Sometimes it feels like all money conversations come back to this issue. Can I buy my own home? Will I be a failure if I don’t? Can I ever afford one?
And it’s not a daydreamy, hypothetical convo, like ‘What if I called my kid Joaquin? Would people know how to pronounce it? Did the Pheonix family really lay the groundwork here?”.
No, the tone is more like ‘Will I die in a gutter, languish in poverty, or be photographed collecting mail in nothing but a bedsheet, if I don’t get onto the property ladder?’.
There is a sense of panic, as if not hobbling yourself with a million dollars in debt means you will end up on the scrapheap of life.