Children of the '90s: Millennials and Digital Control Today

Introduction to Millennials and Digital Control Today

Growing up in the 1990s meant straddling two worlds: an analogue childhood and a digital coming-of-age. Now in adulthood, this generation (often called Millennials) is navigating a unique convergence of challenges. They entered an internet that promised freedom but evolved into something else entirely. They're trying to build lives amid economic conditions that seem harsher than those their parents faced. And they're experiencing mental health struggles at rates that raise alarm compared to generations before them.

On top of that, they're watching new technologies and policies from digital currencies to surveillance laws emerge in ways that could further reshape autonomy and privacy. Some call this the "own nothing" era, in which renting and subscriptions replace ownership and personal agency might be slipping away. No wonder many are asking: Are the children of the '90s the first truly troubled generation?

In this post, we'll explore each piece of that puzzle, drawing on expert insights, data, and real-world examples. We'll look at how the Internet evolution, today's economic realities, mental health trends, and the rise of digital control systems all intersect in Millennials' lives. We'll also touch on the promise (and perils) of Bitcoin and the cultural shift toward owning less. Let's dive into the factors shaping what could be a uniquely challenging generational experience.

The Internet: From Decentralised Dream to Surveillance State

Not so long ago, the internet was hailed as a great equaliser, an open, decentralised network where anyone could share information freely. When Sir Tim Berners-Lee created the World Wide Web in 1989, he envisioned a platform built on openness and user empowerment. He deliberately chose not to patent his invention, believing the Web should "belong to everyone." In the early days, that vision seemed possible: the '90s internet was a patchwork of personal websites, forums, and quirky communities largely uncontrolled by corporations or governments.

Fast-forward to today, and that idealistic picture has changed drastically. A handful of tech giants now dominate our online lives, building their empires on surveillance and data harvesting. What began as offering 'free' services (think of search, email, or social networking) funded by ads evolved into sophisticated systems that track virtually everything we do online. The business model is straightforward: users have become the product. Companies like Google and Facebook realised they could monetise personal data on an unprecedented scale. Every click, search, like, and location ping is collected, analysed, and turned into profit.

The result is an internet that often feels less like a global public commons and more like a cluster of walled gardens under heavy watch. Content is filtered by algorithms that decide what we see. Unfettered free expression has given way to platforms that moderate or outright censor certain topics, sometimes for laudable reasons (such as removing hate speech or disinformation), and other times in ways that raise free speech concerns. Around the world, internet censorship is on the rise, whether through social media policies or government firewalls. And pervasive surveillance isn't just a distant Orwellian fantasy; it's our reality. From social media monitoring to government agencies accessing data in the cloud, online surveillance has become "a growing and unregulated trend" that alarms civil liberties groups.

Millennials experienced this shift first-hand. Many still remember the freedom of the early web, only to witness it transform as they grew up. This generation's formative years saw the birth of the surveillance economy. By the 2000s, data truly became the new oil, fueling tech conglomerates. Targeted advertising was one thing, but now we're in the era of AI-driven analytics that can infer astonishing details about us. Modern AI systems can synthesise vast amounts of information to reveal intimate details about individuals' thoughts, preferences, and behaviours that were never explicitly shared. Every digital interaction a late-night Google search, a "like" on a post, even the pace of scrolling can be fed into machine learning models. The privacy implications are huge. As one observer noted, what you browse or say online can be used to predict your actions and subtly shape your choices, even without you realising.

This isn't the decentralised digital utopia that the Internet founders imagined. Sir Tim Berners-Lee himself has spoken out, warning that the Web is "no longer open and free" like it once was. He's been working on initiatives to re-decentralise the web and give users back control of their data. But so far, the dominant experience for everyday users, including the children of the '90s, is an internet that watches, remembers, and commodifies. Walled platforms and privacy by pervasive tracking have replaced openness.

This fundamental change in the online landscape has profound implications. It affects how Millennials get news (filtered by algorithms), how they socialise (under the gaze of curated online personas and platform rules), and even how they engage politically (with echo chambers and surveillance that can chill free expression). Living under this digital panopticon adds a layer of stress and vigilance that previous generations never knew in their youth. The internet is everywhere and in everything, and that means being a young adult today is a very public affair, one where every move might be tracked or recorded. For a generation already facing many pressures, the loss of a truly free and private online space is yet another burden.

Economic Reality Check: Inflation, Stagnant Wages, and Housing Woes

Beyond the digital realm, Millennials are up against some cold, hard economic facts. If you ask a Gen X or Baby Boomer to reflect on their 20s and 30s, you might hear stories of buying a first home on a modest income, finding a secure job with decent pay, maybe even saving to start a family. For many born in the '80s and '90s, those milestones feel increasingly out of reach. Stagnant wages, soaring living costs, and an unstable job market have created an economic climate quite different from the one their parents enjoyed at the same age.

Take housing, for example. In the UK, a study by the Resolution Foundation found that the generation now in their 20s and 30s spends three times as much of their income on housing as their grandparents did. Despite devoting over a third of take-home pay to rent (or about 12% on mortgages, if they're among the lucky homeowners), today's young adults often end up in smaller, more crowded accommodations and endure longer commutes to work. By contrast, in the 1960s and '70s, the Boomers, in their youth, might have spent as little as 5-10% of their income on housing, arguably for better living conditions. The difference is stark. It's little wonder home ownership rates have plummeted for the young. Research by David Willetts found that today's 30-year-olds are only half as likely to own a home as Baby Boomers were at 30.

Instead, Millennials are four times more likely to be stuck renting in the private market, which, tellingly, "has the worst record for housing quality" according to the report. Buying a home, once a fairly standard life goal, now often requires Herculean effort (and perhaps the "Bank of Mum and Dad"). A young family today must save for 19 years on average to afford a typical deposit, compared with just about 3 years a generation ago. If that's not a housing crisis, what is?

Housing is just one part of the picture. Wages and job security form another. After adjusting for inflation, wages for many workers have barely budged over the last decade and a half, a period some economists in Britain outright label a "lost decade" (or two) for living standards. In fact, the 2020s are on track to be the worst decade for UK household income growth in 60 years. This generation graduated into the fallout of the 2008 financial crisis, struggled through years of austerity and high youth unemployment, and then faced a pandemic and, now, a cost-of-living crunch. While headline unemployment statistics in some countries show low levels, the quality of jobs remains a concern. Gig-economy work, short-term contracts, and zero-hour arrangements have been common experiences for Millennials. "For a significant portion of millennials, work has always been insecure," writes James Greig, reflecting on his cohort's career reality. In his 20s, he hopped between zero-hours hospitality gigs, never knowing if annoying a manager might mean losing next week's shifts. That kind of precarity makes it hard to plan a future or feel stable. It's a far cry from the more secure job market many Boomers entered, where long-term employment with benefits (and perhaps a pension) was more of the norm.

Even those with stable jobs aren't necessarily thriving. Wage stagnation has been a defining feature of Millennial working life. In the UK, real wages have been largely flat since the late 2000s, marking one of the longest pay squeezes in modern history. As one analysis bluntly put it, "work is getting worse for just about everyone, as wages stagnate and rates of in-work poverty soar". In other words, plenty of young adults are working full-time and still struggling to make ends meet.

Meanwhile, everyday costs, such as rent, energy, groceries, and childcare, have climbed. And now inflation has reared its head in a way not seen since the early 1980s. Recent spikes in inflation mean prices for essentials are shooting up, effectively a pay cut for anyone whose salary isn't keeping pace.

For Millennials, it often feels like running on a treadmill that's set just a bit too fast. You earn your degree (likely taking on student debt unheard of in your parents' day), you hustle in the job market, you try to save, and yet the goalposts for financial stability keep moving further away. The frustration can be palpable. No wonder surveys find young people increasingly disillusioned with the economic status quo. Many are questioning the old formula of "work hard, and you'll get ahead," since for them, hard work has often translated into just treading water.

It's important to note that older generations faced their own economic trials. Gen X struggled through recessions, while Boomers dealt with oil shocks and sky-high interest rates in the '70s. But by and large, many of those folks were able to accumulate wealth through assets like property in a way that Millennials have not yet. In fact, a huge wealth transfer is happening now as Boomers hold much of the property and stocks, while younger people pay them rent. This intergenerational divide in wealth and opportunity fuels a sense of inequity: the children of the '90s see a system that expects them to do all the "right" things yet may never achieve the same level of security as their parents or grandparents. That's a heavy psychological burden and a recipe for social tension.

A Growing Mental Health Crisis

If the internet and economic stressors weren't enough, consider what's happening with mental health among young adults. Over the past decade, numerous studies and statistics have pointed to rising rates of anxiety, depression, and related issues in younger generations. And now we have concrete longitudinal research suggesting that people born in the 1990s have poorer mental health at the same age than any previous generation and, critically, they're not "growing out of it" as they get older, unlike previous cohorts. In other words, Millennials are not recovering from mental health difficulties as they age, defying the usual pattern of improving well-being in one's 30s and beyond.

One comprehensive study in Australia (published in PNAS in 2023) tracked thousands of people over 20 years and compared different birth decades. The findings were sobering: each successive generation since the 1950s showed worse mental health outcomes than the one before, and those born in the '90s were faring the worst of all. Typically, mental health across the lifespan follows a U-shape: it's relatively good in youth, dips in midlife, and often improves in later years. Past generations tended to see that upswing in well-being as they moved out of the tumult of their 20s and into more settled adulthood. But Millennials aren't following that trend. Many are carrying forward the same levels of stress, anxiety, or despair that they experienced in their teens and twenties.

Experts are calling it a global youth mental health crisis, and it's not hard to see why. "Something's gone very, very seriously wrong with our society and the way we're looking after our next generations," warns Prof. Patrick McGorry, a leading youth mental health expert. He notes that this isn't just the usual suspects (like typical teenage angst or the stresses that always come with starting careers and families), "It's not just the standard risk factors for mental illness that are at work here. It's something new."

So what might that "something new" be? It's likely a toxic cocktail of factors. Economic insecurity, constant financial strain, and the feeling of a precarious future can fuel hopelessness (there's even a term, "economic anxiety," floating around). The hyper-connected digital life is another suspect. Millennials were the first to grow up with social media and smartphones in their hands by early adulthood. The comparisons and FOMO, the cyber-bullying, the doom-scrolling through world crises, these take a psychological toll. One Reddit user from this generation grimly quipped, "I question the mental health of people that aren't depressed… We are constantly being briefed about tragedy all over the world in real time 24/7. Depression is the appropriate response", noting the onslaught of bad news and global worries that are impossible to escape online. It's a half-joking, half-truthful statement that resonated with many peers.

Then there's the broader cultural and environmental backdrop. Millennials came of age during the War on Terror, watched the Great Recession upend economies, and now face climate change realities, a pandemic, and political polarisation. The sense of stability or optimism that perhaps buoyed previous generations (at least in the West during relatively prosperous times) has been replaced by uncertainty and frequent crisis. The future feels ominous to many young people, as if another shoe is about to drop. That constant background stress can manifest in anxiety disorders, chronic stress, and burnout. In workplaces, many younger employees report feeling burned out by their mid-20s, something that was almost unheard of a few decades ago.

It's not all doom and gloom; one could argue that this generation is also more open about mental health and more likely to seek help, which is a positive development. The stigma around therapy or discussing depression has lessened, partly thanks to Millennials' willingness to share their experiences. But even that silver lining has a cloud: increased reporting and diagnosis also reveal just how widespread the struggles are. When more than a third of young adults report having experienced a mental health disorder in the past year (as a recent Australian survey found), it's clear we're dealing with something at a societal scale, not just individual bad luck.

For the children of the '90s, this mental health crisis can feel deeply personal. It affects their ability to build the lives they want. It can interfere with work, relationships, and the capacity to enjoy the present or look forward to the future. And when we connect it back to our theme "troubled generation" mental health is a big piece of that. Previous generations certainly had trauma (Boomers lived through Cold War nuclear fears, for example, and Gen X saw the rise of divorce rates and some pretty rough economic times in the early' 80s). But the data indicate that Millennials might be experiencing higher levels of mental distress than any group in living memory. If true, that's a wake-up call. It suggests something systemic is at play, and it challenges the notion often offered by elders: "Toughen up, we had it hard too." Millennials aren't necessarily "weaker" or complaining more; they may genuinely be carrying a heavier psychological load in a world that has fundamentally changed.

The Rise of Digital Control: CBDCs, Digital IDs, and Social Credit

As if the personal and economic pressures weren't enough, Millennials are also witnessing (and sometimes unwittingly partaking in) the rollout of new technologies and policies that could redefine privacy, autonomy, and financial freedom in society. Key among these are Central Bank Digital Currencies (CBDCs), Digital IDs, expansive online safety and surveillance laws, and even the spectre of social credit systems. These might sound like jargon or far-off concerns to some. Still, they are fast becoming reality, and they have particularly significant implications for a generation that lives so much of life digitally.

Let's break down a few of these trends:

• Central Bank Digital Currencies (CBDCs): These are essentially digital versions of national money, issued and controlled by central banks. At first glance, a digital pound or digital dollar might sound innocuous; after all, most of our money is already digital in Bank's accounts. But the difference is that a CBDC could give governments unprecedented visibility into and control over transactions. Agustín Carstens, head of the Bank for International Settlements (the central Bank of central banks), put it very bluntly: "We don't know who's using a $100 Bill today… The key difference with the CBDC is that the central Bank will have absolute control over the rules and regulations, and we will have the Technology to enforce it." In other words, unlike cash, which is private and untraceable, a state digital currency could be tracked at every step.

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  That's great for fighting money laundering, perhaps, but quite dystopian for those who value financial privacy. As one analysis noted, such total insight into how money moves opens the door to troubling possibilities: "Govcoins" could easily become tools for coercion or censorship. For example, a government could program a CBDC to restrict certain purchases (for example, your digital cash refusing to pay for junk food if you've exceeded a health quota, or expiring if not spent by a certain date). It could automate surveillance of all your spending, or even freeze the funds of protesters or dissidents at the flick of a switch. While this might sound like science fiction, these capabilities are technically possible. China's digital yuan already has some expiration features and usage controls in pilot programs. Western central banks are also exploring designs. The prospect has many in the Crypto and privacy community concerned that "the original virtues of cash privacy and freedom to spend could be lost". For Millennials who grew up with increasing financial surveillance (remember how online payments or Venmo are traceable compared to handing over paper cash), a CBDC world could represent the final erosion of the last semblance of privacy in transactions.

  
  

• Digital IDs and Online Surveillance Laws: In parallel, there's a push to digitise Identity and tighten control over online activity. The UK's Online Safety Act 2023 is one prominent example. Billed as a way to make the internet safer, it imposes a "duty of care" on platforms to monitor and remove harmful content. The intention protect users, especially children, from things like hate, harassment, and illegal material is noble. But the means have alarmed many experts. The law could lead to general monitoring of all user content and effectively end online privacy as we know it. Even encrypted messaging services might be forced to scan private chats for certain content, undermining end-to-end encryption and the right to have a confidential conversation. Age verification mandates could require you to show a digital ID to access ordinary websites, introducing new data leaks and barriers. The Electronic Frontier Foundation and other civil liberties groups have called the UK law a "deeply flawed censorship proposal" that, despite its name, will likely make the internet more censored and locked down. They even warn that it creates a blueprint for repression worldwide, as other countries could copy these broad powers to control the internet.

  
  

  Hand in hand with such laws is the development of digital Identity systems. Governments and big tech firms alike see digital IDs as a "modern solution" for everything from logging into websites to accessing public services. In Britain, discussions are underway about a GOV. A UK digital wallet that could hold your driver's licence, passport info, immigration status, etc., on your phone for easy verification. Convenience aside, critics see the makings of a surveillance society "where access to work, travel and even healthcare could hinge on a digital pass managed by the state". Each time you use a digital ID to prove who you are, it may leave a trace of that verification event (time, place, purpose). Multiply that across all facets of life, and you get a vast data network mapping everyone's activities. Supporters claim it will all be secure and private. Still, the fundamental shift is clear: your ability to participate in daily life could increasingly be governed by the need to present a digital token of trust.

  
  

  If the gatekeepers (be it the government or a few corporations) decide to turn someone's digital credential off, that person could be effectively shut out from basic functions. That's a lot of power in a few hands. It's not a theoretical concern; we've seen hints of this during the pandemic (e.g., vaccine passports determining where you could go) and in banking (where, without proper ID, you can't open an account and thus can't fully participate in society).

  
  

  The creep toward a "papers, please" society, except digitally, worries Millennials who value the relative freedom they grew up with. They're used to the idea of an open internet where you don't have to show ID at every turn. Now they see proposals that might require verification before posting on social media, all in the name of safety. It's a tough balance: how to protect people online without turning the internet into a heavily policed zone of constant identification. Many in this generation are cautious about such schemes, remembering that powers granted in crises (or for good intentions) can easily linger and be used for other purposes.

  
  

• Social Credit Systems and AI Oversight: We cannot discuss digital control without mentioning China's social credit system, the poster child for techno-authoritarianism. While social credit in China is a broad concept (not a single unified system as sometimes portrayed), it uses big data and AI to assess citizens' trustworthiness based on their behaviour. Miss some Bill payments, criticise the government online, or even play music too loudly on the train, and you might get a low score. Consequences have included being barred from taking flights or trains if you're deemed untrustworthy. People have been blocked from certain jobs or had slower internet connections due to their social credit status. Recently, China launched an "internet integrity" program that ties online accounts to real IDs to punish bad online behaviour, effectively ending online anonymity within its jurisdiction. It's truly "a glimpse of what can happen when Identity becomes governance when a digital profile determines the boundaries of your freedom".

  
  

  Now, in democratic countries, there's (fortunately) nothing nearly as extreme. But some see smaller steps that echo the same logic: use Technology to monitor and regulate citizen behaviour for security or moral outcomes. Already, plenty of AI oversight algorithms are at work, from social media content moderation tools to predictive policing systems that try to flag "risky" individuals. Consider how AI-driven moderation might scan your posts and messages (as encouraged by laws like the Online Safety Act). Or how fintech algorithms might automatically freeze what they deem suspicious transactions. Even credit scores in the West, while not as comprehensive as China's system, serve as a narrow financial "reputation score" that can significantly impact one's life (try renting a flat or getting a phone plan with a poor credit rating; it's not easy).

  
  

  The children of the '90s are attuned to both the convenience and the danger of AI oversight. This is a generation that loves personalised recommendations and automated services, yet also grew up on dystopian fiction like Black Mirror that warns of tech run amok. They see the social credit story as a cautionary tale, one that they dearly hope doesn't materialise in their own countries. The concern is that even well-meaning systems (say, an AI that flags potential terrorists or a database of "bad tenants") could expand and be misused. The term "function creep" comes up a lot, the idea that once a system is in place, its use can quietly broaden beyond the original scope. What starts as optional can become de facto mandatory if society adjusts to it. For instance, a digital ID might initially be just one way to prove age online, but years later, you might find you can't access essential services without it. Similarly, a content-scanning AI might begin by targeting truly harmful criminal content, but later be instructed to flag less clear-cut "undesirable" speech.

  
  

For Millennials, the worry is that these digital control mechanisms could further chip away at the freedoms they do have left. This generation values autonomy; think of the early internet ethos of freedom, the appeal of cryptocurrencies, or even just the desire not be micromanaged by bosses or governments. Seeing technologies that could potentially enable total surveillance or control naturally sets off alarm bells. They don't want to wake up in ten years in a society where every payment is tracked, every login is identified, and every word they say is run through an AI filter for acceptability. It sounds extreme, but in bits and pieces, we are trending in that direction globally.

On the flip side, Millennials also recognise the convenience and perhaps inevitability of some of these changes. They're a very digital-friendly generation, and many will embrace things like a handy digital ID app if it makes life simpler, or a central Bank's digital currency if it's easy to use. The challenge will be ensuring these systems are designed with strong safeguards for privacy and freedom, something that is still very much an open question. As it stands, the trajectory of CBDCs, digital IDs, and expansive surveillance powers seems to be outpacing the safeguards. The children of the '90s may find themselves living in a world that, despite being democratic on paper, increasingly resembles a high-tech walled garden.

Bitcoin's Promise vs. Reality: Has the Revolution Been Co-Opted?

Amid this backdrop of surveillance and control, one beacon of hope for many Millennials over the past decade has been Bitcoin and the cryptocurrency movement. Here was a Technology born of the tumult of the 2008 financial crisis, when trust in banks and institutions was at its lowest, promising a different path. Bitcoin's creator envisioned a peer-to-peer electronic cash that didn't require trusting governments or big banks, a currency "of the people" that was borderless, censorship-resistant, and inflation-proof by design. It's no surprise that many younger people, disillusioned with traditional Finance, were early adopters of Crypto. This was the way to "opt out" of a system they felt was stacked against them.

For a while, that narrative held strong. Through the 2010s, Bitcoin and other cryptocurrencies gained traction, weathered volatility, and built a thriving subculture. Millennials liked that with Crypto, you could be your own Bank, store your savings in a digital wallet no one could freeze, make transactions that no central authority could block, and perhaps even get rich in the process (the lure of high returns certainly didn't hurt enthusiasm). It was decentralised and open, as the early internet had been. A lot of idealism was wrapped up in that sphere: the idea that blockchain Technology would democratise Finance, empower the unbanked, and take power away from Wall Street and central Bank's governors.

However, reality has set in. Over the last couple of years, we've seen a strong pushback from institutions and authorities against the unregulated Crypto space. In the U.S., Crypto entrepreneurs began to speak of "Operation Choke Point 2.0", an alleged coordinated campaign to cut off the Crypto industry from the banking system. The term is evocative: it likens the current actions to a secretive Obama-era program (Choke Point 1.0) that aimed to debank certain frowned-upon industries. According to venture capitalist Nic Carter, who sounded the alarm, regulators in 2023 pressured banks to stop serving Crypto clients, contributing to the high-profile collapse of crypto-friendly banks like Silvergate and, tangentially, to the collapse of Silicon Valley Bank. The result? Many Crypto companies found themselves suddenly without banking services, unable to easily transfer funds or accept customer money. This squeeze, Carter argues, was not a coincidence but a deliberate "pressure campaign against banks servicing the Crypto industry". He described it as "very sinister… Two banks are gone, and it still seems to be the case that there's a general pressure campaign… not to service Crypto."In short, the establishment might be trying to tame or even snuff out the Crypto revolution that threatened their control.

Even beyond banking access, the regulatory climate for Bitcoin and friends has tightened. Governments see the need to bring Crypto into the regulatory fold to enforce anti-money-laundering rules, consumer protections, and tax reporting. While these aims are understandable, in practice, they often mean that using Crypto becomes less private and free than the cypherpunk pioneers intended. Exchanges must identify users (eliminating anonymity), large transactions get reported, and certain privacy coins are being delisted. It sometimes feels like Crypto is being forced into the existing financial system rather than reshaping it on its own terms.

At the same time, big institutions have found ways to embrace Crypto but on their terms. For instance, major investment firms are launching Bitcoin funds and ETFs, bringing the asset onto Wall Street in a way that arguably benefits the financial elite more than the average user. There's a running joke in the Crypto community: "Bitcoin didn't change the banks; the banks changed Bitcoin." "That is, instead of decentralised money rendering banks obsolete, banks and hedge funds are now among the biggest players in Crypto markets, profiting handsomely and potentially even manipulating markets. The original ethos of "be your own Bank" is less appealing when many people just custody their coins with large exchanges or fintech apps (essentially reintroducing middlemen).

Furthermore, governments are co-opting blockchain tech for their own uses (recall those CBDCs we discussed). A centrally managed digital currency is the polar opposite of Bitcoin's libertarian dream, yet it uses some of the same underlying technologies. It's bitterly ironic: the innovation that was supposed to empower individuals financially could end up empowering central authorities even more if twisted into state digital currencies with heavy oversight.

All of this is disillusioning for those '90s kids who saw Bitcoin as a lifeline. It's not that Crypto's promise is entirely dead, far from it. Bitcoin still chugs along, uncensorable as ever at its core. People under oppressive regimes do use it as a tool for freedom, and everyday folks still use it as a hedge against inflation in some countries. But as Crypto goes mainstream, it's running into the age-old forces of power. The idealists have to contend with the realists: governments asserting control, corporations seeking profit, and sometimes the outright hostility of regulators who view the space as a threat.

One could say Millennials helped midwife this new Technology (Crypto), only to watch the "grown-ups seize and sanitise it. The narrative of Bitcoin as the path to financial freedom is being challenged. Does it become just another asset class in the portfolios of the rich? Will regulations strip away the privacy and autonomy features that made it attractive? Or, worst-case scenario, do central banks and governments clamp down so hard that decentralised Crypto is pushed to the fringes?

We're still watching that story unfold. But it ties into our broader question. If you're a Millennial who hoped that tech would empower you (from the internet levelling opportunity to Crypto levelling Finance), it's discouraging to see those same technologies bent into tools of the existing power structure. It contributes to the feeling of being a "troubled generation", the sense that even when you do try to create alternatives or get ahead, the deck gets reshuffled. The house (be it banks, Big Tech, or government) finds a way to win.

"Own Nothing and Be Happy": The New Age of Renting Everything

There's a phrase that has become emblematic of modern young adulthood, often said with a mix of irony and resignation: "Own nothing and be happy." It originated from a 2016 World Economic Forum video envisioning life in 2030, which cheerily pronounced, "You'll own nothing. And you'll be happy. What you want you'll get, and it'll be delivered by drone." This was intended as provocative future-gazing, not an immediate policy recommendation, and yet it struck a nerve. To many Millennials, it feels less like futuristic speculation and more like an apt description of their reality.

Think about it: how many things do you truly own in the traditional sense? Your parents might have a garage full of tools and appliances they bought outright, shelves of books and DVDs, maybe even a car or two fully paid off and a house with a deed. In contrast, Millennials live in an era where subscription and rental models reign supreme, and digital goods replace physical ownership, often with a catch that you don't fully control those goods.

Consider media and software. If you were a '90s kid, you probably remember buying CDs, DVDs, or video game cartridges, tangible items you could keep, share, sell second-hand, or pop into a player anytime. Now, you likely stream music on Spotify (you own nothing, just access), watch films on Netflix or Amazon (you don't "have" the movie; you just have conditional viewing rights), and play games through online libraries. E-books on your Kindle? They feel like yours until Amazon decides otherwise. Famous, Amazon once remotely deleted copies of George Orwell's 1984 from users' Kindles due to a rights issue, demonstrating, in a rather Orwellian twist, that they could yank away a book you "bought" at their discretion. In 2019, when Microsoft shuttered its e-book store, every book people had paid for disappeared from their devices (with refunds issued, but still). As Wired magazine put it starkly: "Your iTunes movies, your Kindle books, they're not really yours.

You've just bought a license… that can be revoked at any time." Ouch. The same goes for software: once you could buy a CD of Microsoft Office or Adobe Photoshop and use it as long as you wanted. Now it's all about subscriptions, stop paying the monthly fee, and poof! Your software stops working. The company retains the power; you're essentially just renting the tool.

Even physical devices come with strings attached. Smartphones and gadgets are sold to you, but the manufacturers often maintain control through software. Try to repair or modify your iPhone outside Apple's authorised channels, and you risk bricking it or voiding your warranty. Companies like John Deere argue that farmers don't really own their tractors' software; they license it, so fixing your own tractor could actually violate copyright law. Tesla can (and has) sent over-the-air updates to turn off features in cars after they were sold because the new owner didn't pay for them. BMW made headlines by offering heated-seat subscriptions for some models. Yes, the hardware is in your car, but you must pay monthly to "turn it on". It's a surreal extension of the idea: you bought the car, but you might not truly own all its capabilities.

At the macro level, this is sometimes framed as the "subscription economy" or the "access economy". There are benefits such as flexibility, lower upfront costs, and constant updates. Many Millennials actually prefer not to be burdened with too much stuff. They move cities for jobs, live in smaller urban flats, and enjoy the convenience of paying for access only when needed. Streaming music means you don't need giant CD racks; renting designer clothes for an event means you don't clutter your closet. The sharing economy (bike shares, tool libraries, etc.) also fits this ethos of access over ownership.

But there's a darker side: what happens to your autonomy when you own little and rent everything? You become, in a sense, perpetually dependent on providers. Personal agency can suffer when every service or product you use is at the mercy of terms and conditions that can change, or a company that can shut down. We've already seen instances of digital locks or remote controls in action, such as when a tech company can delete your files or shut off your apps. If, in the future, even your home appliances or your self-driving car require ongoing subscriptions, you're locked into an endless pay-to-play life. The phrase "landlord" could expand metaphorically to corporations that become landlords of everything you use. And if you fall behind on payments or violate some user agreement, you can literally be shut out of essential functions. It's like serfdom in the digital age, some critics say, where we're all renting fealty to big service providers.

The "own nothing and be happy" slogan has thus become a rallying point for those worried about excessive corporate and institutional control. It encapsulates the unease that Millennials (and Gen Z behind them) have about their economic prospects, too. Many jokingly (or not-so-jokingly) say that yes, they will own nothing not by choice, but because they can't afford to own assets like houses. And will they be happy? Debatable. Owning less can mean less responsibility and more mobility, sure, but it can also mean less security and less sense of accomplishment. Our society has long tied milestones of ownership, your first car, your first home, to personal achievement and stability. How does it affect a generation when those milestones are delayed or erased? We're finding out in real time.

All of this isn't to say Technology or new business models are evil. There's a lot of good in making things more accessible. But the balance of power between individual and provider has shifted. As the examples above show, we're often at the mercy of companies' policies. And when combined with earlier topics (such as digital IDs or CBDCs), you could imagine a near-future scenario where everything about your life is a service that could, in theory, be turned off by someone else. It's an unnerving thought for anyone who values personal agency, and it's another factor that contributes to Millennials' sense of being a particularly troubled generation. They're navigating a world that's extremely convenient on the surface (one-tap rides, same-day deliveries, infinite on-demand content), yet strangely precarious beneath the surface.

Conclusion

Growing up, the children of the '90s were promised a bright future: the freedom of the internet, the stability of a good economy, and the same, if not greater, opportunities than their parents had. Now that we've examined the landscape, it's clear that promise has hit some serious turbulence. The internet turned into a double-edged sword of connection and surveillance. The economy dealt them recessions, unaffordable housing, and stagnant paychecks. Their mental health as a group is flagging under pressures that are new in kind and intensity. And looming ahead are powerful technological systems from digital currencies to ID mandates that could further test the limits of autonomy and privacy in modern life.

So, are Millennials the first truly troubled generation? In many ways, they are certainly grappling with a convergence of troubles unlike those they have faced before. The challenges we discussed, digital oppression, economic squeeze, psychological strain, and erosion of ownership, interact with each other, potentially compounding the overall impact. It's a lot to carry. Previous generations faced wars, political upheavals, and economic crises, too, of course. But one could argue that Millennials have a uniquely pervasive kind of struggle: it permeates every aspect of life, from the phone in your hand to the roof over your head. It's global and local, external and internal.

Yet, history is long, and every generation has its battle. Millennials have proven to be adaptive, resourceful, and resilient in the face of these issues. They've brought mental health into the open, they're advocating for privacy and digital rights, they're inventing new ways to work and live (the rise of remote work, gig innovations, etc.), and many are pushing for political and social changes to address things like inequality and climate change that also weigh on them. Their story is still being written.

Perhaps the final answer lies in perspective. Do you think the children of the '90s have it harder than their parents did, or are they simply facing a different set of challenges in the ongoing saga of human progress? Every generation tends to feel its struggles are unparalleled, and for Millennials, there's some evidence that might actually be true. But what do you believe? Are the '90s kids truly the first truly troubled generation, or will they find a way to turn these trials into new strengths? Let's continue the conversation. We'd love to hear your thoughts and experiences. Do these challenges resonate with you, and how do you see our path forward?