Middle Class Memos: Footnotes from a Capitalist Daydream

They say capitalism is about dreams

But that’s a lie peddled to people like us — who confuse the corner seat at Starbucks with a share in the boardroom

The middle class doesn’t do capitalism; we cosplay it

We wear branded knockoffs like borrowed surnames,

Clutching EMIs like ambition, hoping the sheen of fake leather will pass for pedigree.

You think capitalism is about the hustle, don’t you

You think it’s about clawing your way out of your rented 1100 square feet into the penthouse life with views of the apocalypse

But wealth doesn’t come with effort, wealth comes with lineage

Capitalism isn't about making money

It’s about already having enough to make the laws that decide who gets to make more

The first generation doesn’t get rich

It just tests how far it can reach before the invisible ceiling becomes a visible leash

Meanwhile, the upper class plays chess with nation-states for pieces,

And the middle class, we scream checkmate in a game we aren't even playing

We call ourselves rebels; revolutionaries with WiFi

Left-leaning on social media; right-leaning in paychecks.

We post infographics about inequality from iPhones made in sweatshops

We quote Marx while wearing Nike drowing our middle-class sensibilities in a bottle of Irish whiskey

We’re not capitalists; we’re capitalism’s interns at best

Unpaid, overworked, and still grateful for the exposure

We say we’re fighting for the poor

But let’s be honest — we’re just scared of becoming them

The poor don’t have the luxury of theory; they don’t have the time to debate GDP, CSR, or GST

They don’t give a fuck about climate change slogans because they’re too busy surviving its consequences.

Capitalism doesn’t care for saviours; it only respects shareholders

The rich don’t argue on Twitter, they own it

And as for us, we keep checking out bank account every now and then

As if watching our balance will help it grow faster

We complain about the cost of living, while craving the costlier version of it

We raise our fists in protests against the very structure we secretly hope will advocate us

Because that’s the truth, isn’t it?

The middle class wants change, but not enough to lose comfort.

We want a new world, as long as our status stays intact.

We want socialism on the streets, and capitalism in our savings account

While craving communism in the sheets because equality in orgasms is the only achievable equality on a good day

We want to believe that we’re only one idea, one pitch, one IPO away from joining the elite.

But here’s the plot twist: You are a middle-class, and will continue to be middle-class. Period.

The capitalists don’t fear us, they fund us

They sell us startup dreams in shiny decks and cash in when we fail, because failure is just more data for their next venture

We are not part of the revolution; we are its merchandise

And every time we say “We’re building a better world,” they laugh

Because we forgot the singular truth:

The ladder we’re climbing leads to the balcony of a skyscraper the capitalists are landlords at

And while we fight to reach the top, the owners sip vintage wine on the rooftop helipad, debating which island to buy next