HOW I TRIED TO IMPROVE MY CREDIT SCORE AND ACCIDENTALLY BUILT A FAN CLUB FOR EXPERIAN
HOW I TRIED TO IMPROVE MY CREDIT SCORE AND ACCIDENTALLY BUILT A FAN CLUB FOR EXPERIAN
I woke up one morning with the confidence of a man who watched three motivational reels back-to-back on Instagram. I told myself, “Today, I will fix my credit score.” I didn’t know how, but I knew people online keep saying things like “financial freedom,” “high-income habits,” and “passive income streams” while doing absolutely nothing except drinking iced coffee. So I believed I could do it too.
I started by checking my credit score online, but the number I saw looked like the shoe size of a toddler. I blinked twice. It didn’t change. I refreshed the page. The number refused to grow. I even upgraded my Wi-Fi thinking maybe the signal was too poor to load a higher score. Still the same number. At this point, I started suspecting my credit score was on strike.
. I called Experian customer support. The lady on the phone said, “Sir, on a scale of excellent to very poor, your score is… very creative.”
Creative? Since when is being broke an art form? I didn’t know financial instability had become a personality trait.
I asked her how to raise it. She said, “Sir, your best option is to practice responsible spending.” That was when I knew she didn’t want to help me. Responsible spending? Ma’am, I am a human being. I have cravings. I see things. Sometimes Amazon says “Only 2 left,” and my brain automatically assumes both are meant for me.
She said I needed to pay my bills on time. I said, “I pay everything on time. I pay Netflix before rent.” She said that is exactly the problem.
I decided to take control of my financial future. I read articles about “high-yield savings accounts,” “compound interest,” “cashback credit cards,” and “debt consolidation.” By the end of the research, I didn’t fix anything, but I successfully added 10 new words to my vocabulary and 20 new anxieties to my life.
I tried budgeting using one of those apps that categorize your spending. After syncing my accounts, the app showed a pie chart that looked like a pizza slice—except the whole pizza was labeled “Impulse Purchases.” Even the app judged me.
I attempted to cut down on unnecessary spending. Then my favorite sneakers went on sale. My brain said no. My heart said no. My financial goal said no. But my index finger said add to cart.
I prayed. I fasted. I even held a family meeting with myself. Still, the spending spirit inside me refused deliverance.
At this point, I made a strategic financial decision: I would call my bank and pretend to be financially responsible. When the banker asked how he could help, I said, “I want to make smarter long-term financial decisions.” He said, “Is this the same person who bought three Bluetooth speakers at midnight?” I said, “That wasn’t me. That was my emotional support wallet.”
He said I needed to build credit history. I said, “Sir, I am tired of building. I am tired of constructing. I want my score to rise by itself like the U.S. national debt.” He didn’t laugh. I realized banks don’t have a sense of humor.
I tried another method—financial affirmations. I stood in front of the mirror and said, “Money flows to me effortlessly.” Nothing happened. I checked my bank balance. It still looked like the account of someone who gets excited when he finds $5 on the floor. I increased the volume of my affirmations. Still nothing. At this point, I realized the problem wasn’t the affirmations; it was my bank account refusing to participate in the manifestation.
My friends told me to start an online business to increase cash flow. I said, “Like what?” They said, “Dropshipping. Affiliate marketing. Content creation. Amazon KDP.” I tried everything. My dropshipping store didn’t ship anything. My affiliate links were ignored like Terms and Conditions. My content creation career lasted three days before I realized consistency is a full-time job. And Amazon KDP? The only thing I published was stress.
I even started listening to finance podcasts. But everyone on those podcasts sounds like they were born with a 780 credit score and a trust fund. Meanwhile, I’m here with a credit score that looks like the daily temperature in winter.
I tried watching videos on “How to pay off debt fast.” All I learned was that the fastest way to become debt-free is to stop having debt. Inspirational, but useless.
One YouTuber said I needed a financial mentor. So I found one. I told him my goal was to achieve financial stability and build generational wealth. He asked, “How much have you saved so far?” I said, “Enough to buy two plates of food.” He paused. Then he said, “I don’t think I can mentor you.”
With no mentor, no plan, and a credit score that looked like it had been through a civil war, I decided to reverse psychology my finances. If I can’t fix it, I will hype it. I will be proud of it. I will give it positive energy.
So I posted on social media: “My credit score may be low, but at least it’s consistent.” People laughed. People shared. Suddenly, I went viral. People commented things like “Same bro,” “We are in this together,” and “Credit score solidarity.” Someone even messaged me privately asking if I could mentor them. Me? A mentor? My credit score is still shaking like Wi-Fi during rainfall.
Next thing I know, a group of people created a fan page: “Low Credit Score Survivors Club.” They put my picture on it like I was some sort of motivational speaker. Someone designed a logo. Someone else created merch. Somebody asked if I could speak at a virtual event. I told them I charge $2,000 per speech. They said OK. At that point, I realized I had accidentally built a financial fan base.
The funniest part? Experian saw the fan page and followed me. Experian. Followed me. I screamed. Why would a credit bureau follow me unless they’re monitoring me? Do they think I’m about to commit credit score fraud? I don’t even know how to commit fraud. I can’t even commit to saving money.
The fan page kept growing. TikTok creators started stitching my posts. People were using my quotes as wallpapers. Someone even printed my tweet on a birthday cake. A whole cake. My parents heard about it and called me asking, “Did you finally become rich?” I said, “Emotionally, yes. Financially… we’re getting there.”
Before I knew it, brands reached out. A budgeting app wanted to pay me for a sponsored post. I said, “But my budgeting skills are questionable.” They said, “Exactly. You’re relatable.” I took the deal immediately. That was the most financially responsible decision I had made all year.
Now, I’m earning from affiliate marketing, brand collaborations, ad revenue, and my newfound title as America’s “Low Credit Icon.” Meanwhile my credit score? It’s still fighting for its life. But at least now, the score might not be high, but the income is. And the funniest part? I’m making money teaching people how not to end up like me—while still being exactly like me.
That’s the power of the internet. One minute you’re trying to fix your credit score. The next minute, you're creating a fan club for Experian, generating passive income, attracting high-quality traffic, and boosting your online earnings while still forgetting to turn off auto-renew on five different subscriptions.
At the end of the day, I realized something important:
You don’t need a perfect credit score to live a financially stable life.
You just need Wi-Fi, a little delusion, and a talent for turning your financial problems into comedy content with high-paying AdSense keywords.
So yes, my credit score is still low. But my bank account is laughing. And for now, that’s the richest feeling ever.
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