College for the early Gen Z was expected to be the time when life would be linear. Degrees were supposed to lead to job placements, jobs to promotions, promotions to achieving milestones. For many belonging to the middle class, these milestones have been reiterated by their parents for years: a two-wheeler upgraded to a car, rented flats upgraded to EMIs, and domestic holidays upgraded to stamped passports.
But Covid arrived without any warning. Classrooms became tiny squares functioning on Wi-Fi connections. College festivals were out of question. University years dissolved into online exams and muted microphones. Friendships remained half-formed, romances paused, and graduation arrived late, or worse — with PDFs of degree certificates being emailed.
When the world reopened, it did not reopen equally for them. Companies were still “recovering.” Hiring was “cautious.” Freshers entered a market where salaries had shrunk. Just as offices began pulling workers back into metro cities, another crisis emerged — rent. Young professionals found themselves paying large amounts as rent after half their savings disappeared into deposits and brokerage fees. Petrol prices too climbed so often after the Ukraine-Russia war. At work, another fear emerged. Automation and AI slowly began replacing entry-level tasks that freshers once relied on to climb upwards.
And just when stability finally began to feel possible for some of them, another war, between Iran and the US erupted thousands of kilometres away. Suddenly oil prices were once again making headlines, the stock market began to tremble, and dreams of international travel drifted further away as flight tickets surged and the rupee weakened. Marriage conversations, too, came attached with worried discussions about gold prices.
This has all become the defining rhythm of the early cohort of Gen Z’s adulthood (those aged between 23 and 27): every two years, a new global crisis arrives, depriving them of ordinary life.
Although older generations, too, lived through wars, inflation, recessions, and periods of instability, what sets these young adults apart is when the instability arrived. For them, crisis did not interrupt adulthood; it introduced it and has been reintroducing itself every couple years.
When asked to explain these constant uncertainties clouding their lives, the answers mirrored one another. Dhiya*, a 24-year-old video editor, says, “We grew up being told ‘work hard and things will fall into place.’ But we entered adulthood when everything was falling apart. College was on Google Meet, first jobs were underpaid, rent doubled, and now even basics like fuel or groceries feel like a luxury. We’re not lazy. We’re just tired of running on a treadmill that keeps speeding up.” Anitha, another 24-year-old, who is now in between jobs, adds that although her generation worked hard for their jobs, they are all getting replaced slowly by AI. “It feels like ‘what even is the point?’ We’re constantly thinking of backup jobs because we’re sure we’ll get replaced in the future somehow,” she laments.
Aaruthraa R, a 25-year-old defence exam aspirant, believes that the crash of the job market plus the economic inflation has completely changed the conversations that their generation has around jobs, salaries, and career growth, as opposed to the Millennials who came before them. Dhiya relies on a simple explanation. For the older Millennials, it was okay to join a company, grow for several years, and jump companies. But for the younger workforce, she says it sounds like this: “survive layoffs, upskill every six months, freelance on the side, and still you cannot afford a small flat.” It is precisely these reasons, she asserts, that has left them with no loyalty towards their companies. “Companies don’t show us any loyalty either,” she comments.
Changing likes of freedom
Many of these youngsters admit that the recurring uncertainty, backed by rising cost of living, has changed their idea of freedom and independence. Dhiya says, “Independence used to mean moving out, earning, and travelling. Now, it just means surviving without asking for help. Freedom feels like a budget line item.” Aaruthraa too admits that the economy has forced many of them to live frugally and opt for a minimalist lifestyle. Shiva*, a 25-year-old freelancer, corroborates, “My ‘wants’ have vanished. I’m very content with covering the necessities. The desire to invest in things or trips or in buying a new phone doesn’t exist anymore.”
Those who are managing to fulfill their dreams of being independent say that they are constantly plagued by the fear of not being able to save up and invest in a “settled future”. Priyanka, a 26-year-old English language professor, worries, “As a young working woman, I strive hard to fulfil my desires and needs. But I am scared of my future and the goals of owning a car and a house because of inflation.”
But living, in either ways, triggers this generation’s anxiety very often. Sathyanarayana, a 25-year-old senior engineer, rues, “Life throughout the last six years entailed self learning through chaos without proper guidance. It’s shaped me into someone who’s always anxious first.” The anxiety also comes with overthinking, Anitha shares. “I overthink everything. I either stress too much about the future or stop caring altogether because I can’t handle the stress. There is no in-between.”
And almost all of them believe that they have all been made hyper-aware that “stability is a myth.” “I plan more, but trust plans less. I’ve learned to keep backup plans for my backup plans,” Dhiya explains, adding that the only good thing is that the pandemic has made her value her physical and mental health. “It is because I saw how fast both can collapse when the world shuts down,” she justifies.
Suffering these perils, many of them refuse to think about getting married, calling it an additional “financial burden.” Priyanka, for instance, who strongly believes that women shouldn’t opt to get married until they are financially independent, says, “Given today’s economy, choosing to start a family feels like choosing to step on a fire bed for me.” Shiva recalls how he knows of couples who make a combined salary of six to seven lakh a month but somehow still end up budgeting. “In such times, to reduce uncertainty and responsibility I’m more inclined to be with only myself,” he says. These situations are making them face questions that many Millennials never had to, Dhiya informs. “Most of us are asking, “Can we afford kids?” before “Do we want kids?” It’s not that we don’t value family. We just don’t want to struggle and pass that struggle on,” she asserts.
What also separates this generation is the psychological nature of the experience. Previous generations may have lived through crises, but they did not consume them every minute through glowing screens in their hands. This generation says that they experience wars, market crashes, layoffs, pandemics, and political tensions in real time, through notifications, reels, and endless doom-laden predictions.
At the same time, algorithms continue pushing success stories: 23 year olds buying homes, travelling internationally, launching startups, or announcing seven-figure salaries. The result is a generation trapped between anxiety and comparison, watching the world appear to collapse and thrive simultaneously on the same screen. “Everyone’s LinkedIn is a highlight reel of promotions and startups while you’re figuring out rent. To it, add the guilt of resting, of spending, of not doing enough,” Dhiya shares, adding, “We’re all grieving a version of our twenties we were promised, while living one we didn’t sign up for.”
Even if the circumstances are to eventually improve, these youngsters admit that the anticipation of the next big disruption always lingers. The challenge for them is not just economic recovery, but psychological recovery.
*Names changed