How Gen Zers Handle Getting Priced Out Of Their Friend Groups

When I say I grew up in Orange County, California, people assume I spent my weekends in a beachfront mansion, probably driving a BMW and lounging by a pool. In reality, I was the eldest daughter of a single mother who was barely making $20,000 a year.

It’s hard to explain what it’s like being the “poor friend” in a wealthy area. You grow up fluent in financial shame, longing for things your friends take for granted: SAT tutors, designer clothes, and lavish spring break trips. I worked several jobs through high school just to have spending money. When I got my first paycheck of more than $300, I took a photo and cried. It was So. Much. Money.

This continued well into college, where I attended a prestigious private school known for catering to the rich and famous. I was the only freshman I knew with a job. I was constantly worried about the $100+ hangouts and ridiculous textbook costs. The difference became so stark that I started to decline going out.

Eventually, I lost most of my friends. In your 20s, the divide doesn’t always get easier. A 2017 survey from PayPal found that nearly half of millennials and Gen Z respondents felt money impacted their friendships. Some friends are getting raises, upgrading their apartments, and casually splitting $1,000 brunch tabs like it’s no big deal. So, I asked other Gen Zers: How do you cope when you realize your friend group is living on a completely different financial level and you can’t keep up? Here’s what they said.

The following stories have been edited for length and clarity. Some names* have been changed.

I felt ashamed and left out when I couldn’t afford to join.

At 25, I started to feel the shift: My friends were going to bougie dinners, booking spontaneous trips, and casually buying designer bags — stuff I couldn’t afford on my inconsistent $2,000 to $3,000 monthly income. At first, I didn’t say anything. I just pulled back. I felt ashamed and left out when I couldn’t afford to join. I didn’t want to seem “broke,” but I also couldn’t keep pretending I could afford the same lifestyle. It made me question my value in the group. Eventually, I had a few honest convos with friends I trusted.

And to my surprise, some of them totally understood. These friendships shifted in small but meaningful ways. A few friends still want to hang out, especially when they’re struggling mentally. We’ll just do low-budget things like chill at home, do self-care together, or talk things out. I started to realize we’re all on different timelines. We all want to be “up,” but staying up — mentally or financially — can be the hardest part.

After I opened up about my financial situation, the dynamic changed. Not in a bad way, just in a more honest way. We remain close because you never know how life will flip. I could be thriving tomorrow, and I know they’ll still be down to chill at home instead of going horseback riding or to Nobu. (Even though those are my favorite things to do.)

I wish I’d realized earlier that when friendships shift due to money, it’s not always personal. People’s income and priorities change. That doesn’t mean you’re being left behind. You’re just on different timelines. The people who really care about you will make space for you in ways that have nothing to do with how much you spend. —Sapphire, 28, New Jersey

I wish I’d spoken up instead of pushing myself into debt just to fit in.

I noticed the income gap early. Back in elementary school, everyone else bought vending machine snacks or had deli lunches, and I couldn’t. Even when I got my first job in high school, my paycheck went toward bills. My friends were buying concert tickets. I was buying groceries. By college, I was making around $1,000 a month working as an office assistant. My friends made more, spent more, and expected me to join in. I either said yes and maxed out my credit card or said no and got iced out of plans. It felt like a lose-lose. So, I said yes to everything because I wanted to fit in. I kept spending money I didn’t have, which messed up my credit.

My credit score went down to 542, my lowest point. That kept me trapped in a bad living situation. I couldn’t get approved, even with multiple roommates, because every apartment required a credit score of 650+. Last year, my car insurance was affected because I got into an accident, and they labeled me as a “high-risk” person to insure because of all my outstanding debt. I only got back into the 750+ range after two years at my 9-to-5 and several moonlighting gigs.

I don’t have those friends anymore. Looking back, I wish I’d spoken up instead of pushing myself into debt just to fit in. Now that I’m more financially stable, I always try to meet people where they are and cover friends when I can. A real friend won’t make you feel bad for living on a different budget. —Sam, 24, New York

If you’re the one with more money, be understanding.

At 18, I was a full-time student with a part-time campus job. Meanwhile, my friends were constantly eating out and shopping as if it were a competitive sport. At first, I had major FOMO. But then I told my friends I couldn’t keep spending like that. And to my surprise, they got it. I started eating at home before meetups and suggested cheaper hangout options. Turns out, everyone appreciated having a say in plans.

The best advice I have? Be up front. And if you’re the one with more money, be understanding. It’s not that deep. —Isabella, 21, California

Money doesn’t have to be a friendship deal-breaker.

In my mid-20s, I made $55,000 a year. My friends were earning more than double that, and it showed. My friends would offer to split checks evenly and buy condos and houses for themselves. I felt like I could barely save anything after paying my bills. By my early 30s, I finally started saying no. And you know what? It was a relief. My husband and I weren’t spending more money on a friend’s 32nd birthday party than we would on our anniversary dinner. We now look forward to the events we attend, rather than dreading the cost.

I eventually opened up to my friends about the income gap. Most of them had no idea. Now, I only say yes to things that fit my budget and feel worth it. I wish I’d gotten there sooner, but I’m extroverted and love doing things. And I was worried about being excluded. What I’ve learned is that the people who care about you will make the effort. Money doesn’t have to be a friendship deal-breaker. —Carly*, 33, Illinois

Finding that middle ground — using low-key finesse — made the difference.

I started feeling priced out of my friend group around 28. Everyone was suddenly booking trips and doing big nights out. Meanwhile, I was earning $60,000 a year as the only single person in my friend group.

I didn’t want to say I couldn’t afford things, so I adapted. I’d pregame at home, eat before going out, and limit drinks. I never made a formal announcement. I just started suggesting lower-cost plans, and it worked. No drama, just vibes. It’s not perfect. I pinch pennies elsewhere and am OK with that. Sometimes, it feels like a lose-lose: Spend money you don’t have or stay home and feel left out. But for me, finding that middle ground — using low-key finesse — made the difference. —Maisey*, 30, Ohio