The Financialization of Everything: Are We Turning Life Into a Market?
We live in a time where nearly every aspect of life is being viewed through a financial lens. From friendships to personal experiences, from hobbies to education, everything seems to be turning into a transaction. The question is: Are we becoming smarter about money, or are we simply commodifying everything we love?
The Pressure to Optimise Every Aspect of Life
As a college student, I constantly feel the pressure to optimise every moment of my life. Social media has played a huge role in shaping my mindset—seeing endless videos of people making money, learning new skills, and living luxurious lifestyles makes me wonder if I’m doing enough. Should I spend my free time learning a coding language, working on a side hustle, or just unwinding? The rise of hustle culture glorifies the idea that every action must have a productive or financial outcome, making it difficult to just enjoy life without feeling the need to monetize every aspect of it.
Social media amplifies this phenomenon. Influencers monetize personal moments, turning everyday life into an asset. A meal isn’t just dinner—it’s content. A vacation isn’t just a break—it’s an investment in one’s personal brand. Every tweet, video, and Instagram post is an opportunity to capitalize on engagement, where likes and shares hold financial value through sponsorships and advertising revenue. The constant exposure to polished lives has also raised expectations of how life should be lived, making it feel like there’s a set path: study, work, make money, optimise everything.
Turning Hobbies into Side Hustles
In the past, hobbies were personal escapes—things people did for fun, without the expectation of financial return. Now, platforms like Patreon, Etsy, and Substack have transformed creative pursuits into income streams. I’ve seen people turning personal interests—like blogging, making jewelry, or curating niche newsletters—into businesses. While I admire their ability to turn creativity into a career, I also wonder: Do we lose something intangible when our passions become business ventures?
I personally felt this dilemma when I built a website about nuclear fusion to make scientific concepts more accessible. What started as a passion project turned into something I felt compelled to optimise—thinking about engagement metrics, visitor counts, and potential monetization. While it was rewarding, I also missed the simplicity of just learning and creating for the sake of curiosity. Similarly, I love cooking and experimenting with new recipes, but I sometimes catch myself wondering, Should I document this? Monetize it? rather than simply enjoying the process.
Friendships, Dating, and the Value of Social Capital
Even relationships are not immune to financialization. As a college student, I constantly hear how important networking is—professors, mentors, and peers all emphasise that getting a good job depends not just on skills but on knowing the right people. Networking events feel almost like investment opportunities, where every interaction could be a step toward future career success. It makes me wonder: Are these connections genuine, or just strategic moves in an ever-growing professional game? Having lived in multiple countries, I’ve noticed how relationships in different cultures are shaped by this mentality—some friendships are built on shared history, while others are transactional, formed out of mutual career benefits.
Dating apps, too, have introduced an economic structure to personal relationships. Premium memberships, algorithmic matchmaking, and "pay-to-boost" features turn love into a marketplace where attention is a scarce resource. I’ve tried Hinge myself and even paid for the premium membership for a month, just to see if it made a difference. It felt strange—like I was investing in my dating life, optimising my chances for a better "match." People optimize their profiles like resumes, selecting pictures and prompts that maximise engagement. Even relationships now feel like they come with performance metrics, where dating success is measured in match rates and engagement levels.
Education, Learning, and the ROI of Knowledge
I often find myself evaluating what I’m learning based on its financial return. There are subjects I genuinely enjoy, like theatre, philosophy, and astrophysics, but I also feel the pressure to learn skills that will help me make money. The abundance of online content—videos, courses, and tutorials—makes it seem like every free moment should be spent upskilling in a way that has tangible financial benefits. Education was once seen as a path to enlightenment and self-improvement. Today, it’s viewed through an ROI-driven lens. Students weigh the cost of tuition against future earnings, with degrees being scrutinised based on salary outcomes rather than intellectual growth. When I decided to pursue a double minor in theatre and finance alongside my engineering degree, I had countless people ask, “But what’s the practical use of that?” as if every academic choice had to be justified by its financial return.
The rise of online courses, boot camps, and alternative education paths also reflects this shift. People no longer pursue knowledge for its own sake but instead focus on certifications and skills with immediate financial payoffs. While this approach can make education more practical, it risks devaluing subjects that don’t offer a clear economic benefit. The irony is that some of the most influential ideas—philosophy, art, storytelling—have shaped history, yet they’re often the first to be dismissed in a profit-driven world.
What’s Next? A Society Built on Financial Optimization
Are we heading toward a world where every action is judged by its financial value? The trend suggests that as financial literacy grows, so does the instinct to optimize everything for economic gain. While this can lead to smarter decision-making, it also risks reducing life to a series of calculated transactions, stripping away spontaneity, creativity, and genuine human connection.
The challenge is to strike a balance. Financialization brings opportunities, but it shouldn’t define every aspect of life. I’ve had to remind myself that not every passion needs to be monetized, not every friendship needs to be strategic, and not every choice needs to be optimized for profit. Running a marathon wasn’t about setting a personal best for me—it was about the journey, the challenge, and the feeling of pushing my limits. Serving in the Singapore Army wasn’t just about discipline or leadership—it taught me resilience, teamwork, and adaptability. Perhaps the true measure of wealth isn't just financial capital, but also the ability to enjoy experiences without turning them into economic calculations.
What do you think? Are we becoming financially savvy or just commodifying everything we love?
