Thinking about women and money again. Everyone gets pissed when you say it, but fuck it — good girls are expensive. Cheap girls cost way more.
I learned this the hard way with Lauren in Miami. Brickell condo, 26 years old, looked like the most normal girl you’d ever meet. No crazy makeup, no designer everything screaming for attention. First night she hits me with “I don’t need expensive stuff. I’m not that kind of girl. I just like being with you.”
I fell for it hard. Felt like she actually saw me, not the guy with the money and the watch. So I started doing all the boyfriend shit I never do. Ubers, dinners, helping with her sister’s move, random little expenses that somehow ended up on my card. Every time it was small. Nothing that made me flinch right then.
That’s the trap. High-maintenance girls hit you with the big number up front. You see the price tag and you can decide. Lauren never showed the price tag. She just kept taking small bites out of my judgment, my time, my sleep, my ability to say no. By the time I noticed, I was explaining myself to her like a kid who got caught. “Why did you sound like that?” “I just wanted to talk.” Two-hour phone calls that went nowhere. Checking my phone for her reply while I was supposed to be focused at the table. Feeling guilty for going out like I was doing something wrong.
One night I was up decent at the high-limit room. Should have cashed out and gone home. Instead I kept playing because I wanted to tell her about the win later. Like it would make me look better. Lost half of it chasing that feeling. She never even asked how it went. Two weeks later she was posting pictures with some richer-looking dude. Same smile she used on me.
That’s when it hit me. The expensive girls take your money. The cheap ones take your money and then start messing with the inside of your head. They make you question your own decisions, your own fun, your own life. They turn you into the guy who apologizes for being himself.
Lauren didn’t cost me the most in cash. She cost me in stupid decisions I wouldn’t have made if she wasn’t living rent-free in my brain. That’s the real expensive part.
Now when I see girls like her around Miami — sweet smile, “I’m not like other girls” energy — I just buy one drink, keep my wallet and my brain in my pocket, and move on. Learned that lesson the hard way.