10/28/2014 02:47 pm ET Updated Dec 28, 2014

Pretending to Have Lots of Money

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Because I have a fancy college degree, you probably assume that I immediately got a six-figure salary job right out of school, moved to a penthouse apartment in a metropolitan city, and now get casual 5pm drinks after work Monday-Friday with my work buddies. Well, none of those things are true. I do get casual 5pm drinks Monday-Friday. But it's not to relieve myself of a stressful work environment. It's not to relieve myself of anything. It's because it's 5pm, and that means drinking because I worked so hard all day doing nothing.

But if you're a dumb idiot like me, you've decided to sit around and wait for life to hand you opportunity instead. (Not all of us can walk into Miranda Priesly's office and say it's either this or Auto Universe.) And since life's opportunities won't come any time soon (maybe never!), then you have taken on the identity of: BROKE 20SOMETHING PRETENDING TO HAVE LOTS OF MONEY. And like me, you play that role like it's your fucking job (because you don't have a real job). Now, there's certain qualities about the "Broke 20Something Pretending to Have Lots of Money" that are key if you really wanna sell it and trick people into thinking you have a trust fund of $1 million, like the chick from Gone Girl. Even YOU can aspire to unemployment with a wealthy façade.

I've found that the most important factor in creating this identity is being the basic bitch who brunches. Let that alliteration sink in. Doing/Having/Going to brunch is very important. It lets people who do shit during the day see you in your "natural" habitat. You must be consistent with brunch-ing. I'd say at least four times a week. If you're on the brink of bankruptcy, then just three times. But you must be committed. You're creating a fake identity for yourself. You may almost puke of silent shame every time you order a $7 plate of cut banana. But add that to you're $15 bottomless Mimosa with the purchase of a $20 entrée, and you're only looking at a total of OH MY GOD I'M HAVING TERROR SWEATS. But don't worry! Sweating burns more calories! Kinda.

Another important factor in practicing your fake role as a loaded, ignorant biotch is becoming an active member of a trendy spinning class. You've got two choices: Flywheel or SoulCycle. Flywheel costs a lot of money. SoulCycle costs A LOT of money. Unless you work for them. Because then it's free. Which you could do. But you've got way to much "money" to sink that low. So shell out those savings, put on your second-hand Lululemon, and go sweat out your pride for 45 minutes. Because Vanessa Hudgens might be there, and you wanna have that moment when you ask for a picture and she says "Um, I guess." All your peasant friends will be SO jealous and think you're a shoe-in to the next High School Musical reunion party. Clearly you don't. And won't ever.

And to put the cherry on top of your poverty sundae, it's time to put on your DSW heels that your mom bought you in high school. Because it's Friday, and that means dropping a disgusting amount of money on some top shelf liquor you should never buy! And don't think you're going to that economically practical bar at the end of your block. Who's gonna see you there? No one. Uh uh. You gotta go to that big club with a ridiculous entry fee. And when you nearly faint because you spent all your drink money just to get into the club, fluff off those woes! A rich person would see that as chump change. And who are you? A goddamn rich person. If you think it, you will be it. (Not really.) Luckily there's an ATM when you go inside because the bar is cash only (which is some major bullcrap). And when the ATM asks if it can charge you an absurd fee of $8 just to pull out 40 bucks, you press "yes" because you have a wealthy degree of self-worth. And because pressing "no" means no money. So now as the night ends and you're wealthy inebriation turns back into a penniless sobriety, you decide it'll be fun to do the math.

45 seconds later...

Holy shit. You've spent your rent money in the span of four days, you have a Comcast bill due tomorrow you can't pay, you've used up your back-up grocery money, and OH MY GOD I'M SO FUCKED. You're not sure whether you're laughing from how sad that is or crying from... how sad that is. But guess what ya poor slut! There's good news! You've successfully convinced your young viewers that you're rolling deep in dem dollars. So congratu-fucking-lations.

But working hard to appear rich has its price (literally). In about 48 hours, you've put your bank account (and your heart) deep in the red. You now have $14 left for the second half of the month. And you're roommate ate the last of your Trader Joe's orange chicken. So you might actually starve. What a great life! Have fun asking your parents for more money and listening to them bitch you out over the phone! You're such an adult!