I don’t think of myself as a particularly jealous person. I don’t covet my neighbour’s house. I don’t lust after material wealth. But the green-eyed monster came for me hard last month, thanks to a couple of conversations between me and some friends, one of whom had just taken on, in their words, a “big money job”.

It was the first time they’d ever discussed their salary with me. How big was it? Well, as they put it, it wouldn’t cover the deposit on a three-bed Chelsea townhouse, but it certainly puts them in the running for a generous family home somewhere in London’s Zone 3. Then I ran into a former colleague who congratulated me on my work and said offhandedly: “You must be in the six figures now, right?” Six figures? The only time I’ve seen that number of zeroes is when I’m covering billionaires on my podcast. What made me feel worse, though, is the way in which he said it – a chummy tone of voice that heavily implied that he was already in the six-figure club himself.

Millennials mostly spent our twenties chugging along the same tracks as everyone else: graduating from university, getting our first job, moving into a series of flatshares and slowly becoming acquainted with what it........

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