Money can’t buy you love, but it can buy you sashimi at Nobu. And when you first start seeing someone, the sushi is pretty important. For whatever reason, humans have decided that the very primal event of shoving food in our mouths to survive is an occasion for romantic connection. And since I don’t cook, (like really don’t cook — like all that’s in my fridge right now is half a case of Pamplemousse LaCroix ), my love affairs, both long and short, have been built on the backs of Michelin-starred chefs. It’s a habit that I developed while I was making six figures, and one that was hard to kick when I lost my job and entered a whole new income bracket . I made the decision to reboot my career , and it also meant pressing the "restart" button on my salary. In a matter of months, I went from bougie to broke . When I was single, this was fine. But dating is fucking expensive. And when I started seeing someone who made significantly more money than me, I was forced to confront an awkward dilemma: How do you deal when your date is rolling in dough and all you’re rolling in is depressing bank statements?No one likes to talk about it, but money plays a huge role in romance. Who has it, who doesn’t, and who’s paying? It’s a hard subject to broach, especially when you first begin seeing someone. It’s not exactly sexy to say: “Hey baby, my rent is a week late, and I haven’t paid my internet bill in two months, so maybe we just order in Domino’s and save the leftovers for breakfast?” Which is why, when I suddenly found myself in possession of a shiny new boyfriend (who was equipped with a much bigger bank account than I was), I did everything I could to stay in the broke closet.This was a difficult charade to sustain, especially when it came to dining out. So I developed the habit of eating a slice of $5 pizza before going out for the evening, and then just ordering the cheapest glass of wine once I got to the restaurant. That secret trick allowed me to avoid the inevitable post-event dinner and its rent-ruining price tag. But the longer I kept my secret, the more my shame and anxiety grew. Which is why, one evening in July, my relationship nearly imploded over something as stupid as a $30 personal pizza.