Numbers dressed up in fancy suits pretending to be words.
Tradeable financial instruments like stocks and bonds, given a name that implies safety despite being approximately as secure as a sandcastle at high tide. The irony of calling them securities when they can lose 50% of their value overnight is Wall Street's longest-running joke.
Price-to-Earnings ratio, a metric that tells you how many years of current earnings you're paying for a stock. A P/E of 500 means investors expect the company to be printing money for five centuries, or that the market has collectively lost its mind. Usually the latter.
A person legally obligated to act in your best interest, which is a beautiful concept that works perfectly until money is involved. It is like having a best friend who is contractually required to not steal your lunch.
Making investment decisions based on the fear that everyone else is getting rich without you, which historically has been the most reliable way to buy at the top. It's the financial equivalent of joining a dance floor just as the DJ switches to a slow song.
Borrowing a stock, selling it, and hoping to buy it back cheaper, which is basically betting against a company's success while profiting from their misery. It's the financial equivalent of rooting for the villain, and occasionally, the villagers fight back with meme stocks.
The terrifying phone call from your broker informing you that your borrowed-money bets have gone south and you need to cough up more cash immediately. It's the financial equivalent of your landlord and your bookie showing up at the same time demanding payment.
Large, well-established companies that are considered safe investments, named after the highest-value poker chips because Wall Street can't resist gambling metaphors. They're the financial equivalent of ordering chicken fingers at a fancy restaurant: boring, but unlikely to disappoint.
When the central bank prints money and buys stuff to stimulate the economy, which is basically a cheat code that would get you banned if the economy were a video game. It sounds sophisticated, but it's the monetary equivalent of fixing a leaky boat by adding more water.
A prolonged period when stock prices fall and investors pretend they saw it coming all along. Named after bears because, like encountering an actual bear, the best strategy is to play dead and hope it goes away before it eats your retirement fund.
The period where you pretend to be a detective, an engineer, and an accountant all at once to figure out if a property is a goldmine or a money pit. Spoiler: it's usually somewhere between "fine" and "oh no."
The movement of money in and out of a business, which in most startups flows primarily in the out direction at an alarming velocity. Positive cash flow means more money coming in than going out, a concept that seems simple until you try to actually achieve it.
A financial instrument whose value is derived from something else, like a bet on a bet, which is exactly as stable as it sounds. They played a starring role in the 2008 financial crisis, proving that when you stack enough abstractions on top of each other, reality eventually comes knocking.
The estimated worth of a company, a number that ranges from scientifically calculated to completely made up depending on who's doing the estimating. Startup valuations in particular are an art form, where a company with no revenue and an idea on a napkin can be worth a billion dollars if the napkin is impressive enough.
The total money a company brings in before subtracting any expenses, which is like bragging about your salary before mentioning your rent, taxes, and crippling avocado toast habit. Startups love to talk about revenue growth while conveniently forgetting to mention they spend two dollars for every dollar earned.
Earnings Before Interest, Taxes, Depreciation, and Amortization, or as cynics call it, earnings before all the stuff that actually matters. It's the financial equivalent of saying you ran a marathon if you don't count the parts where you walked, stopped, and took an Uber.
Digital money that exists solely on computers, consumes more electricity than some countries, and can lose 40% of its value because a billionaire tweeted a dog meme. It was invented to replace traditional banking and has instead created an entirely new way to lose your life savings.
Initial Public Offering, the moment a private company decides to let random strangers on the internet buy and sell pieces of it. It's like inviting the entire neighborhood to become co-owners of your lemonade stand and then wondering why everyone has opinions.
A massive payout given to executives when they get fired, because apparently failing at the highest level should be rewarded with generational wealth. It's the corporate equivalent of getting expelled from school and receiving a Ferrari as a consolation prize.
Stocks that trade for less than a dollar, which are to investing what scratch-off tickets are to financial planning. They're cheap, exciting, and almost certainly going to leave you with less money than you started with, but the thrill of potential riches keeps people coming back.
A fund that buys every stock in an index because picking individual winners is apparently too hard even for professionals. It's the financial equivalent of ordering one of everything on the menu because you can't decide, and somehow it works better than almost every other strategy.
When two companies combine to become one larger, more dysfunctional company with twice the middle management. It's always sold as a "merger of equals" and always ends with one side updating their resumes within six months.
A 10% drop in the stock market that financial experts insist is healthy and normal, like telling someone getting punched in the face that it's good for their bone density. The word correction implies the market was wrong before, raising the question of when it's ever right.
An investment made to offset potential losses in another investment, which is basically placing a bet that your other bet might be wrong. It's the financial equivalent of bringing both sunscreen and an umbrella because you have zero faith in the weather forecast.
A period when stock prices are rising and everyone suddenly becomes a financial genius, including your Uber driver. It's named after bulls because everyone charges in head-first without thinking, and the ending usually involves someone getting gored.