Spend Like a Roman, Save Like a Monk
Minimalism, masculinity, and man-caves on a budget
Let’s talk money, gentlemen. Specifically: where the hell did it all go?
One minute, your checking account is looking semi-respectable. The next, you’re knee-deep in Amazon boxes, holding a receipt for $278.36 worth of beef jerky, tactical flashlights, and a Habanero pepper spray you definitely don’t need and may not legally own in California (like almost everything I want to order these days).
We’ve all been there. You’re just browsing. Innocently. Casually. And then suddenly—BAM—you’re ordering a survival kit with 9 types of magnesium flint and a fishing hook that could land a sea monster, even though the most dangerous terrain you’ve faced lately is the line at Costco.
This is what the Stoics warned us about. Not exactly, because Marcus Aurelius never had to say, “Alexa, cancel my 4th drone order.” But the temptations of excess? Yeah, they knew about that. That’s why the virtue of temperance—self-restraint in the face of shiny nonsense—was carved into the marble of Stoic wisdom.
And let’s be honest: if Marcus Aurelius had a Prime membership, he’d have canceled it faster than you can say “overnight didgeridoo.”

Step One: You Don’t Need More Stuff. You Need More Self-Control.
Modern life is an endless buffet of things you never knew you needed. Automatic pancake flippers. Bluetooth-enabled egg cartons. Shower beer holsters. (Which, okay, might be genius. But still.)
This is where the illusion gets us. That rush of buying feels like progress. Like victory. Like masculinity. But what it actually feels like—roughly 72 hours later—is buyer’s remorse, a cluttered garage, and a growing sense that you’re being silently judged by your dog (with reason).
Temperance is the art of saying no. Of pausing long enough to ask, “Is this product going to improve my life, or just become a sad artifact my kids will sell at a yard sale labeled ‘Dad’s Weird Phase’?”
Step Two: Live Like a Warrior Monk (But With Plumbing)
There’s a reason monks don’t have credit card debt. It’s because they don’t own 14 pairs of sneakers they swear they’ll clean one day.
The Stoics believed in minimalism—not in the aesthetic Instagram way with white walls and $900 throw pillows—but in the “I don’t need much to be whole” kind of way.
You don’t need to move into a yurt or make soap out of your own sweat. Just start cutting back on the non-essentials. Do you need 17 coffee mugs? Are you ever going to use the VR headset you bought during your “techno-future fitness” experiment? Is the vintage samurai sword collection adding value or just silently threatening guests?
Start with a purge. Donate what you don’t use – and get the tax deduction. Trash what you don’t recognize. And if you feel a little lost without your stuff, congratulations—you’re discovering that you were never your stuff to begin with.
Step Three: Budget Like a Barbarian
Let’s be real. Budgeting is not sexy. No man ever leaned against a bar and said, “Hey baby, want to see my Excel sheet?”
But budgeting is freedom. It’s the difference between you owning your money and your money running off into space with Jeff Bezos.
The key is to pay yourself first. Before you give your dollars to Target, Amazon, or that gas station with surprisingly chic sunglasses, give some to Future You. Future You wants to retire someday. Or at least buy good whiskey without having to check the bank app like it’s a horror movie.
Also: cancel subscriptions. If you don’t remember what it’s for, and it ends in “-box,” you probably don’t need it.
Step Four: Shop Like a Stoic Gladiator
Shopping used to be simple. You saw a thing. You needed the thing. You bought the thing. Done.
Now shopping is like psychological warfare. Algorithms track your every move. You Google “socks” and suddenly Instagram is flooding your feed with artisanal alpaca foot cocoons woven by Himalayan monks with Wi-Fi.
To counter this, embrace the Stoic strategy of delay. Don’t impulse buy. Let it sit in your cart for 48 hours. If after two days you still want the multi-tool belt buckle with built-in drone charger, maybe it’s meant to be.
But odds are, you’ll forget it existed and save yourself $49.95 and a conversation with your spouse that begins with, “Okay, but hear me out…”
Step Five: Redefine Rich
Being rich isn’t having 12 watches. It’s having one you love and knowing you’re not paying interest on it.
Being rich isn’t driving a car that can accelerate to Mach 3. It’s not sweating every time you fill the tank.
And being rich isn’t wearing name-brand everything—it’s waking up in a home that’s not trying to financially strangle you with a throw pillow labeled “Live, Laugh, Love.”
Stoic richness is freedom. Financial, emotional, and spiritual freedom. It’s being the master of your wants, not their hostage.
Closing Thoughts: You Are Not Your Amazon History
Look, it’s okay. We’ve all panic-bought things. We’ve all confused “I want this” with “I need this” with “I was slightly sad and now I own 900 glow-in-the-dark golf tees.”
But we can change. Slowly. On a budget. With dignity.
Minimalism isn’t about living without. It’s about living with just enough to breathe easy, think clearly, and maybe vacuum the floor without an emotional breakdown.
So pause before you click. Think before you swipe. Be less like Jeff. Be more like Marcus.
Marcus Aurelius never paid $14.99 for expedited shipping. Be more like Marcus.
And If You’re Still Reading, Hombre Man’s Got Your Back
At Hombre Man, we know the struggle. We’re men of principle, purpose… and occasionally, poor financial judgment involving novelty hot sauces.
That’s why we exist—not to sell you junk, but to remind you who you are: a man of depth, discipline, and maybe just a little too much gear.
Our mission is to help men live fuller, wiser, simpler lives. We mix Stoic philosophy with rugged humor, caffeinated purpose, and the occasional reminder that buying five cast-iron skillets does not make you an off-grid survivalist. It makes you a guy with heavy cabinets and commitment issues.
So breathe deep. Spend less. Live more.
Hombre Man: Philosophy. Coffee. And freedom from overnight shipping.