Numbers dressed up in fancy suits pretending to be words.
To convert assets or opportunities into liquid capital or profit, or to exploit a favorable situation before it vanishes—the art of turning 'what you have' into 'what you can actually use'.
The costs of running your business that aren't directly tied to production—salaries, rent, and executive compensation.
International Financial Reporting Standards—GAAP's global cousin that's supposed to harmonize accounting worldwide, with mixed success.
The act of maintaining, preserving, or upholding something without letting it slip through your fingers—whether it's a promise, a score, or workplace morale. It's active guardianship disguised as routine.
The bookkeeper's favorite white lie—spreading a gigantic debt or capital expense across multiple years so nobody has to stare directly at the fiscal crater you just created. Whether you're slowly drowning in a mortgage or pretending that expensive software will somehow stay useful until you've paid it off, amortisation is the art of making financial pain installment-friendly.
A corporate sequel nobody asked for: when a publicly traded company issues fresh stock to existing shareholders or the public. It's like a director's cut, but for your portfolio, and it might dilute your investment.
To decline in value over time, or to belittle something—the financial equivalent of watching your investment slowly deflate like a sad balloon.
Converting a company's assets into actual cash because it turns out the business model was primarily composed of wishful thinking and spreadsheet optimism. The corporate fire sale that happens after the fire already burned everything down.
What happens when your currency suddenly becomes the financial equivalent of a participation trophy—intentionally tanking its worth relative to other money or precious metals to try and make your exports look fancy. Spoiler: everyone notices.
Pieces of corporate ownership that you can buy and sell obsessively while checking your phone every five minutes. Or, a supply of raw materials waiting to become something useful.
Generally Accepted Accounting Principles—the rulebook for how to count money in the United States, though it somehow still permits creative interpretation.
Profit divided by investment—showing how much money you made relative to what you put in, assuming you're measuring profit honestly.
Using clever accounting structures to fund operations while keeping the debt off the balance sheet. It's how companies hide how leveraged they actually are until the structure inevitably collapses.
The reduction in value of an asset over time due to wear, obsolescence, or market conditions—accountants' favorite way of reminding you your stuff isn't worth what you paid for it.
Money you paid in advance for something you haven't used yet—like paying for next year's insurance today.
Cash in transit between accounts or between a company and its bank, where it technically belongs to neither for a brief period. The financial phenomenon accountants use to explain why the bank and the company's records disagree.
To send money (usually begrudgingly) to pay a debt or obligation. The financial equivalent of admitting defeat while simultaneously proving you're solvent.
Structuring transactions so debt or liabilities don't appear on your balance sheet—the accounting equivalent of hiding stuff in a closet.
The glorious moment when investors collectively agreed your idea was worth actual money, or at least worth betting against their own judgment. The point where 'someday maybe' becomes 'oh god we actually have to build this.'
In economics, the theoretical measure of how much satisfaction or pleasure you get from consuming something—because apparently human happiness is quantifiable and totally rational. Economists invented "marginal utility" to explain why that fifth pizza slice disappoints compared to the first, and why billionaires mysteriously remain unsatisfied after their 847th purchase. It's the jargon that explains wealth without solving unhappiness.
A measure of how much debt a company uses relative to its equity, showing financial risk. High leverage means lots of debt; low leverage means the company paid with its own money and didn't maximize returns.
A financial derivative that lets pessimists get paid for being right—the option to sell something at a guaranteed price whether the market likes it or not. The insurance policy for people who saw the crash coming. Example: She bought puts on the stock to hedge her investment portfolio.
The brave (or foolhardy) organization that creates and releases securities into the market, essentially asking strangers to trust their financial management for potential profits.
A company kept alive by continuous financing despite being unprofitable and unlikely to ever make money. Financial walking dead.