The Elevator: A Modest Proposal for the Chronically Unprepared

Not that I took my own advice. A retirement Walmart vest does not beckon for now.

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As I inch toward retirement with the posture of a man pretending not to check his bank app, the concept of saving has acquired an urgency that’s difficult to ignore. The idea gently taps you on the shoulder in your twenties, and by your fifties, it’s grabbing your face with both hands and demanding eye contact.

It reminds me of being 17. My twin and I had hosted one of those teenage soirées—loud music, questionable friends, the faint smell of vodka that clung to upholstery like regret. The next morning, I would lurch about the house with a garbage bag, gathering up the evidence like a hungover forensic technician. It wasn’t a Jordan Peterson “make your bed” character-building exercise. It was a necessity: clean or be killed.

This, I suppose, is what late-stage financial planning feels like.

I did a poor job of saving, which is to say: I didn’t. Or not until about 15 years ago. And even now, this is not one of those insufferable “be like me” tales. I don’t have many of those, and the ones I do have usually end with someone needing stitches.

Career-wise, I flailed. Ran away at 19, pursued education with no regard for utility, tried not to get fired, dabbled in cults, relocated obsessively, and leapt at opportunities like a golden retriever at a frisbee—rarely catching them, and rarely considering the long-term consequences.

This is referred to as a “wonky career.” I didn’t invent the phrase—I Googled it. But it’s apt. It conjures the memory of me at 22, drunk on bad decisions and Everclear (a substance now banned, perhaps due to its ability to dissolve both stomach lining and good judgment). After a night of pitchers and double shots, I woke up fully clothed on my couch, having vomited on my statistics textbook—perhaps my subconscious objecting to the notion of predictability.

The textbook, incidentally, did not survive—no coherent career plan.

My professional life has been less of a ladder and more of a hamster wheel powered by stubbornness and caffeine. And retirement planning? Let’s just say the word “plan” is generous.

Back in the day, we moved out at 19, worked, studied, and made it work. Saving wasn’t discussed. Retirement was a distant hallucination. The very idea of living at home into your 30s would’ve been greeted with scorn—or psychiatric concern. Of course, houses then were $300,000 and didn’t require a blood pact and four co-signers.

So now, belatedly, I’ve cobbled together a sort of stability. But there’s a better way. Which brings me to The Elevator—a modest savings plan that, in my view, deserves consideration by someone with more influence and a less checkered history of vomiting on textbooks.

The Elevator is a forced savings vehicle. Not sexy. Not volatile. Not crypto. Think of it as the financial equivalent of slow-cooking a frog—except the frog retires with a million dollars.

The principle is simple: start small, increase slowly, and never stop. You get used to not having the money. The contributions increase by $15 per year. It could be front-loaded to match the unearned luxury of living rent-free with your parents and scaled back later, so long as the conveyor belt keeps running.

I pitched this to Wealthsimple. No response yet. Probably still recovering from the suggestion that withdrawal from the plan be made deliberately Kafkaesque, requiring notarised forms, paper mail, and perhaps a séance. The point is not to make withdrawal impossible, merely unthinkably annoying.

I’m not trying to start this plan myself. I’m far too disorganised to run a bake sale. What interests me is the psychology: how do you convince people in their twenties, most of whom are still choosing between oat milk and rent, that sacrificing now will pay off later?

Did I follow this advice myself? Of course not. I began saving in my late 30s, cleared out my RSP twice, and navigated personal finance like a blindfolded man in a maze built by Kafka and subsidised by Visa. However, I’ve managed to drag myself out of solvency. With luck, I’ll avoid ending my days handing out cart wipes at Walmart.

So here’s the pitch: share it, steal it, mock it. Tell me what’s idiotic, implausible, or requires three MBAs and a minor in behavioural economics. But I think it’s a good idea—at least good enough to be run by someone smarter, better dressed, and preferably not me.

And yes, getting young people to find this “cool” will be like making dental floss go viral. But day trading and crypto are popular, and they’re financial slot machines for the statistically impaired. The Elevator is the opposite. It’s boring. Safe. Grows quietly in the background while you forget about it.

In other words, it’s exactly what most people need—and will only want when it’s too late.

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Appendix: The Elevator (for People Who Need a Spreadsheet)

• Target audience: Canadian university and college graduates.

• Vehicle: TFSA and RRSP-based long-term savings.

• Contribution starts at $1,000 upfront, plus $150 per month.

• Increase contributions by $15 per month, annually.

• When earning over $50,000, pause the TFSA; begin the RRSP at the same rate.

• Investment strategy: 100% equity (ETFs) until age 62, then shift to a 60/40 allocation.

• Admin fee: 0.4% via a robo-platform, such as Wealthsimple.

• At 65: ~$1 million in today’s dollars, ~22% in tax-free TFSA.

Withdrawal discouraged by Kafka-grade inconvenience. Incentivised signup via $100 TFSA deposit or gift card. Early withdrawal = repayment incentive. Optional parental/grandparental co-contributions allowed, up to $100/month.

Simple. Sensible. Dull as drywall. And precisely what most people need.

But, of course, only if they start early.

Which I didn’t.

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