Once seen as often dry and sometimes intimidating, personal finance advice is a far cry from what it was in your grandparents’ day.
It’s not just the array of new online tools, from banking apps to exotic new investing options, such as cryptocurrency. Social media has created a platform for “finfluencers” – nonprofessional personal finance influencers who have become an increasingly common source of advice for young people, whether it’s accurate or not.
While most Americans over 64 say they turn to professional financial planners for guidance, a 2025 Gallup poll found that 42% of 18- to 29-year-olds seek financial advice on social media. That’s almost double the share among those ages 30 to 49. Many finfluencers have no formal financial credentials. Instead, their credibility is largely built on their social media followings, engagement metrics and relatability.
There’s also another generational shift afoot: Personal finance is increasingly bound up with political and social issues. Young adults are attempting to navigate a precarious economy – and the finfluencers who try to court them often launch critiques at the institutions and policies that they say created these conditions.
This advice ranges from risky trading-centric approaches to holistic financial practices. But a common thread is their positioning against traditional financial advice.
As a scholar who studies how the digital economy is affecting young adults’ well-being, I argue that Americans who still get their financial advice from more conventional sources – as well as the professional adviser class – need to understand there’s been a sea change in how young people understand money. And the legions of online followers need a better grasp of the risks involved.
“Hey, I’m Rachel and I’m not paying my federal income taxes this year,” begins a TikTok video of an attorney who claims she’s skipping out on her US$8,800 tax bill for political reasons.
Rachel Cohen’s videos have racked up millions of views so far this year. Her video series details her reasons for refusal, specifically citing her disagreement with federal immigration policy and the “military-industrial complex.” On April 15, 2026, Cohen updated her viewers – some of whom had threatened to report her to the IRS – that she filed her return. But instead of paying the amount due, she’s parking the money in a high-yield savings account. Her sign-off: “Stay tuned and find out if I get arrested!”
Cohen’s not alone in her public protest. Millions of viewers have watched “tax resistance” or “tax strike” videos on TikTok that offer advice on how to not pay taxes and walk viewers through the potential consequences they might face.
Although my research suggests most of the tax-protest content on TikTok comes from left-leaning users, it draws influencers across the political spectrum. Examples include dissenters citing anti-war sentiments or disapproval of the government’s handling of the Epstein files.
Other personalities are encouraging their followers to treat their finances as a broader political statement. In some cases, these videos issue a call to action.
Vivian Tu, better known by her followers as “Your Rich BFF,” explains why the price of raspberries has gone up, citing a variety of foreign and domestic policy decisions: the war in Iran, tariffs and a shortage of migrant farmworkers. “If this video made you mad,” she says, “share it with a friend and contact a legislator.”
Tori Dunlap, author of “Financial Feminist,” tells her 2.2 million followers on Instagram: “If you’re freaking out about the world right now, GET RICH. That is your best form of protest is to get financially stable.”
These examples underscore how people’s financial lives are bound up with their values. And finfluencers appeal to their most politically charged beliefs to shape their financial decisions – even if they aren’t the best choices for their bank accounts.
One example is conflicts of interest. What many followers may not be fully aware of is that most finfluencers are incentivized to make highly performative content to monetize their accounts. This funding can come through either sponsored content – often from credit card and fintech companies – or through their own materials and “masterclasses.”
Moreover, full transparency is not a given. Although TikTok and Instagram have “paid promotion” designations for sponsored content, it’s not always so easy to identify potential conflicts of interest.
Crypto promoters, for example, routinely fail to disclose their sponsorships – and it’s common for them to boost coins they have a vested interest in.
As Americans’ distrust in financial institutions and regulators grows, many are willing to follow advice that falls into gray areas of oversight. When personal finance tips resonate with a viewers’ values, everyday financial decision-making can become colored with politics and nonconformist sentiments.
Not everyone turns to finfluencers. Many take advice from anonymous strangers on forums such as Reddit.
The r/personalfinance subreddit alone has 2.8 million weekly visitors who post, respond and read questions posed and answered by everyday people. This is only one of 189 finance-related subreddits my colleagues and I compiled in our recent report.
Unlike finfluencers, Reddit users typically trade tips and opinion in plain text and occasional memes. Users of these forums are rarely monetized. It’s also demand-driven advice – people who post on these forums get to ask questions that directly address their personal financial issues. Credibility is earned though community “upvotes” and endorsements. Rather than one opinion, they can get a variety.
But similar to finfluencers, there’s an anti-institutional sentiment that privileges peer-to-peer learning over credentialed expertise. For example, users on the Bitcoin subreddit harshly criticize the contemporary financial system and advocate for digital currency over conventional forms of money.
In this environment, financial education is rarely neutral – it’s deeply intertwined with people’s personal and political lives. As finfluencer Ellyce Fulmore puts it: “The barriers you face, your personal experience, the systems that do or don’t work for you … personal, personal, personal, personal!”
Maximilian Brichta does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
