How to Save Money by Not Eating for Days

Last Updated on October 27, 2025 by Michael

Food is a subscription service you never signed up for.

Think about it. Every single day, your body sends you notifications like some needy app. “Time to eat!” Ding. “You’re hungry!” Buzz. “Feed me or I’ll make you dizzy!” Alert after alert after alert. And unlike Netflix, you can’t just ignore the payment reminders until they eventually give up.

Or can you?

The Financial Hemorrhage Nobody Talks About

Sitting down? Good. You’re gonna need to be.

That’s a used car. That’s a really nice vacation. That’s your entire personality apparently, because what else do you talk about besides food? “Oh, have you tried that new place?” “What should we eat?” “I’m starving.”

Boring. You’re all boring.

Your Journey Into Voluntary Famine

Nobody just stops eating. That’s like saying nobody just stops breathing – except one of those kills you in three minutes and the other takes weeks. Plenty of time to change your mind. Or lose it. Either way.

Days 1-3: This Is Fine

Monday morning arrives and you’re already accidentally fasting because who has time for breakfast? You’re not starving yourself, you’re “intermittent fasting.” Sounds so much better. Almost medical. Almost like you know what you’re doing.

Tuesday slides by. You Skip lunch because you’re “so busy.” Nobody questions busy. Busy is sacred in our culture. You could commit murder and say you were busy and Karen from HR would nod sympathetically.

Wednesday night, though. Wednesday night your stomach realizes something’s wrong. It starts making sounds. Not cute little growls – no, these are concerning. Like someone’s operating heavy machinery in your intestines. Your organs are having a meeting about you. The consensus isn’t good.

You lie in bed googling “how long can humans survive without food” and the answer is surprisingly long, which is either comforting or deeply concerning depending on your commitment level.

Days 4-7: Your Body Files a Complaint

Thursday morning everything smells like food. The guy next to you on the train is eating a breakfast sandwich and it smells like God’s own personal recipe. You can taste it through the air. Is that normal? Who cares, it’s happening.

Your brain, deprived of glucose, starts getting creative. Real creative. That leather couch? Looks like a giant fruit rollup. Your boss’s toupee? Definitely a cinnamon roll. These aren’t even good hallucinations. Your brain can’t even starve properly.

By Saturday you’ve achieved what scientists call “ketosis” and what you call “existing on another plane.” Colors are brighter. Sounds are louder. You can hear your neighbor thinking about ordering pizza. You consider knocking on their door. You don’t. But you consider it.

Sunday is for reflection. And by reflection, you mean staring at your bank balance while your stomach plays the song of its people (it’s mostly just screaming).

The Unexpected Perks of Nutritional Bankruptcy

Here’s what those food-eating sheep don’t understand: you’ve just eliminated humanity’s most exhausting daily question.

“What’s for dinner?” Nothing. Next question.

No more meal prep Sunday lies. No more Tupperware graveyards in your fridge growing new forms of life. No more pretending you understand the difference between sautéing and sweating vegetables (they’re both just heating things up, fight me).

You’ve reclaimed hours of your life. Hours! What are you doing with them? Mostly lying down because standing makes you dizzy, but still. Time is money and you’re rich in both now.

Your Meatsuit’s Rebellion

The Art of Acquiring Calories Without Currency

Operation Wedding Crasher

Here’s a fun fact: Nobody actually knows everyone at a wedding. That couple has 200 guests? They maybe know 40 of them by name. The rest are plus-ones, distant relatives, and people who just showed up. That’s where you come in.

Dress nice enough to look like you belong but not so nice that people remember you. You’re aiming for “cousin from out of state” energy. Hover near the cocktail hour spread like you’re waiting for someone. You’re always waiting for someone. Load up. Those little quiches? That’s breakfast for three days if you play it right.

Pro tip: Always have a fake name ready. You’re Alex from the groom’s CrossFit gym. You’re Jamie from the bride’s book club. You’re whoever needs to be there to justify destroying that shrimp tower.

The Grocery Store Safari Method

Costco on Saturday is Disneyland for the desperate.

You don’t need a membership to eat lunch. You need confidence and a complete lack of shame. Hit every sample station like you’re doing them a favor. “Oh, frozen pizza bagels? How innovative.” Take six. Circle back in twenty minutes wearing different accessories. You’re a new person now. The sample lady doesn’t care. She’s thinking about her own problems.

Whole Foods? Even better. They have actual quality samples. Cheese that costs more than your hourly wage. Crackers that someone described as “artisanal” without laughing. It’s all yours. Well, a cubic inch of it is yours. Per lap. Per disguise.

Tech Company Infiltration

Silicon Valley solved hunger years ago. Not for the world, obviously. Just for their employees. But you’re about to become their employee. Temporarily. Spiritually.

Walk into any tech campus holding a laptop and looking dead inside. Congratulations, you blend in perfectly. These places have kitchens that look like Willy Wonka designed them during a manic episode. Seventeen types of milk. Kombucha flavors that shouldn’t exist. Snacks organized by continent of origin.

Take everything. If someone asks, you’re from “the Seattle office” or “just transferred from Austin.” Tech workers don’t talk to each other anyway. They’re all too busy pretending to work while actually playing with AI chatbots.

Social Situations and Other Nightmares

People are going to notice your new lifestyle. Humans are unfortunately observant when it comes to other humans dying.

Mom: “You’ve lost weight.” You: “It’s called poverty chic.”

Coworker: “Want to grab lunch?” You: “Can’t. Evolved beyond the need for mastication.”

Date: “Should we get appetizers?” You: “Let’s just get you appetizers and I’ll live vicariously.”

The secret is to make your starvation sound like a choice. You’re not broke, you’re “exploring minimalism.” You’re not dying, you’re “optimizing.” You’re not hallucinating, you’re “experiencing enhanced creativity.”

When Your Organs Go On Strike

Eventually – and this might shock you – your body will demand nutrients. Rude, honestly. You had a deal. But fine.

The Nuclear Option: Rice

Twenty pounds of rice. Fifteen dollars. Thirty-one thousand calories. That’s math even your glucose-deprived brain can handle.

Cook it all Sunday (if you have the energy to stand that long). Portion it into containers like you’re rationing for the apocalypse. Which you are. A personal, financial apocalypse.

Is eating plain rice for every meal depressing? Yes. Is it more depressing than checking your bank balance? No.

Season with stolen condiment packets. Soy sauce from the Chinese place. Hot sauce from Chipotle. That handful of salt packets from McDonald’s you grabbed “just in case.” This is the case.

Weaponizing Human Empathy

Mothers cannot resist feeding people who look hungry. It’s biological. Archaeological. Written into their DNA like a cosmic imperative.

Find a mother. Any mother. Look slightly pathetic (easy now) and mention you “haven’t had a home-cooked meal in forever.” Watch the maternal override activate. Suddenly you’re drowning in casseroles and Tupperware containers labeled “EAT THIS!!!” with aggressive amounts of exclamation points.

Dating apps? Those aren’t for finding love. Love doesn’t pay for your chicken parmesan. Match with anyone who mentions “foodie” in their bio. They’re advertising. They want to feed someone while talking about their ex. You want to be fed while pretending to listen. It’s symbiosis.

Tales from the Homefront

“Been three weeks without groceries. Starting to understand why monks take vows of silence. It’s because talking requires energy and energy requires food and food requires money. Anyway, I can see through time now.” – Derek, 28, entrepreneur (hallucinating)

“My therapist says I have an ‘eating disorder’ but excuse me, I’m SAVING disorder. There’s a difference. One’s medical, the other’s financial.” – Sarah, 33, economist (dying)

“Discovered if you walk through a farmers market eating samples confidently enough, people assume you already bought something. It’s about the energy you project. The energy I project is ‘about to faint.'” – Anonymous, age unknown, probably deceased

Returning to the World of the Fed

So you’ve decided that having a functioning liver is more important than your savings goals. Quitter.

Your digestive system hasn’t just been on vacation – it’s filed for divorce, moved to another state, and started a new life. You can’t just show up with flowers (food) and expect forgiveness.

Start with liquids. Broths. Soups that are basically water cosplaying as food. Your stomach needs to remember its job description.

Then move to soft foods. Mashed everything. You’re basically a baby again, which is fitting since you’re about to cry like one when you see your first grocery bill.

Solid food comes last. Chew everything exactly 47 times. Your teeth have forgotten their purpose. Your jaw is confused. Your esophagus is skeptical. Everyone needs time to adjust to this new reality where you exchange money for nutrients again like some kind of sucker.

The Philosophical Bit Nobody Asked For

Let’s be honest about what this is: late-stage capitalism’s final boss battle. You versus your biological needs. Society versus sanity. Your bank account versus your pancreas.

And you know what? You could win. You could absolutely save ten thousand dollars by not eating. You could also save money by not having bones, but that’s next year’s article.

The real question isn’t whether you should do this. (You shouldn’t.)

The real question is why we live in a world where this article feels only slightly satirical. Where choosing between food and rent is a genuine decision people face. Where “just don’t eat” starts to sound logical after your third overdraft fee this month.

But hey, that’s heavy. Let’s get back to the jokes about your spleen shutting down.

Your body keeps score. Every skipped meal. Every ignored craving. Every time you walked past a sandwich shop and whispered “not today, Satan.” It’s all written down in your cells, and eventually, the bill comes due. With interest. Compound interest. The kind that makes your student loans look reasonable.

But ten thousand dollars is ten thousand dollars.

And your organs grow back, right?

(They don’t.)

This is satire. Please eat food. Food is not optional. It’s not a luxury. It’s not a “nice to have.” It’s a “need to not die” situation. If you’re genuinely struggling with food costs, please seek help from food banks, community organizations, or that friend who keeps asking if you’re okay. You’re not okay. Nobody who reads this entire article is okay. Get some help. Get some food. Get some therapy. Probably in that order.