll solve their conundrum...

@Alistair

How dare you bring facts, reason, logic and real world experience into a boomer rant!

 

[CBH Australia]

I make $55,000 a year and I’m broker than my 75-year-old grandpa. To save myself from my $1,800-a-month studio apartment, I had to move into his basement.

This wasn't the plan.

The plan was a downtown loft, happy hours, and a vibrant social life funded by my new marketing degree. Instead, I’m in suburban Ohio, sleeping on a 1980s sofa bed in a room that smells like cedar wood and mothballs.

"It's just temporary," I told myself, clutching my artisan iced coffee as I hauled in the last box.

"That stuff costs five bucks?" Grandpa Frank asked from the doorway. He was holding a steaming mug of black instant coffee that looked thick enough to pave a driveway.

"It's $7.50, Gramps," I corrected him. "And it's a small luxury. I worked hard for this job. I deserve a treat."

Frank just grunted. "You 'deserve' to pay off that $40,000 school debt you keep complaining about. I just drink coffee. You drink a car payment."

Living with Frank was like living with a ghost from a history book. A very judgmental history book.

His house was a museum of thrift. There was one television—a small, buzzing box he’d owned since my dad was in high school. He got three channels with an antenna. I had subscriptions to four different streaming services on my laptop, which I paid for by "browsing" more than actually watching.

"Why you paying for all those shows?" he asked one night, squinting at my screen.

"It's choice, Gramps. Options."

"Looks like a waste of time," he said, turning his attention back to the local news.

The real flashpoint was food. On Friday, after a brutal week of spreadsheets, I was exhausted. I didn’t want to cook. I wanted convenience. I opened my favorite food delivery app and ordered a $28 artisan burger.

When the delivery driver pulled up, Frank was on the porch. He watched me take the bag like I had just committed a felony.

That night, he was eating what he called "Whatever's-Left-Casserole," which appeared to be leftover hotdogs, some beans, and half an onion, baked. It looked awful. It probably cost $2.

"Must be nice," he muttered, spooning the brown sludge onto his plate. "Eating like royalty."

"It's just one burger, Frank!" I snapped, the stress of my loan payments boiling over. "The economy is terrible! Inflation is insane. I can't even afford rent. You guys had it easy! You bought this whole house on one salary!"

Frank put his fork down. It was the first time I'd seen him look genuinely angry.

"Easy?" he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "I started at the steel mill at 18. I worked 12-hour shifts, six days a week. When inflation was 10% in the 80s, my mortgage rate was 14%. I didn't eat 'artisan' anything. I ate a bologna sandwich. Every. Single. Day."

He pointed at my laptop. "You got a $1,200 phone. My phone," he gestured to an ancient flip phone in a cradle by the wall, "makes calls. You got a tattoo sleeve that cost more than my first car. My tattoos?" He rolled up his sleeve to show a faded blue anchor. "Got this in the Navy. It came with nightmares, not a payment plan."

I felt my face flush. "So what, I'm just supposed to be miserable?"

"You're not miserable!" he barked. "You're just soft. You kids want the reward without the work. You want the house, but you won't give up the $7 coffee. You want financial freedom, but you pay $28 for a burger because you're too 'tired' to open a can of soup."

He walked over to his old roll-top desk and pulled out a small, vinyl-bound bank book. He tossed it on the table. It was a passbook for his savings account.

I opened it.

The balance made my stomach drop. From his factory pension and social security, this man who lived on canned soup and instant coffee had saved over $280,000.

I looked at the balance. I looked at my phone, still open to the delivery app. I looked at the $9 remaining on my $28 burger.

Frank picked up his plate of leftovers.

"You're right, Alex," he said, heading to the kitchen. "I bought this house on one salary. But I also didn't have 47 subscriptions, leased cars, or 'emotional support' smoothies."

He stopped at the doorway and looked back, his eyes drilling into me.

"You don't have an income problem. You have an expense problem. You’re not poor. You’re just paying a subscription to act rich." #fblifestyleye

 

[LivingTheDream]

I make $55,000 a year and I’m broker than my 75-year-old grandpa. To save myself from my $1,800-a-month studio apartment, I had to move into his basement.

This wasn't the plan.

The plan was a downtown loft, happy hours, and a vibrant social life funded by my new marketing degree. Instead, I’m in suburban Ohio, sleeping on a 1980s sofa bed in a room that smells like cedar wood and mothballs.

"It's just temporary," I told myself, clutching my artisan iced coffee as I hauled in the last box.

"That stuff costs five bucks?" Grandpa Frank asked from the doorway. He was holding a steaming mug of black instant coffee that looked thick enough to pave a driveway.

"It's $7.50, Gramps," I corrected him. "And it's a small luxury. I worked hard for this job. I deserve a treat."

Frank just grunted. "You 'deserve' to pay off that $40,000 school debt you keep complaining about. I just drink coffee. You drink a car payment."

Living with Frank was like living with a ghost from a history book. A very judgmental history book.

His house was a museum of thrift. There was one television—a small, buzzing box he’d owned since my dad was in high school. He got three channels with an antenna. I had subscriptions to four different streaming services on my laptop, which I paid for by "browsing" more than actually watching.

"Why you paying for all those shows?" he asked one night, squinting at my screen.

"It's choice, Gramps. Options."

"Looks like a waste of time," he said, turning his attention back to the local news.

The real flashpoint was food. On Friday, after a brutal week of spreadsheets, I was exhausted. I didn’t want to cook. I wanted convenience. I opened my favorite food delivery app and ordered a $28 artisan burger.

When the delivery driver pulled up, Frank was on the porch. He watched me take the bag like I had just committed a felony.

That night, he was eating what he called "Whatever's-Left-Casserole," which appeared to be leftover hotdogs, some beans, and half an onion, baked. It looked awful. It probably cost $2.

"Must be nice," he muttered, spooning the brown sludge onto his plate. "Eating like royalty."

"It's just one burger, Frank!" I snapped, the stress of my loan payments boiling over. "The economy is terrible! Inflation is insane. I can't even afford rent. You guys had it easy! You bought this whole house on one salary!"

Frank put his fork down. It was the first time I'd seen him look genuinely angry.

"Easy?" he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "I started at the steel mill at 18. I worked 12-hour shifts, six days a week. When inflation was 10% in the 80s, my mortgage rate was 14%. I didn't eat 'artisan' anything. I ate a bologna sandwich. Every. Single. Day."

He pointed at my laptop. "You got a $1,200 phone. My phone," he gestured to an ancient flip phone in a cradle by the wall, "makes calls. You got a tattoo sleeve that cost more than my first car. My tattoos?" He rolled up his sleeve to show a faded blue anchor. "Got this in the Navy. It came with nightmares, not a payment plan."

I felt my face flush. "So what, I'm just supposed to be miserable?"

"You're not miserable!" he barked. "You're just soft. You kids want the reward without the work. You want the house, but you won't give up the $7 coffee. You want financial freedom, but you pay $28 for a burger because you're too 'tired' to open a can of soup."

He walked over to his old roll-top desk and pulled out a small, vinyl-bound bank book. He tossed it on the table. It was a passbook for his savings account.

I opened it.

The balance made my stomach drop. From his factory pension and social security, this man who lived on canned soup and instant coffee had saved over $280,000.

I looked at the balance. I looked at my phone, still open to the delivery app. I looked at the $9 remaining on my $28 burger.

Frank picked up his plate of leftovers.

"You're right, Alex," he said, heading to the kitchen. "I bought this house on one salary. But I also didn't have 47 subscriptions, leased cars, or 'emotional support' smoothies."

He stopped at the doorway and looked back, his eyes drilling into me.

"You don't have an income problem. You have an expense problem. You’re not poor. You’re just paying a subscription to act rich." #fblifestyleye

Is the 75 year old going on a Safari or just watching the local news eating leftovers? #whatsthepoint

Thank you for fictional story, the artisan burger was a nice touch (though even as a millennial I am not sure what one is).

 

[CBH Australia]

@LivingTheDream
Yes, it’s fictional like the first post but I still think many can relate to it and others should learn from it.

I’ve known successful business people who lived frugally except for a few foods from the old country that they enjoyed. I’ve know people who on various incomes still live beyond their means.

I guess the point is the 75 year old has financial security and has options.

The young person won’t go without the small luxuries to get ahead.

 

[deewayne2003]

I make $55,000 a year and I’m broker than my 75-year-old grandpa. To save myself from my $1,800-a-month studio apartment, I had to move into his basement.

This wasn't the plan.

The plan was a downtown loft, happy hours, and a vibrant social life funded by my new marketing degree. Instead, I’m in suburban Ohio, sleeping on a 1980s sofa bed in a room that smells like cedar wood and mothballs.

"It's just temporary," I told myself, clutching my artisan iced coffee as I hauled in the last box.

"That stuff costs five bucks?" Grandpa Frank asked from the doorway. He was holding a steaming mug of black instant coffee that looked thick enough to pave a driveway.

"It's $7.50, Gramps," I corrected him. "And it's a small luxury. I worked hard for this job. I deserve a treat."

Frank just grunted. "You 'deserve' to pay off that $40,000 school debt you keep complaining about. I just drink coffee. You drink a car payment."

Living with Frank was like living with a ghost from a history book. A very judgmental history book.

His house was a museum of thrift. There was one television—a small, buzzing box he’d owned since my dad was in high school. He got three channels with an antenna. I had subscriptions to four different streaming services on my laptop, which I paid for by "browsing" more than actually watching.

"Why you paying for all those shows?" he asked one night, squinting at my screen.

"It's choice, Gramps. Options."

"Looks like a waste of time," he said, turning his attention back to the local news.

The real flashpoint was food. On Friday, after a brutal week of spreadsheets, I was exhausted. I didn’t want to cook. I wanted convenience. I opened my favorite food delivery app and ordered a $28 artisan burger.

When the delivery driver pulled up, Frank was on the porch. He watched me take the bag like I had just committed a felony.

That night, he was eating what he called "Whatever's-Left-Casserole," which appeared to be leftover hotdogs, some beans, and half an onion, baked. It looked awful. It probably cost $2.

"Must be nice," he muttered, spooning the brown sludge onto his plate. "Eating like royalty."

"It's just one burger, Frank!" I snapped, the stress of my loan payments boiling over. "The economy is terrible! Inflation is insane. I can't even afford rent. You guys had it easy! You bought this whole house on one salary!"

Frank put his fork down. It was the first time I'd seen him look genuinely angry.

"Easy?" he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "I started at the steel mill at 18. I worked 12-hour shifts, six days a week. When inflation was 10% in the 80s, my mortgage rate was 14%. I didn't eat 'artisan' anything. I ate a bologna sandwich. Every. Single. Day."

He pointed at my laptop. "You got a $1,200 phone. My phone," he gestured to an ancient flip phone in a cradle by the wall, "makes calls. You got a tattoo sleeve that cost more than my first car. My tattoos?" He rolled up his sleeve to show a faded blue anchor. "Got this in the Navy. It came with nightmares, not a payment plan."

I felt my face flush. "So what, I'm just supposed to be miserable?"

"You're not miserable!" he barked. "You're just soft. You kids want the reward without the work. You want the house, but you won't give up the $7 coffee. You want financial freedom, but you pay $28 for a burger because you're too 'tired' to open a can of soup."

He walked over to his old roll-top desk and pulled out a small, vinyl-bound bank book. He tossed it on the table. It was a passbook for his savings account.

I opened it.

The balance made my stomach drop. From his factory pension and social security, this man who lived on canned soup and instant coffee had saved over $280,000.

I looked at the balance. I looked at my phone, still open to the delivery app. I looked at the $9 remaining on my $28 burger.

Frank picked up his plate of leftovers.

"You're right, Alex," he said, heading to the kitchen. "I bought this house on one salary. But I also didn't have 47 subscriptions, leased cars, or 'emotional support' smoothies."

He stopped at the doorway and looked back, his eyes drilling into me.

"You don't have an income problem. You have an expense problem. You’re not poor. You’re just paying a subscription to act rich." #fblifestyleye

Cool story bro……but you left out the part about walking up hill both ways in the snow!

 

[LivingTheDream]

@LivingTheDream
Yes, it’s fictional like the first post but I still think many can relate to it and others should learn from it.

I’ve known successful business people who lived frugally except for a few foods from the old country that they enjoyed. I’ve know people who on various incomes still live beyond their means.

I guess the point is the 75 year old has financial security and has options.

The young person won’t go without the small luxuries to get ahead.

Here is my issue. Twice now at the start of this thread and with this story you have generalized and stereotyped a whole generation. As someone from that generation, you dont know what we had to do or the sacrifices we had to make.

I continue to say each generation has different hardships and sacrifices and things change. Gen X had the mass adoption of the internet, millennials had to get jobs when the housing market tanked the whole economy, gen Z is having to deal with rapid inflation and job replacement from AI.

Also in your magical story above, that 75 year old with 280k in the bank better hope he has someone to live with because he has 2 years worth of assisted living funds. So cool story, but he might want to be nicer to his grandson because without that or a sudden death he probably dies in a state facility penniless.

 

[CBH Australia]

Here is my issue. Twice now at the start of this thread and with this story you have generalized and stereotyped a whole generation. As someone from that generation, you dont know what we had to do or the sacrifices we had to make.

I continue to say each generation has different hardships and sacrifices and things change. Gen X had the mass adoption of the internet, millennials had to get jobs when the housing market tanked the whole economy, gen Z is having to deal with rapid inflation and job replacement from AI.

Also in your magical story above, that 75 year old with 280k in the bank better hope he has someone to live with because he has 2 years worth of assisted living funds. So cool story, but he might want to be nicer to his grandson because without that or a sudden death he probably dies in a state facility penniless.

Again, I should have put the disclaimer at the start of my post saying author unknown.

Yes, I am generalising as every generation does.

There is a wide band of dates covering Gen X which is where my wife and I sit

My eldest is a Gen Y and the youngest is Gen X.

In general though I don’t think some people see the irony of how little things add up or what’s essential and what’s not when they complain they can’t get ahead.

From my own experience I’ve known so many young people who want it all now and won’t lower their standards or expectations.

 

[deewayne2003]

Here is my issue. Twice now at the start of this thread and with this story you have generalized and stereotyped a whole generation. As someone from that generation, you dont know what we had to do or the sacrifices we had to make.

I continue to say each generation has different hardships and sacrifices and things change. Gen X had the mass adoption of the internet, millennials had to get jobs when the housing market tanked the whole economy, gen Z is having to deal with rapid inflation and job replacement from AI.

Also in your magical story above, that 75 year old with 280k in the bank better hope he has someone to live with because he has 2 years worth of assisted living funds. So cool story, but he might want to be nicer to his grandson because without that or a sudden death he probably dies in a state facility penniless.

Correct for long time care, there are several old farmers around here who died in state run care and the state filed liens on their properties after they became penniless.

Boomers love to spout about the youth they are surrounded by making financial mistakes with coffee and the dreaded avocado toast; but I see loads of elderly people who wouldn’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of if not for inheritance from the WWII generation.

One friends father has spent his entire pension for the last two years playing pokies(slot machines) at the casino he drives a 2 hour round trip to play at.

Another friends mother withdrew her entire 401K balance the year after she retired, getting herself a 40% tax penalty.

And for the life of me I don’t know of a single person who is now under the age of 65 that ever uttered the words….
“I have more taxes taken out so I get a bigger refund at the end of the year so I can catch up on other bills(credit cards).”

I also find it odd how many boomer couples have been married for decades and then magically divorce after the wife inherits money.

I assure you the younger generations are not the drooling mongoloids you portray them to be; but in regards to role models……. Boomers fell far from the tree of their greatest generation parents that earned their generational designation greatest generation.

Hell even George Carlin who is no spring chicken had a comedy routine dedicated to boomers over a decade ago…..