Numbers dressed up in fancy suits pretending to be words.
All the stuff a business owns that it plans to sell, currently gathering dust in a warehouse somewhere while the finance team panics about carrying costs. It's the detailed list and physical count of every item on hand, from products to raw materials to that weird promotional item nobody wanted. The annual inventory count is where retail workers discover their will to live has limits.
Any individual or entity with the privilege of funding government operations through mandatory wealth redistribution, also known as paying taxes. It's the collective group of people who finance public services while simultaneously complaining about them. The term politicians invoke when they need to sound fiscally responsible about spending other people's money.
The act of assigning a score, rank, or evaluation to something based on predetermined criteria; the quantification of opinion into a number so we can argue about it online.
The practice of letting someone borrow money they probably can't pay back, then being shocked when they don't pay it back. Banks do this professionally and call it 'credit risk management'; friends do it and lose both the money and the friendship.
The self-control a company claims to have while spending aggressively on growth. In finance, it's the theoretical concept that you might not burn through all your capital in the first year—a concept most startups reject immediately.
Money that companies hand back to shareholders because they couldn't figure out how to burn it all on expansion. It's the reward for owning a piece of a company that actually makes profit—a rare and increasingly mythical creature in the startup world.
Money your company owes to vendors and suppliers—basically an IOU list that keeps accountants awake at night.
Long-term physical assets like buildings and equipment—stuff you're stuck with unless you want a yard sale.
Revenue minus COGS—the money left before operating expenses crush your dreams.
A made-up slang term for a large amount of cash, with absolutely zero staying power in actual usage. Sounds like someone's attempt to invent the next big money slang that nobody actually adopted.
Direct costs of producing goods you sell—labor, materials, and the despair of manufacturing.
A financial statement showing revenue, expenses, and profit over a period—the report card executives pray nobody reads closely.
The process of paying employees—basically money hemorrhaging in a very structured, tax-compliant way.
Money set aside for a future obligation you're pretty sure will happen—basically an educated guess with teeth.
Starting from zero every budget cycle instead of just tweaking last year's numbers—micromanagement theater.
Money pooled together for investment purposes, usually managed by someone in a power suit who claims they can beat the market. Mutual funds, hedge funds, and venture funds all fall into this bucket of 'other people's money.'
The act of eating, drinking, or using something—basically how humanity's relationship with resources goes downhill. In economics, it's the fuel that keeps capitalism humming; in health, it's the thing your doctor warns you about.
The involuntary repo-man experience of having your property taken back because you failed to pay for it—basically, the lender's way of saying 'thanks for the free use of our asset.' A financial term that makes both creditors and debtors deeply uncomfortable.
To cordially tell money 'you stay here and don't associate with those other rowdy funds.' A legal barrier ensuring specific funds can only be used for their designated purpose, protecting them from predatory creditors or budget cuts.
The running total that keeps adding up over time—like compound interest that rewards patience or technical debt that punishes procrastination.
In finance, the practice of separating a bond's principal from its interest payments to create new securities, because Wall Street decided regular bonds weren't complicated enough. It's financial engineering's version of disassembling your IKEA furniture to see if you can make two smaller chairs. Not to be confused with the other kind of stripping, though both involve removing layers and often end with regrettable decisions.
The point at which something begins to happen or have effect—the minimum viable amount before things change significantly. Cross it and there's no going back.
Using financial instruments or strategies to reduce risk exposure—essentially betting against yourself to sleep better at night.
To make your financial accounts stop lying to each other by adjusting numbers until debits and credits agree. It's accounting's version of couples therapy—painful but necessary.