There still somehow exist many “men” that would like the ghost of Reagan to possess–even fuck–them (Jack Donaghy being the most overt example). When considering that we do not, unfortunately, live in the 1980s, and the stock market/Wall Street isn’t some enviable institution to be a part of signifying the promise of wealth and class ascension as it once used to, it really is quite an anomaly. And not the good kind. Like karaoke in Italy or whirling dervishes outside of Turkey.
Rather than being evocative of a “go-getter” or a hard-working “provider,” the “man” who regularly checks his stock app is not only a complete freak (and not even in a way that translates into decent sex antics) but also a cold, soulless being that will stare right through you like one of the graphs or charts indicating financial gain or lack thereof. You might initially get taken in by this type of “male” because you are transfixed by the notion of a person with a conventional job who does not spin you that yarn about relying on the gig economy as a millennial. But this is before you see him actually looking at the stock app. More than once a day. Not only is it a classic case of phubbing, but also a strong indication that if his attention is this focused solely on dollars now, it’s not going to change, and you’re probably not even going to reap the rewards of his fortune anyway when considering he will likely make you sign a prenup. Because yes, white “men” of this “caliber” do still get married, it’s part of the yuppie legacy instilled within them by their progenitors, Reagan, perhaps being one of them.
Of course, you could try to pry the phone from his clammy, dead hands to delete the app, but you might have better luck petitioning to get Reagan’s face on a piece of U.S. currency.