A few days ago, The Washington Post published a big, fat map of credit scores. The team researching the article call themselves “The Department of Data.”
The maps was based on a recent economics paper they came across… maybe while they were looking for something entirely different?
That’s how I came across their map. Accidentally. That kind of thing happens to me quite often, nowadays. My world has become a tangled pathway through an informational jungle, with signposts pointing in all directions.
I was sucked in by the mention of credit scores. Not that I have one, but a lot of my friends do.
From the article that accompanied the big, fat map:
And while the map suggests any number of tantalizing questions, we are most intrigued by that big band of credit-score calamity that stretches across the American South.
Almost every corner of America’s most populous region — every race, every income bracket — appears to have low credit scores. But why?
I didn’t know that The South was America’s most populous region, but sure enough, if you include Texas (and why would we not include Texas?) The South accounts for about 125 million people. Over here in the American West — even with California included — we can boast only about 78 million people. Good enough for second place, I guess. But The South, as defined by The Washington Post, pretty much kicks our butt.
The data team at The Washington Post defined the “real honest-to-goodness American South” by choosing the states where at least 0.5% of the Airbnb listings mention “hallmarks of Southern culture” such as “Southern hospitality” or “Southern cooking” or Southern charm”. Can’t get more definitive than that.
I’m not sure how The Washington Post defined the boundaries for The American West. Maybe the number of Airbnb listings that mention trees, or vast expanses of arid desert?
While it’s true that The South has hospitality, cooking, and charm, it’s harder to explain why Colorado should get lumped in with a state like Nevada. Do we have anything in common with Nevada? I can’t think of anything.
The big, fat map that caught my eye, however, was not the one above, but the one below. The credit score map:
Dark blue means “most people have terrible credit scores”. Pale blue or pale yellow are somewhere in the middle. Dark gold means “pretty darn good credit scores, folks! Good work!”
The South didn’t fair too well, in terms of credit scores. Mississippi and West Texas particularly. Ouch.
On the other hand, Minnesota, Iowa and Wisconsin have obviously been consistently making their credit card payments on time.
Most of Colorado seems to be “middle of the road”. Nothing to get excited about, either way.
But Archuleta County is dark gold.
“750.9 – 774.3”
Yes!
Makes me proud to live in Archuleta County. Even though I, myself, don’t have a credit score (as I mentioned)…
…but clearly, I am surrounded by people who, on average, know how to manage their finances.
Unless… maybe, this is an indication that you simply can’t survive in Archuleta County unless you have good credit? (With certain exceptions, like humor columnists.)
The only distressing thing about all this data — for me personally — is that I can’t remember what I was actually searching for, when I accidentally stumbled onto this interesting Washington Post article.
It’ll probably come to me, just as I’m drifting off to sleep.
A little note from the data team at The Washington Post:
The Department of Data wants your data questions! Are you curious about why companies are so likely to have exactly 500 employees? Which state is most energy-efficient? Why German ancestry tends to correlate with good credit? The age at which Americans are most likely to receive an inheritance? Just ask!
If your question inspires a column, we’ll send an official Department of Data button and ID card.
Underrated writer Louis Cannon grew up in the vast American West, although his ex-wife, given the slightest opportunity, will deny that he ever grew up at all.