So, you’ve decided to apply for a bank loan. Congratulations! You’ve officially entered the world of endless paperwork, vague explanations, and polite but patronising smiles. And if you happen to be a woman? Well, buckle up because this ride has bonus features—like unsolicited financial advice, invisible barriers, and the delightful assumption that a man should probably handle this for you.
The Builder— the place where It All Begins. It all starts innocently enough. You want to build something—a house, a business, an empire. You talk to a builder. You ask about costs, timelines, and materials. And then, like clockwork, the moment arrives:
“Would you like to bring someone else along for the financial discussions?”
Not your husband specifically, no—nobody dares to be that obvious. But the preference is clear. A man would be better. A father, a brother, even a distant male cousin might do. Because why would a woman—two women, in fact—want to take on a loan by themselves?
Next is the bank manager to whom Marriage is The Ultimate Collateral. You step into the bank with documents, plans, and an optimistic heart. You’re prepared. You know what you want. You’ve read up on interest rates and repayment plans. But instead of a straightforward discussion, you get a slow, deliberate explanation of “how loans work” (as if this is your first brush with adulthood), a subtle but persistent sense of discomfort at your lack of male companionship, and then—the real kicker—the sudden discovery that two sisters cannot take a loan together.
Yes, you read that right. Two financially independent sisters, one a CEO of an IT company, the other a Director and Board Member, cannot jointly apply for a loan because that’s not how the system works.
A father and son? No problem.
A husband and wife? Of course.
A brother and sister? If the sister is financially dependent on the brother, sure.
But two women, standing shoulder to shoulder, as equals? That is a financial anomaly. So you sit there, trying to explain to the bank that you both have incomes, understand risk, and intend to repay the loan—like any other loan applicant. And then comes the next delightful question:
“But, ma’am, what if your husbands refuse to pay in the event of an eventuality?”
What if who refuses to pay?
Ah. Right. The assumption is baked in. If two women take a loan, surely their husbands (real, hypothetical, or entirely imaginary) must be considered part of the equation.
“We are not married.”
Silence. A polite but strained smile.
“Yes, ma’am. That is also the problem.”
At this point, you must ask what exactly the problem is.
Is it a gender thing? Probably. Because a man, whether single, married, or in a lifelong relationship with his own reflection, would never be asked this. Is it a societal expectation thing? Definitely. Because, as women, we are still expected to belong to someone—to have a husband, a legal guardian, or, at the very least, an emergency male representative on standby. Or is the bank simply scared of two independent women making financial decisions without an apparent male heir to inherit their assets and liabilities? Maybe that’s the real fear. Who will carry the financial lineage? Who will inherit the debt should one of us be struck by lightning or, more realistically, exhaustion from dealing with this nonsense? What if, as sisters, we forget who owns what? What if—brace yourself—we refuse to fight over it?
It’s terrifying. The very idea that two women could apply for a loan together without needing a man to bless the endeavour. The banking system simply wasn’t designed for this level of sisterhood.
And so, we find ourselves in a surreal conversation where the lack of a husband isn’t just a minor inconvenience—it’s a full-blown financial crisis. Because, in the eyes of the bank, to be married is to be sorted. A husband is financial security. A husband is risk mitigation. A husband is the answer to every uncomfortable question.
Dealing with our Bank Relationship Manager was a lesson in endurance. His job is to support you. And yet, every conversation feels like a test. He calls you ma’am a little too often, insists on explaining things you already understand, seems deeply puzzled by your financial independence, and assumes the final decision-maker is not you.
But at least you now understand the bank’s philosophy: Marriage = Problem Solved
You: I am financially stable.
Bank: Okay, but are you married?
You: I have a steady income.
Bank: That’s great, but do you have a husband?
You: I can pay back the loan.
Bank: Yes, but what if you suddenly—hypothetically—get married?
At this point, you wonder if they’re about to suggest finding a husband just to make the paperwork easier. Maybe that’s the ultimate financial hack—marry for a smoother banking experience.
And then, just when you think you’ve survived it all, a well-meaning friend, your boss, or that ever-helpful male colleague casually reminds you about that financial literacy program—specially designed for women, of course—the one you somehow missed. Despite running businesses, managing budgets, and navigating the labyrinth of loan applications, you need a seminar on “How to Handle Money Like a Responsible Adult (for Women Only).”
Have you ever met a man who mismanages his finances? Of course, you have. We all have. But somehow, nobody suggests that he go for training. No one pulls him aside to gently recommend a workshop on “How Not to Buy Useless Gadgets” or “A Beginner’s Guide to Budgeting Beyond Beer Money.” But for women? Oh, there’s a program for everything.
How to manage your finances. How to understand investments. How to budget better. It’s as if being a woman automatically means you need extra coaching, like a remedial class for the financially clueless. Meanwhile, in the same breath, banks will also assume that you must be the equivalent of a CFO because you’re independent, successful, and applying for a loan without a husband.
So which is it? Do I need remedial training, or am I supposed to know everything already? Because if all women need financial training, shouldn’t all men be CFOs? Seriously?
And amid all this, the constant, nagging self-doubt creeps in like an uninvited guest at a party. Should I have outsourced this? Am I capable? Is there some secret financial language that only men are born understanding? The mental gymnastics required to silence these thoughts is almost as exhausting as explaining, for the tenth time, that no, we do not have husbands co-signing our financial decisions. And so, here we are: two sisters, leaning on each other, determined to push through, armed with sheer willpower, sarcasm, and an unhealthy amount of wine.
Here’s the real question: Are we being too sensitive? Are we bad at understanding financial jargon? Or was the system never designed to see two women as equals to a man? Because let’s be honest—no one asks a man if his wife will cover his debts. No one assumes he needs permission to borrow money. No one struggles to process his loan because they can’t find the right category for “two independent men applying together.”
So maybe the problem isn’t that we don’t understand finances. Perhaps financial institutions don’t know how to process the fact that we do. And until that changes, every woman applying for a loan will need two things: a sharp mind and an even sharper sense of humour. Because if we don’t laugh, we might just scream.
