When I convinced my daughter not to have a birthday party this year, it felt like a major win. She’s turning 10 in December, and the older she gets, the more complicated it seems. Between her friends in the neighboring town, camp friends, school friends that aren’t quite “birthday party” friends, but they could be, so should we? Planning a special experience for her felt much more meaningful for the phase of life she’s in.
Like a Jedi, I massaged some ideas into the conversation months ago before I proposed they replace a birthday party. I suggested we see Hamilton on Broadway, because she knows every word to the soundtrack and has watched the recorded performance a zillion times. We also live near New York City, so we have some flexibility on dates and times. But I gave myself options in case that didn’t pan out: we could see her first real concert. Maybe she could even bring a friend.
Well done, Heather. I was really patting myself on the back for all this, until it came time to make the plans, and the surcharge of reality slapped me in the face.
Apparently, Hamilton is no longer on Broadway—HamilTEN is on Broadway, and for a limited time, Tony Award-winning actor Leslie Odom, Jr. is reprising his role as Aaron Burr. On a weeknight, back orchestra tickets are going for $1,300 each before fees. Once you’re done with dinner and transportation, it’s a $3,000 night. And before you tell me to just take her when he leaves, let me remind you, she is a superfan and knows he’s back in the show. The cat’s out of the bag on the whole thing.
I hit pause.
I turned to option two: Jingle Ball at Madison Square Garden, a cirque de soleil of iHeartRadio’s performers of the year. I wouldn’t call either of us superfans of any artists on the roster, but the collective excitement of knowing a bunch of them was compelling for a first concert. Plus, it’s right around her birthday, and she could bring a friend. Or so I thought. By the time I logged in, we were 72,000th in line for tickets (I’m serious). When we accessed the seating chart, we could select either the nosebleed seats for $350 each or floor seats for more than $1,000. They were going fast, and I wanted neither. Honestly, I was so put off by the whole thing, I couldn’t even reason it into existence. So once again, I abandoned ship, feeling angry, frustrated, and confused by how anyone can make such financially consequential decisions on a whim—let alone, for a special day that we used to spend at a bounce park with a sheet cake.
Nothing is built to experience anymore. Everything is built to consume, like the special 10th anniversary limited time engagements, special holiday circus concerts, special $23 kegged vodka cocktails with hand-scooped melon balls.
Brand. Label. Pay. Take a picture.
I am aware this spectacle isn’t new, but it does feel like it’s gotten worse. Perhaps we are still emerging from our post-pandemic cocoon with a demand for more life, which when coupled with inflation, is causing prices to increase. The CEO of Ticketmaster seems to think concerts don’t cost enough, which is a statement so ludicrous I have to believe it’s been taken out of context for rage-bait purposes. Sure, there’s a lot the audience cannot see in the proverbial wings: the rising costs of labor, equipment, even insurance. Yes, and…this could still just all be another example of “build it, and they will come” late-stage capitalism.
More than ever, events look for a dozen ways to make money off not just you, the end customer, but other businesses, too. As I stroll the concourse or scan the jumbotron, I notice all the other brands and organizations that have paid a pretty penny for visibility. And this doesn’t even touch what appears on social. It always makes me wonder how many tickets are gobbled up by corporate sponsors, and if that is a reason costs are higher for everyone else. I hate feeling like I’m being sold at a show. That being said, I’m not naïve to the fact that that the Venn diagram between a “music festival” and a “wealth festival” is one brand activation away from being a full circle. This is just where we are.
If the price of discretionary experiences feels like a tone-deaf topic to be harping on at a time when people are losing jobs, livelihoods, and—in awful instances—more than that, allow me to state my case as to why this still matters. These days, it’s very easy to lose ourselves under the weight of bad news. We are exposed to a perpetual feed of macro and micro horrors whether we seek them out or try to hide from them. We aren’t built with enough cognitive dissonance to fully bifurcate our lives from all this (and if you think you are, good on you, I guess). To protect ourselves from crumbling, most prudent advice tells us to focus on what we can: our values-based initiatives, our local communities, and our loved ones.
I’ll speak to my own experience these past few years. Sometimes, I am tired and broken. Other times, I remember I’ve been climbing my own professional Mt. Everest and am on the cusp of releasing a book that is so meaningful to me, and hopefully, many of you. Through the good times and bad, I’ve gained great perspective on my life. All of it leads me to wanting to make more memories with our kids. For me, and many others, this is the best antidote available to us. It’s the best reward, too.
Parents feel this way regardless of what they can and can’t afford, which leads many to rely on credit card debt and predatory Buy-Now-Pay-Later programs to participate in high-cost experiences. Your first reaction might be to pass judgement around what you perceive as clout chasing or status signaling, but there are lots of parents who are just reaching for their own expectations of what they always thought they’d be able to offer their kids.
I want those parents to know, you’re right. This all isn’t normal. You shouldn’t feel ashamed, but you also can’t contort yourself to make it work. That is a slippery slope for your money, and for the lessons you’ll pass on.
We can all make memories in the backyard after school, and the kitchen on a Saturday morning, and the beach in the summertime. In our family, we sure do.
However, I also want to give them their first Broadway show. Their first real concert. Their first professional football game. This stuff isn’t trivial to us—it’s a priority for us, within reason.
When it comes to Hazel’s birthday, I am glad I took my rant public on Instagram. Several moms with older daughters told me they didn’t think Jingle Ball was worth it. Not for her first concert. I am going to start entering the weekly lottery for HamilTEN tickets in hope our luck pulls through. Maybe, I’ll convince her that the show once found success without Leslie Odom, Jr., and it will be just fine without him again.
I’m a mom. I’ll make it work.
I can’t tell you what to spend your money on, just like I can’t promise you we won’t drop too much money when some big-box experience that’s too important to one of us comes along. But these are no longer things most parents should just do. They are real financial commitments. You want to walk away feeling like it was worth it; not for the Capital One commemorative beanie but for the memories you’ve made together.
Have you been priced out of anything you wanted to do? Let’s talk about it.
The hardcovers arrived this week. First, a symbolic box of 40. Then, a pallet of hundreds for our couples, experts, and clients of the firm. There’s nothing quite like holding the true finished product in your hand (along with a special occasion Japanese whisky in your other hand). Truly, what a moment. Wow.
Did you miss my webinar with Ellevest on caregiving? The recording is available now!
On Monday, we had an excellent conversation with Ellevest’s Emily Green about caregiving, contribution, and maintaining financial independence through every season of your life. ICYMI, you can watch the 35-40 minute recording here.
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"Nothing is built to experience anymore. Everything is built to consume" - and this is why we do Birthdays at home. Make a home made cake that isn't perfect. etc. I'm not talking about kids, which brings a whole other level of pressure...but I make the bar lower as to what constitutes a good time. It can just be laughs, a fun time out biking, going to a local wolf sanctuary, or a farm rescue place to visit. I refuse the consume-only culture, and am choosing "connection culture." instead. Better on the wallet, but also better in my own heart.
Well said.
The best memories I’ve made with my kids didn’t cost a thing—they just required my full attention.
In my experience, money finances the experience. But presence makes it matter.