For gen Z Americans, it’s hard to remember a version of the economy not defined by crisis. We finished our education online as Covid devastated the world, only to graduate into high costs of living, stagnant wages and now AI’s threat to entry-level jobs. We’ve come of age in a system that no longer feels fit for purpose.
The result is a generation that’s lost faith in the traditional markers of stability. What once defined a secure life – home, family and comfortable retirement – feels out of reach. “A pension is out of the question,” one friend told me. “So staying in the same job no longer makes sense.” She’s not alone: jobseekers’ confidence in keeping or finding work dropped sharply this spring, with a survey in June suggesting nearly 60% of graduates were still looking for their first jobs.
It’s not just these markers of stability, but the economic web that once bound us to them. The financial commitments that tied previous generations to long-term careerism – having children, affordable mortgages, college debt – are largely unattainable. College, long considered a reliable pathway to success, has rapidly diminished in importance for Americans. Childcare costs are so prohibitive that a growing share of adults say they’re unlikely to have children. And with housing prices rising at more than twice the rate of inflation since 1960, one in three gen Z-ers believe they’ll never own a home. Locked out of these futures – for better or worse – we’re no longer tethered to economic paths that once rooted people to jobs, and more importantly, to communities.
Enter disillusionomics: the economics of a generation raised on promises that never materialized. It’s a reaction to a system where traditional benchmarks of success have become largely unattainable, and even if attained, don’t deliver the same security they once did. Functioning well, the economy is supposed to provide security and opportunity. But when hard work no longer guarantees mobility, and outcomes are increasingly defined by where you grow up, gen Z is asking: why play by the rules of a game that no longer works?
Every time a new gen Z trend surfaces, I bookmark it: the Gen Z stare, salary dysmorphia, fast-yield dividend investments, treat culture. But taking each in isolation doesn’t quite touch on the why. Connecting the threads, we see a generation that is not entitled, not indulgent, but reacting to a political and economic climate we’re disillusioned by. These are survival strategies in an affordability crisis.
Some are retreating into predictability, with the resurgence of traditional masculine – and feminine – norms. Linear careers that promise predictability are hotly desired, with half of Harvard graduates in 2024 going into consulting, tech or finance. Others are leaning into risk-taking, citing pressures to stay afloat. Many closely watch the markets: over half of 18-25 year olds now invest, and more than a third are considering cryptocurrency investments. With growing debt burdens, gen Z see these choices as responses to more challenging economic circumstances than prior generations experienced.
Then there’s the rise in earning passive income. Knowing that wages won’t build wealth, gen Z pursues creative income streams: from the demure (subleasing parts of their apartments) to the extreme (OnlyFans). Everything can become commodifiable if it means buying the stability we need. This also explains gen Z’s rush into AI startups, as young people refuse to let shrinking entry-level roles dictate their future. “Entrepreneur” has become the most admired profession among young men, wanting to work for a shared purpose outside a traditional 9 to 5 that no longer delivers on its promises.
So, contrary to how gen Z is perceived, we are a generation deeply engaged in the economy. We’ve had to become hyper-aware of economic realities just to live securely. But we’re still hoping the system will change. Across partisan divides, economic outcomes are the most important driver of our voting choices, explaining the appeal of figures offering alternative models, from Mamdani to Maga. We’re searching for any solution that might change the current system.
It’s no coincidence, then, that we’re increasingly polarized across politics and gender. Much of it stems from divergent responses to the same problem. Years of economic crises have left younger people with downturn fatigue. We’ve become more likely to think in zero-sum terms, seeing limited resources and feeling the need to beat others to them. Gen Z is taking economic innovation into its own hands, angry at a system that doesn’t work. Our anger is then directed at diverging sources, amplified by algorithmic outrage, ultimately making it harder to relate to each other. And with division sown across the generations, the social contracts we have with work, government and each other will fray.
So if the economy just isn’t serving (excuse the gen Z pun), what should Americans do? It starts with taking gen Z’s behavior seriously. Dismissing our concerns as quirky reactions to a system that worked for older generations risks polarizing us further. Zero-sum thinking like this makes collective solutions harder, as we refuse to see or understand each other’s different generational challenges.
Young people offer a once-in-a-generation opportunity to ask: what is our labour really for? And as digital natives, gen Zers see AI – used thoughtfully – as a chance to redefine the value of work itself. This generation no longer wants to be bound to extractive contracts or roles that feel unnecessary. Now it’s time to collectively, and apolitically, ask: what would it take to redesign the economy so it serves its citizens again?
