Here's a fun detail about being the richest person on Earth: your mother still has to sleep in the garage when she visits. No guest suite. No fancy bedroom. Just a mattress on the floor, or maybe a couch if you're lucky.

Elon Musk closed out 2024 with a net worth hovering around $726 billion. That's real money. The kind of money where you could buy a small country or, theoretically, a house with enough bedrooms for your mom. But when Maye Musk, 77, visits her son's home near SpaceX's Starbase in Boca Chica, Texas, she adapts. Because that's the Musk family way.

In a 2023 post on X, Maye reflected on her visits: "Many memories of sleeping on mattresses or blankets on the floor, on couches, or a bed in the garage." Then she added context that makes most complaints look petty: "We adapt. It's still better than sleeping on the ground in the Kalahari Desert with lions or hyenas nearby, which I did as a child."

That wasn't sarcasm or a subtle dig. She meant it. Compared to camping with predators, the garage is five-star.

This isn't some occasional inconvenience either. In a 2022 interview with The Times of London, Maye explained the setup clearly: "I have to sleep in the garage. You can't have a fancy house near a rocket site." When asked if Elon cares about material comforts, her answer was direct: "No, not at all in that sense."

And she's not exaggerating about the house. Since 2021, Musk has lived primarily in a 375-square-foot prefabricated unit near the SpaceX launch site. It's reportedly worth about $50,000. Close to work. Functional. Zero frills.

This all goes back to 2020, when Musk publicly declared, "Will own no house," and announced he'd be selling "almost all physical possessions." He wasn't posturing. The mansions got sold. The footprint shrank. And when family shows up? They bring blankets.

In a 2025 post on X, Musk spelled out his relationship with wealth: "My Tesla and SpaceX shares, which are almost all my 'wealth,' only go up in value as a function of how much useful product those companies produce and service." His fortune is tied to rockets launching and cars shipping. Everything else is just numbers on a screen.

Still, the optics are wild. Most billionaires set their mothers up in sprawling estates with staff and heated pools. Musk's mom? She crashes in the garage with her own blanket.

But Maye doesn't seem bothered. For her, proximity to her son trumps thread count. She's been calling him "Genius Boy" since before anyone knew what Zip2 was, and she's supported every wild venture since. Comfort is optional. Being there is what matters.

This isn't a story about deprivation or weirdness for its own sake. It's about what you prioritize when you have access to everything and deliberately choose almost nothing. The richest man in the world isn't offering his mother luxury accommodations. He's offering her a front-row seat to the launchpad and a spot on the floor next to it.

And in the Musk household, that's exactly enough.