I am Zillennial, meaning I sit squarely in between the Millennial and Gen Z generations — and it also means I get to self-identify only with the best parts of both generations. Recently, Iʼve decided to connect more with the youth, and have undergone a very rigorous anthropological study to better understand the financial behavior of Gen Z and the structural, social, and psychological forces that drive it.
My field research included interrogating my younger friends, scrolling TikTok, going on a handful of dates with a 24-year-old bartender, and Googling “What does Unc mean?” (which, ironically, is the most unc-like thing you could do).
I kid a bit, but as someone who writes extensively about how our economy and culture shape how we think about (and handle) money, the topic of Gen Z comes up again.
Gen Z is supposed to be the most connected, educated, and “empowered” generation in history. They have access to more information, more tools, more opportunities than any generation before them.And yet theyʼre detaching — from work, from traditional career paths, from the markers of adulthood that previous generations took for granted. Theyʼre living a home longer, delaying marriage and homeownership, and increasingly opting out of the systems that were supposed to carry them into stable middle-class lives.
The question is: Is this rational adaptation to our current or self-destructive nihilism?
Spoiler: Itʼs both — let me explain why.
This issue is about how an entire generation looked at the American Dream, ran the numbers, and decided it was a scam — and what happens when economic reality, cultural forces, and technology collide to reshape how young people think about money, work, and success.
The economic reality — how Gen Z got locked out
Each generation tends to form its core money beliefs during young adulthood — the period when people first encounter work, income, debt, and financial independence. The economic climate Gen Z is entering is objectively different, and harder, than what previous generations faced.
The pathway that worked for Boomers and many others — college, entry-level job, climb the ladder, buy a house — has fundamentally broken down. Here’s how:
The entry-level job crisis
There are fewer entry-level job postings, and those that exist often require 3-5 years of experience. New college graduates have an unemployment rate of 9.3%. The unemployment rate for young workers aged 22-27 is 7.4% — almost double the overall rate.
AI is at least partly (or maybe mostly) to blame — many tasks routinely given to entry-level workers are now being outsourced to computers. AI has also made the job application process miserable — applicants us AI to write and submit hundreds of job applications, which are read by another AI model, and often rejected.
If you do find a job, you may feel more unmotivated and stuck. You may be anxious about looming layoffs, especially when you see headlines that say AI could replace half of all white-collar jobs.
All of this explains why 46% of Gen Z participates in the gig economy, which often comes with no benefits, no predictability, and no long-term security.
The cost of living squeeze
Everyone is affected by rising inflation and increasing unaffordability, but if your income is lower, you often feel it more.
Over 51% of Gen Z’s monthly budget goes to housing alone. That’s before food, transportation, or student loans. Wages haven’t kept up with costs. Almost 40% of Gen Z lives paycheck to paycheck.
The result? One in three Gen Z adults (18-25) were living with their parents — citing that they don’t make enough money to live on their own.
While Gen Z overall carries less student loan debt than Millennials, those with loans are getting crushed. Gen Z borrowers face an average monthly payment of $526 — nearly double the overall borrower average of $284. Only 22% feel confident they can fully repay their loans.
Gen Z also has fewer pathways to building credit than other generations — and many are forced to rely on debt cards or buy now, pay later loans (which come with exorbitant interest rates). The average Gen Z FICO is 676 — well below the national average of 715. The lower your score, the harder it is to get access to affordable loans.
All in all economic instability is the top stressor for Gen Z — 52% cite it as the root cause of financial anxiety.
I dreamed a dream …
The traditional path to financial stability has become exponentially more expensive and uncertain, and Gen Z is languishing.
In 1985, the median home price was around 3.6X the median income. Today, it’s 5.3X the median income. A web of factors, including low inventory, increasing mortgage rates, under-building, restrictive zoning, and stagnant wages have created the housing market we’re currently in. One that many young people cannot buy into.
Or take another big financial goal — retirement. The same issues as housing affordability (insufficient income, rising costs) apply. But also, most defined-benefit pensions have been replaced by 401(k)s and IRAs, which shift all the investing burden and risk on the individual. It’s also generally unclear if Social Security will even be around when Gen Z retires (which they’re currently paying into right now).
Some of this is by design (though maybe not intentionally)
Some of these structural forces are features of how the system is built.
Tax policies favor asset owners. Wealth-building via stocks and property is rewarded with capital gains treatment, while renters and gig workers face higher effective tax rates on every dollar they earn. If you don’t already own assets, the tax code makes it harder to start.
Safety nets have eroded. Weak unemployment insurance, skyrocketing healthcare costs, and lack of paid leave increase economic vulnerability. One medical emergency or job loss can wipe out months of savings. For Gen Z entering the workforce without generational wealth, there’s no cushion.
This could explain why nearly half of Gen Z (48%) don’t feel financially secure, and almost a third (32%) feel behind where their parents were at the same age.
The added layer: culture, technology, and the attention economy
The economic obstacles alone don’t fully explain Gen Z’s relationship with money and work. You also have to understand how they consume information, form identities, and make decisions — which happens primarily through social media and a digital ecosystem designed to extract both attention and money.
Social media as the financial educator (for better or for worse)
Gen Z is the first generation to come of age entirely within the social media ecosystem, which has altered how they think about money, success, and what’s possible.
About 22% of Gen Z rely on TikTok for financial advice. Another 37% cite social media influencers as a major factor in their decision to start investing.
I certainly don’t think that all financial information on social media is bad or wrong (that would be quite hypocritical!) I think social media has democratized the information ecosystem — but has also made it easier to spread misinformation:
-The medium itself rewards simplicity — “Buy this stock” — when real advice depends on income, goals, taxes, risk tolerance, and life stage. There’s less room for disclaimers or complexity in a 30-second clip.
-The platforms themselves also amplify what’s engaging, not what’s accurate. Advice that’s extreme or emotionally charged often spreads faster than more measured guidance.
-Many creators aren’t licensed professionals, many monetize their audiences through affiliate links, sponsorships, or courses — blurring the line between education and marketing.
Social media made financial literacy more accessible but also more performative. Social media also helps shape Gen Z’s financial behavior through identity and group belonging.
One academic study found that Gen Z often doesn’t process information neutrally (“Does this make sense for me financially?”). Instead, they process it like identity content (“Does this fit the kind of person I want to be?”).
The subscription-based economy and algorithmic spending
We’re living in a subscription-based economy. Everything from music to software to meal kits operates on recurring charges that seem small individually but add up to hundreds of dollars monthly. For Gen Z, this is normal.
Many of the nascent fintech services designed to make your financial life more accessible are unnecessary at best and predatory at worst. Buy Now, Pay Later (BNPL) services and microloan platforms have essentially normalized short-term borrowing and debt cycles, making it frictionless to split larger purchases into four payments.
For young people with limited credit history or cash flow, BNPL is aggressively marketed as a viable option (Gen Z now uses BNPL more than credit cards). But it trains users to think in terms of monthly payments rather than total cost, and makes it much easier to fall into debt.
Add to this algorithmic influence: personalized marketing, social shopping features, and influencer-driven commerce all push constant spending. Your Instagram feed knows exactly what you want before you do. TikTok Shop makes impulse buying as easy as double-tapping. The infrastructure is designed to extract money with as little friction as possible.
Expectation inflation
The youngest workers think they need to earn almost $600,000 a year to be financially successful (which would land you in the top 1% of the country).
This distorted perception of what’s normal is largely driven by social media. We’re constantly exposed to wealth, making it seem like luxury vacations, designer wardrobes, and multimillion-dollar homes are the standard. Plus, it’s quite easy to “signal” wealth online through consumerism, making us think people are richer than they really are (and making us feel inadequate in comparison).
The disconnect between what Gen Z thinks they need and what’s actually achievable creates a constant sense of failure. You could be doing objectively well and still feel broke because you’re comparing yourself to people making ten times that.
The goalpost keeps moving because there’s always someone doing better, and the algorithm makes sure you see them.
“Maybe that could be me”
As Maya Sulkin said, “There are thousands — maybe millions — of Gen Zers who watch influencers on Instagram or TikTok and think to themselves: Maybe that could be me.”
You’ve probably seen a “day-in-my-life” video of a rich influencer spending their time slathering their face in various expensive serums, going to a $90 workout class just to flail around on a mat, attending a handful of multi-hundred dollar beauty appointments, spending approximately one hour doing vague work-like activities like “check emails” or “meetings” and then finish off the day with an all-expenses-paid brand dinner.
The top influencers make millions of dollars a year — from the viewer’s perspective — for just existing.
This creates a mental model that’s completely at odds with traditional work: Why should I grind at a job I hate for $50,000 a year when someone my age is making millions posting videos of their morning routine?
Rationally, we know these influencers are outliers. The chances of “making it” as a content creator are vanishingly small. But constant exposure to these success stories — amplified by algorithms that show you the winners, not the thousands who failed — warps your sense of what’s normal and what’s achievable.
When the traditional path feels like a scam, what’s left? The result is a generation caught between two competing mindsets: nihilistic detachment and manic hustling. And often, the same person swings between both.
How this shapes Gen Z’s money psychology
When you combine crushing economic pressure with a 24/7 stream of algorithmic comparison and predatory financial infrastructure, you get a specific set of adaptations.
Gen Z’s relationship with money is very much centered around identity, anxiety, and survival mechanisms.
Risk aversion and extreme caution
You might expect a generation facing economic precarity to take more risks, but often the opposite happens. Gen Z exhibits intense risk aversion when it comes to major financial decisions, even as they gamble on crypto or sports betting (more on that in a second).
Your phone is feeding you a constant stream of negativity and comparison culture, and your entire economic framework feels like a rigged game. Social media has also created a culture of perfectionism and fear of public shaming, making young people hesitant to take risks and potentially fail publicly.
This caution shows up in other behaviors too. Gen Z is drinking less, having less sex, dating less, having fewer friends, and taking fewer physical risks than previous generations at the same age.
Anxiety
Gen Z reports higher levels of financial anxiety than any other generation. Seventy-three percent experience negative feelings, anxiety, or even “flashbacks” when dealing with financial issues. This isn’t just “money stress.” For many, it’s actual financial trauma.
The triggers are everywhere: student loan payments, rent increases, job insecurity, watching their peers seemingly succeed while you struggle. And social media amplifies all of it. Seventy-two percent of Gen Z say societal pressures contribute to their financial stress.
About one in three admit they sometimes avoid thinking about money when stressed. Another 30% cope by “treating themselves” to a purchase when worried, creating a cycle where financial anxiety leads to spending, which creates more anxiety.
The constant uncertainty — Will I get laid off? Will I ever afford a home? What if I get sick? — creates what psychologists call anticipatory stress. You’re not just dealing with current problems. You’re constantly bracing for future ones.
Identity-driven behavior
For Gen Z, financial choices are inseparable from identity. What you buy, where you work, how you make money — all of it signals who you are and what you value.
Many young people seem to be more interested in “meaningful work” and work-life balance than status or titles. When traditional markers of adulthood feel unattainable, Gen Z redefines what success means.
If you can’t buy a house, maybe success is having the flexibility to travel. If you can’t climb the corporate ladder, maybe success is having time for relationships and hobbies. If you can’t build wealth through traditional means, maybe success is just… not being miserable.
This identity-driven approach shows up in consumption too. Gen Z exhibits what researchers call “split-brain budgeting” — they’re simultaneously frugal and indulgent.
Why? Because the spending that matters to their identity gets prioritized. The concert is an experience, a memory, something that defines who they are. The retirement contribution? That’s for a future that feels abstract and uncertain.
Learned helplessness
When you repeatedly face negative outcomes you can’t control, you eventually stop trying. This is perhaps the defining psychological state of Gen Z’s relationship with money.
They watched their peers do everything “right” and still struggle with debt and unaffordable housing. They’ve seen companies preach “we’re a family” and then execute mass layoffs. They understand that loyalty is a one-way street. Why wouldn’t they conclude that effort doesn’t matter?
This distrust extends to institutions. Many young people widely believe governments, corporations, the media, and even universities are corrupt or self-interested. If the system is rigged, why believe in it?
Instant gratification
Delayed gratification only works if you believe the future payoff will come. When homeownership and financial security feel permanently out of reach, why not enjoy things now?
Gen Z is the “treat yourself” generation — fancy coffee, the skincare product, the impulse Amazon purchase. These “little treats” are often a way to emotionally self-regulate, a response to larger anxieties (i.e. the worry that bigger goals are permanently out of reach).
Comparison culture makes this worse. Gen Z can’t escape knowing exactly how everyone else is doing. They see peers buying homes, getting promoted, traveling to Europe — and they feel perpetually behind. Even when they’re objectively doing fine, the constant comparison creates a sense of failure.
Financial behavior is now inseparable from social performance. What you buy, where you work, and how you present yourself online — all of it gets scrutinized and judged by your reference group.
Behavioral inconsistency
All of these competing forces create what looks like inconsistency but is often a rational adaptation to an irrational system.
Gen Z will budget and track expenses while also making impulsive purchases. They’ll save aggressively while simultaneously spending on things that don’t make financial sense. They’ll hustle with multiple side gigs while also advocating for work-life balance and “lazy girl jobs.”
This is because they’re trying to navigate contradictory pressures: the need to save for an uncertain future, the desire to enjoy life now, the pressure to keep up socially, and the exhaustion of constant financial stress.
How this translates to action (or inaction)
All of these psychological forces manifest in specific behavioral patterns. When you feel the system is rigged, motivation transforms. For Gen Z, this transformation has produced two main archetypes, often existing within the same person at different times:
The Hustler: Grinding outside the system
Maybe you know them — the one with the three side hustles, a Substack, a YouTube channel, and an Etsy shop. Theyʼve bought into the entrepreneurial narrative that if the traditional job market wonʼt provide security, theyʼll create it themselves.
Thirty-four percent of Gen Z believe starting a business is the best way to build wealth. The gig economy and creator economy have made this mindset seem viable. You donʼt need a business loan or a physical storefront. You just need a phone and an idea. The barrier to entry is low, which makes the dream feel accessible.
Theyʼre not wrong to be entrepreneurial — the traditional employee path offers less security than it used to. But the Hustler mentality often tips into something darker: the belief that if youʼre not building multiple income streams and grinding 24/7, youʼre falling behind.
During the crypto boom, Gen Z jumped into crypto and meme stock trading, driven FOMO and the promise of instant wealth. Online sports betting has surged among young men. These are very much financial decisions born from the belief that traditional wealth-building is too slow or broken to work.
If the stable route wonʼt get you anywhere, why not gamble (sometimes literally) on something that might pay off big? The problem is that most of these bets fail. Which reinforces the cynicism. Which drives more gambling?
The Escapist: Opting out entirely
On the opposite end is the Gen Zer who is clocked out entirely. Theyʼre living at home, working part-time or gig jobs, and have no concrete plans for the future. Thereʼs a sense of collective nihilism and detachment.
The social contact is broken down, economic precarity feels permanent, and institutions have lost credibility. Every day feels like the end of the world, with climate change, wars, political polarization, and economic anxiety dominating headlines.
Iʼve noticed a very distinct form of humor among Gen Zers defined by detachment, irony, intense self-awareness, and generally cynicism. Instead of a shared purpose, young people bond over a shared hopelessness.
Nihilism is also a form of emotional regulation. Saying “nothing matters” can be a way to manage constant disappointment.
Both are responding to the same reality
Both see a system that isnʼt working. Both are trying to protect themselves — one through frantic action, one through withdrawal.
And most Gen Zers donʼt stay in one mode. They swing between both states, toggling between manic productivity and complete shutdown. Hustle for three months, burn out, detach completely for three months, feel guilty, hustle again. The inconsistency and the consistency here.
So what are we supposed to do?
This is the hardest section to write because I donʼt have easy answers. And anyone who tells you they do is probably selling something.
But I think the first step is to critically ask, “How do we build a system where working hard actually leads somewhere?”
What institutions could do
Structural problems require structural solutions, as Iʼve said. And while you, yourself, can try things to adapt, you canʼt fix a housing market thatʼs been broken by a decade of policy failures or a labor market thatʼs been hollowed out by automation and offshoring.
We need tax policies that donʼt exclusively favor people who already own assets (this is a great example of what NOT to do). We need to rebuild safety nets — accessible healthcare, paid leave — so that one setback doesnʼt wipe out years of saving. We need to address the housing crisis with actual supply, not just demand-side subsidies that inflate prices further.
Entry-level jobs need to actually be entry-level. Companies need to invest in training again instead of expecting 22-year-olds to show up with five years of experience. The gig economy canʼt be the default for an entire generation.
Most of these changes require political will that doesnʼt currently exist. So in the meantime, Gen Z is left doing what they can with the system theyʼve inherited.
When young people can do
Iʼm hesitant to even write this section because it risks sounding like “just try harder, which is exactly the wrong message. But there are some tips that might help navigate todayʼs economic reality:
-Build genuine financial literacy, not TikTok literacy. Learn to evaluate source Boring, traditional personal finance advice— save first, avoid lifestyle inflation, understand compound interest — still works even in a broken system.
-Find community. Following 500 accounts doesnʼt replace having actual financial conversations with real people who know your situation. Detachment is easier to maintain when youʼre alone.
-Redefine success on your own terms. Itʼs healthy to reject the traditional script of “college → job → house → family.” But you still need goals that arenʼt just “not being miserable.” What does financial security actually look like for you?
-Protect your attention. Every algorithm is designed to make you feel inadequate, so youʼll spend money or time trying to fix it. Recognizing this doesnʼt make it go away, but it helps.
Where this goes next
If this detachment continues — and thereʼs no reason to think it wonʼt — weʼre looki at a cultural realignment that could reshape what “adulthood” means entirely.
And maybe the world needs a little realignment.
But do institutions adapt? Do we redesign what economic security looks like for a generation that will never have pensions or affordable housing? Do we create new pathways to stability that donʼt require crushing debt and decades of corporate loyalty?
Or do we just keep telling them to work harder and save more, while they watch the gap between effort and reward grow wider every year?
