As the sun started to set, tickling its surroundings with a faint golden glow, Em found her hands were starting to itch. She was craving a cigarette, imagining the rough taste of tobacco against her lips as a plume of smoke swirled in the air above her. Having taken up the habit when she was 15, Em decided to quit after a decade, when her family started to raise concerns for her health. But now, in her early 30s, she is reaching for cigarettes once again.
Em’s sadly not alone in her decision to return to tobacco; smoking rates, which had been on the decline for the last two decades, have started to pick up in the last four years at a worrying degree. A study by University College London found smoking rates among those aged 18-34 have soared by 25 percent since lockdown, with 652,000 more young adults smoking since before the pandemic. With the habit back on the rise, it’s little wonder the last UK Government moved to ban smoking altogether, though the bill, which would have made it impossible for anyone born from 2009 onwards to buy cigarettes, did not make it through parliament before the general election.
It’s at odds with the health-conscious perception we tend to have of Gen Z and millennials, and it’s not the only marker that wellness is going out the window for many young people; a survey from market research firm GWI suggests that, after a boom in the late 2010s, the number of people in the UK identifying as vegan has dropped by 15 percent in the last two years, and there’s been a shift away from the sober movements, too. A survey by Sunnyside found 68 percent of respondents had instead opted for ‘Damp January’ in 2023—cutting back but not quitting alcohol cold turkey.
The New Nihilists
So what prompted this sudden decline in clean living? Have we simply grown tired of our healthy lifestyles? Has the draconian nature of wellness proved too hard? Or has the ongoing state of the nation led us to embrace a more laissez-faire approach to life? Trend forecaster WGSN believes that by 2025 Gen Z will be made up of ‘new nihilists’; having grown up in the shadow of multiple financial and geopolitical crises, they cling to cynicism and apathy as coping mechanisms. (Cynicism and apathy… Us? Never! Ahem…)
Apparently, this has affected our consumer behaviour; priced out of traditional markers of success (for example, buying a house and car) we are instead spending our (limited) disposable incomes on experiences, hedonistic pleasures, or—in Em’s case—our vices. Her cravings for cigarettes came in January, when she was laid off from her job. “I was drinking a lot more,” she says. “I started to feel hopeless—and helpless. Nothing seemed to matter, so what was the harm of having a cigarette? I might as well do something I like.” But is there a way to embrace a more positive approach to nihilism, without adopting unhealthy habits?
It’s certainly no surprise that so many have adopted this ‘fuck it’ attitude. Just a cursory glance at the state of the world would leave anyone feeling like a nihilist, but it’s Gen Z that’s truly been given the rough end of the deal. House prices have trebled over the last 20 years, rents have increased by 7.8 percent in the last 12 months and inflation has been higher than the Bank of England’s target. Meanwhile, wage growth has effectively stagnated, with the Office of National Statistics noting wages are at the level they were at in 2005. It has resulted in a generation that feels stunted, fenced off from the more conventional lifestyle of a home and two children (a study by the University of Southampton found more than 25% of Gen Zs did not want, or probably won’t have, children).
It’s little wonder this is translating into despondency: British citizens under 30 ranked 32nd in the world for happiness in the 2024 World Happiness Report, falling one place from 2023. Another study, by Barnardo’s, found British teenagers expect their lives to be worse than those of the previous generation.
Historically, society embraces nihilism during times of strife, explains Simon May, visiting professor of philosophy at King’s College London; caring less is a coping mechanism. ‘The philosopher Nietzsche calls it “the religion of comfort”. You give up on wider values and just try to become more concerned with the self and making things comfortable. You’re just mired in indifference to the point you almost withdraw from society,’ he explains to Cosmopolitan UK. May adds it’s understandable that we’re seeing this in younger generations: ‘It’s clear societal systems that worked for baby boomers and the belief of meritocracy – that if you work hard, you’ll achieve your dreams and be happier—aren’t real.’
It’s something Katya, 32, has noticed. Having worked in a corporate environment in London in her 20s, she chose to leave the role after being passed over for promotions to start her own business in social media. ‘I was working between 10 and 12 hours a day, every day when I started,’ she explains. ‘I enjoyed it, but I felt myself becoming really burned out.’ Katya knew something had to change when she spent most of 2021 almost bedbound as she battled an onslaught of illnesses. ‘I was completely exhausted and I wasn’t any happier despite how hard I was working,’ she says. ‘Because I work for myself, I decided to drastically reduce my hours—I now work between two and three hours a day.’
"just 49% of Gen Z say work is central to their identity"
Others are following in Katya’s footsteps. Having watched the rise and fall of the #girlboss and hustle culture, which posited the familiar—and tantalising—capitalist idea that if you work hard, it’ll pay dividends, the pendulum appears to have swung the other way. Research by the Prince’s Trust found two-thirds of 18- to 24-year-olds had ‘lowered their career expectations’, while videos tagged #lazygirljobs have more than 58 million views on TikTok. Many of us are becoming less competitive about our careers; just 49 percent of Gen Z say work is central to their identity, in comparison with 62 percent of millennials.
This distinct shift in attitudes and decline in ambition is linked to the pandemic, explains Craig Jackson, professor of occupational health psychology at Birmingham City University. ‘Coronavirus really changed how we view work,’ he explains. ‘Many people have realised that they’re working jobs that are relatively meaningless. We have this existential crisis where people are re-evaluating their psychological contract with the workplace, and realising that they weren’t getting a good deal.’
And this sense of overarching pointlessness can have a negative impact on our wellbeing, Jackson adds. As well as emotional numbness, he points to the potential for physical effects on the body; one study suggests musculoskeletal pain can develop in workers who are dissatisfied with their careers. And that’s before you add in the serious long-term health implications of smoking or increased alcohol consumption.
Sunny Side Down
It sounds like a depressing state of affairs, but (adopting unhealthy habits aside) is having low-to-no expectations—what nihilism essentially asserts—always such a bad thing? Not according to Wendy Syfret, author of The Sunny Nihilist: How A Meaningless Life Can Make You Truly Happy. Syfret, who considers herself a nihilist, had an epiphany after being burned out by work. ‘I felt I was having a panic attack,’ she says. ‘I had this clarifying moment where I thought: “Oh, my God, who cares?” One day I’m going to be dead and none of this matters at all. The revelation was such a relief. It turned a key in my brain.’
For Syfret, nihilism isn’t inherently negative; when nothing means anything, it can lead to a ‘fuck it, we ball’ approach, in which we don’t get bogged down trying to find meaning in a life that is inherently meaningless. ‘The difference between millennials and Gen Z is that millennials have been told to find meaning in everything,’ Syfret explains. ‘I think we were promised this gilded life and we genuinely believed in meritocracy. Gen Z have never had to grapple with the loss of that dream; they know that things are broken and therefore find joy in mundanity.’
This is something we’re starting to see reflected in our cultural output. The Oscar-winning absurdist comedy Everything Everywhere All At Once explores finding happiness in ordinary, simple things; towards the conclusion, Ke Huy Quan’s Waymond Wang tells his wife, Evelyn Quan Wang (Michelle Yeoh): ‘In another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.’ It’s certainly the case for Katya, who has moved to Malta and works remotely. ‘I enjoy this slower life,’ she explains. ‘I get to go for walks and enjoy the views and just feel more peaceful. I know I won’t make 10 times the business or the revenue, but I get to be out in nature, enjoy the sunshine and feel happy.’ Em agrees. ‘I just try to home in on the small things,’ she says. ‘If I’m having a taco and it tastes good, I focus on the taco. If I’m having a cocktail, I’ll sit and enjoy it.’
A cheerier approach to nihilism could potentially offer benefits to a generation that has been royally screwed over. ‘When you opt out of the overarching narratives of the meaning of life, you can focus on the pleasures the smallness of the day-to-day offers,’ Syfret argues. ‘There’s something nice about rotting in bed sometimes or making your little “girl dinner”. Sunny nihilism focuses on being present in your own life and being satisfied with what you have, and not being disrupted by not having what we’ve always been conditioned to think we want.’
And while a slower life of pared-back work such as Em and Katya’s will probably not be financially accessible to most of us in this turbulent economic climate (or even during boom times), beyond mundanity, Syfret argues that nihilism can galvanise social change.
‘Nihilism can breed a community that looks holistically at things, and focuses on the bigger picture rather than on individual hopes and dreams,’ she says. ‘Gen Z are not grappling with the dreams millennials had, with the promise they will inherit the world. But that means they can push for an economy that benefits more people. For example, for Gen Z, it’s not hard to consider a world where no one owns their own house – which sees them pushing for greater housing reform to benefit their generation as a whole.’
In effect, Syfret says, nihilism is what you put into it—you can fall into despondency and unhealthy coping mechanisms, or you can use it as a tool to make the world a better, more comfortable place. ‘Nihilism gives us the freedom to appreciate life without constraints of expectation,’ she says. ‘We are all on a rock that’s floating through space and one day we will all die. But instead of seeing this as depressing, we should see it as liberating. When we’re not restrained by meaning, we feel freer.’