A few weeks ago, Ricardo De Menezes (known among soccer fans as Kaka) turned down a staggering £108 million transfer from Milan to Manchester City. A deal which would have seen him get paid an obscene £500,000 a week. Last week, a senior copywriter at my agency tried to manipulate me into doing his work. Instead of suggesting, in no uncertain terms, that he perform an anatomically improbable act of self-procreation, I obliged, reasoning that with a new baby on the way, now wasn't the best time to have principles. I earn less than £50,000, by the way. A year. Before tax. So what does Kaka have that I lack? Aside from talent, good looks, standards, a spine, the adulation of millions and a ludicrous nickname? Well, there are some things he won't do for money, apparently. All this got me thinking about what it means to make money today. I mean, I'm clear about why I do it so I don't end up hungry and homeless but what motivates someone who already has more money than they'll ever spend in six lifetimes, to strive for more? In my opinion, our perception of money has been affected by three things. Firstly, with the proliferation of mass media, people have become lauded for their purchasing power, not their achievements. Even more egregiously, people now aspire to becoming someone who doesn't need to work, at least not in the real definition of the word. Say, a mediocre sports star who earns guaranteed millions, regardless of whether or not he plays, gets injured, breaks a sweat, or gives a ..Kaka. Secondly, getting rich is no longer the dream; the new dream is perpetual wealth i.e. the guarantee that one will get rich and stay rich, preferably without doing much. The ultimate dream is just come from old money. Failing that, holding a patent or a copyright, they can live off for the rest of their lives. Something that guarantees steady and substantial income without the recipient being required to get out of bed. The third change applies to something I alluded to in my last column: our newfound culture of comparison. A hundred years ago, comparison was strictly a local enterprise; you lived in a village, saw a few hundred people in your entire life and they were your frame of reference. Not anymore. Now, with mass media and audio visuals coming out of our pockets (literally), we spend our lives debating how well we're doing versus other people, and fueling a growing epidemic of inadequacy. And since life is a game, we need something to tell us whether we're winning or losing; some readymade gauge we can just shove in other people's faces. A bank balance. A score. All this has turned money into a status object, not the means to an end, it was always intended to be. It is, in effect, the modern measure of respect. When you look at it like that, it becomes easier to see why the hunger for money never abates: somewhere along the line, our self-esteem has become inextricably tied to our earning power: more money means more points, which means winning which means perceiving ourselves to be better than others. Why was the system set up to indulge these admittedly shallow and childish impulses? The key reason seems to be a change in the perception of what it is you're being paid for: instead of being paid for your contribution, people are now rewarded based on their value. It used to be, if you made a chair, and sold it, you got what the chair was worth. Now, you're being compensated for your projected chair-making value, not the actual number of chairs you produce. If this sounds like an arbitrary and ponzi-scheme-like duck, it's because it quacks like one. There's a major problem with this: as one rises in the ranks, making more money, one's contribution becomes severely diminished. It's simple human nature: the more you make, the less reason you have to work. The hunger, the desire to succeed, to survive even, to escape anonymity and irrelevance is the greatest motivator for achievement and success. Take that away and what do you have? Athletes who make millions but don't play the game with the same passion; Musicians who railed against the system, advocating that very same system now that it's rewarding them. Writers who used to be able to tap into the rawness of a painful memory or an enduring struggle, losing resonance. It's an inevitable truth of any act of self-expression: failure and pain spur you to greater heights, while success blunts the blade of your industry and inspiration. So what's the answer? To aspire to poverty and destitution, in order to prove you haven't lost your integrity? To deny yourself the spoils of success, in order to stay hungry and motivated? No.at least not for most of us. We're hardwired by nature to want to do as well as any system will allow us, often by exploiting each other. The answer is balance; balance between value and effort; between image and endeavor. Between selfishness and selflessness. Now, I'm certainly not asking anyone to stop earning money nor am I begrudging anyone who's found a way to make more of it by working less. I'm merely saying there are more important things: charity, activism, social responsibility and political participation, to name four. Money should never be a reason for doing anything nor should it be our sole measure of success and self-worth. It is, you know. I've seen it in Cairo, in London, in New York and I've seen it in myself. And if you don't believe me, ask yourself one question: if money isn't your religion, why do you spend so much time praying to it? Mohammed Nassar was kidnapped at birth and forced to work in advertising, in Cairo, New York and London. Today, his main concern is that archaeologists will one day stumble upon his desk, debate the value of his profession and judge him.
