With traditional goals such as stability and home ownership feeling out of reach, young people are focused on the present

By now, we all know the shape of financial nihilism: the throw-your-money-at-anything reaction to the dissolution of the slow, linear path to wealth; the prediction markets, meme stocks, cryptocurrencies and microluxuries growing in its place. We’re left in an economic no man’s land. But financial nihilism only describes where we put our money. What about how we earn it in the first place?

The modern economy has long relied on our need for stable employment – to pay the mortgage, to keep our kids fed, or, for some, to chase prestige and power – to generate the work ethic that keeps the wheel of production turning. None of this is going well for young people. Our jobs are insecure, we can’t afford houses, we’re deferring having kids (if we have them at all), and only 6% of us say a leadership position is our primary career goal. Hope is one of the economy’s most productive inputs, powering our willingness to endure long hours. When the production function of income – the mechanism that turns hard work into a stable salary, then a mortgage, then a pension – breaks down, so does our relationship with the input. I call this production nihilism: my generation’s growing indifference to the kinds of work we’re willing to participate in, and where we’re willing to earn.

Some young people are teaching in countries like South Korea as education funding is gutted and recent grads face a tough job market in their own countries

A year ago, Arianna Marie, 25, was struggling to control the students in her Florida elementary school classroom.

She was living with her parents to save on rent and quickly feeling her passion for teaching dry up, even though it was her first job since graduation.

In an era of transparency, people are detailing their financial struggles on the internet, breaking one of the last social taboos

Discussions regarding personal finances have traditionally been taboo. But gen Z and millennials in the US are finally normalizing conversations about money, openly sharing about salaries, rent and investment strategies, but also their (sometimes substantial) debt.

In recent years, financial influencers (finfluencers) – some licensed professionals, others not – have gained visibility, sharing advice on once-covert, perhaps unsexy topics such as Roth IRA contributions, exchange-traded funds (ETFs) and maxing out 401(k)s. The most popular have a big audience: for instance, Humphrey Yang, a former financial adviser, has more than 2 million YouTube subscribers, and Erika Kullberg, an attorney and financial expert, has more than 20 million followers across social media.

Stacy Roberts says she took $83,000 worth of vacations for $4,300. Here’s how

Stacy Roberts likes to tell her 321,000 followers that her family is rich – in credit card points, that is. Last year alone, she, her husband and their three kids traveled to Spain, Denmark, Austria, Italy, California, Utah and Hawaii all for around $4,300, she says.

How does she do it? Roberts says she opens a new credit card each month, allowing her to accumulate around 1m points a year.

An adviser on the estate documents that matter more than a will

A finance podcaster on how she plans to make her daughter a millionaire

A former union organizer on how to negotiate your debts down

Being financially equipped to retire feels like a fantasy. And yet plenty of people who could do so are avoiding it

“Retirement.” A word I can hardly spell anymore, it seems so abstract and impossible – like a science-fiction concept from a tattered old novel. In the classic film Blade Runner, “retirement” is the term used to describe the brutal ritual of future cops executing rogue androids called replicants (which auto-correct just tried to turn into “Republicans” against my will, though maybe Google Docs has a Freudian slip function now).

The Blade Runner version of retirement strikes me as more feasible for modern humans – getting blasted by a jackbooted assassin with a phallic-looking blaster – than the traditional process. Actual retirement – cocktails on the beach in between golf games – is as distant as the farthest known star. As glamorous as my life must seem to you, dear reader, it is not that at all. Like most creative types who never bothered to learn to code, I scrape by every month, white-knuckling until the next heaven-sent direct deposit.

These dodgy operators are very good at the shady work they do: they crank up the terror, drown out the logical part of your brain and then move fast

For the second time in the space of three years, I was sitting on my bed screaming, “They’ve stolen all my money.” I feel sick about it. Foolish and ashamed. Within minutes, thousands of dollars were stolen from my accounts, and I won’t be getting it back because I “willingly” gave out my private information.

In 2023 I wrote an article after I fell victim to a Facebook scam and had $1,000 stolen from my bank account. I thought that experience made me immune from it ever happening again. It didn’t and I think I know why.