How friendship quietly became one of the most expensive subscriptions I forgot to cancel.

When did meeting a friend for a morning coffee suddenly require taking out a small loan? £18 poached eggs. £7 iced latte. And apparently I’m still expected to sit there and listen to my friend’s latest life update while discreetly squinting at my bank account, because what I can’t see can’t hurt me.

God forbid a woman socialise.

Somewhere along the way, catching up with your friends stopped being a casual “fancy a coffee?” and became a full financial event. Because apparently, friendship now comes with a minimum spend.

And just when you think you can relax and live off Pot Noodles for the next week to financially recover, your friends hit you with the dreaded:

“Same time next week?”

“Aw, sorry girls, I’ve actually got a doctor’s appointment next week at... conveniently... that exact time.”

I mean, it’s not a complete lie. If I spend any more money, I may genuinely need medical attention. I’m just being cautious.

The problem is simple. A £20 brunch is never just £20. Add the £7 coffee, transport there and back, and the obligatory service charge for the moody teenager who took my order as if I’d personally ruined his Saturday, and suddenly you’ve spent a day’s earnings on two eggs and a side of financial regret.

Apparently, I’m now paying extra for the privilege of being reluctantly served.

Unfortunately, the modern social plan has the financial structure of a Ryanair flight: the advertised price is never the actual price.

My issue isn’t spending money on a nice meetup with my friends. It’s that spending money and spending quality time together have somehow become inextricably linked.

And let me tell you, suggesting a non-Instagrammable café is apparently a cardinal sin. God forbid we catch up somewhere that doesn’t have ceremonial-grade matcha and lighting specifically engineered for a 0.5 selfie.

And it’s not just the weekly bottomless brunch.

It’s the birthdays. Christmas drinks. Hen dos. Festivals. Concerts.

And the inevitable, “Let’s go away for the weekend.”

One £50 plan isn't terrifying.

Ten £50 plans are £500.

And suddenly you’re looking at your bank account wondering whether your friends secretly have shares in your overdraft.

But at some point, the money isn’t even the worst part. It’s the embarrassment of having to tell your friends, “I can’t afford that right now.”

Suddenly, I’ve been transported into the world of Oliver Twist, begging my friends, “Please, sir, could we pick a slightly less expensive café so I can eat something other than jam on toast?”

And from that point on, it can feel like the friendship has developed an unspoken class system: pitying glances, compromising on plans, and being sent “budget-friendly activities with the girls” that, while well-intentioned, make me want to shrivel up and die.

Slightly dramatic, perhaps. But you get the point.

Sometimes, the social pressure of saying no makes it feel like you’re rejecting the person rather than the price.

So instead, so many of us bury the anxiety and swallow the horrified gasp when the menu arrives.

And it’s no one’s fault.

Everyone has different disposable incomes, and that’s okay. But friendship is increasingly starting to feel like it requires everyone to have the same bank balance, or at least be willing to pretend they do.

Which brings me to the most important point: can we make friendship cheaper without making it less fun?

All I’m saying is maybe the £4 supermarket wine in someone’s kitchen is actually better than the £14 glass served under a heat lamp.

Whether it’s a picnic in the park, a movie night at home, cooking or baking together, or simply making time for each other, there are so many ways to spend time with the people you love without spending a fortune.

Some of my favourite memories with my friends aren’t the expensive ones. They’re sitting in our PJs after a corner-shop snack haul, laughing about our dating horror stories and watching old Barbie movies from our childhood on a TikTok Shop projector.

Maybe we need to redefine what “showing up” actually means in a friendship.

Because being a good friend isn’t about saying yes to everything.

Sometimes, it’s simply being able to say, “I can’t afford that, but I still really want to see you.”

And if that isn’t enough for your friends, maybe the problem was never your bank balance.

Seeing your friends shouldn’t require a special occasion, a three-course meal, or a reservation at whatever café TikTok has decided is personality-defining this week.

Real friends don’t measure your friendship by whether you can afford the latest viral café. They measure it by whether you show up.

And showing up is about so much more than physically being there or being able to afford the plans. It’s checking in when your friend is having a bad day. Listening to the same dating disaster for the 47th time. Sending a “you okay?” text when you know they’re not. It’s being there emotionally, even when you can’t be there financially.

Because, ultimately, friendship shouldn’t come with a minimum spend.

And if friendship comes with a standing order, I’d at least like to know the cancellation policy.

I’ll take the friendship.

I’ll leave the £18 eggs.

And to my friends reading this: see you next week for brunch.

I’ll be the one pretending to like it. ;)