Deep Dive: Has Gen Z lost energy for social change?

When it comes to social change in 2026, Gen Z has lost all the vim of yesteryear. When and where was this energy lost? Let’s break it down.

In the late 2010s Gen Z was synonymous with social change, a broad catch-all term encapsulating the desire for a more equitable and just world.

In 2026, however, the cohort is now more likely to be mentioned in the same breath as subjects like health, moderation, wellness, and ‘protecting your peace’. The pivot away from being a disruptive force to a generation more concerned with self-preservation may be stark, but it’s explainable if you take the time to reflect.

In my early days at Thred in 2019, it felt like Gen Z entered the public consciousness during volatile times, hellbent on dragging governments and corporations into their cultural reckoning.

Climate change protests were front-page news, #MeToo and BLM became ubiquitously discussed, Brexit and Donald Trump had polarised politics, and social media became both a battleground for public opinion and a vehicle for driving change.

Some of it was performative, sure, but some of the societal impact was undeniable. Brands were clamouring to ensure their messaging reflected youth values like sustainability and diversity, governments were dredging up tired reforms for a progressive overhaul, and employers rewrote their policies to place greater emphasis on employee rights and mental health.

Gen Z were at the forefront of all of this, and it felt like, as they truly came of age, they would leverage all of their economic might and online influence to continue shaping the institutions they’d inherited.

Then, life happened.

Boomers had pensions.

Gen X got 401ks.

Millennials got the 2008 crash.

Gen Z got a pandemic, a hiring freeze, AI layoffs, $7 milk, $800 car payments, $4,600 rent, and a student loan bill that follows them like a shadow.

Every generation got a harder version of the same…

— middleclassparty (@middle_class_us) May 30, 2026

Self-preservation took precedence

During this period of prominence, the majority of Gen Zers were teenagers and young adults. Their problems were more existential than confronting on a daily basis.

As they entered their mid-20s, however, the momentum that had defined their younger years dissipated, not because the problems disappeared, but because adult life became considerably more complicated.

The COVID pandemic acted as a sort of hard reset. Many graduated university in lockdown, travel plans for the summer were binned, and socialising became largely dependent on webcams and Wi-Fi. After emerging from the self-isolation cocoon, the typical soft launch into adulthood enjoyed by previous generations was replaced by a scramble to carve out a career in a volatile job market.

Then came the cost-of-living crisis, spiralling rent rates, stagnant wages, and UK house prices that rose by 20% in the three years that followed. The notion that the future was something to be moulded started to feel like blissful ignorance. And for the younger Gen Zers coming of age now, there’s the AI boom to contend with and its gobbling of entry-level jobs.

When the odds feel so stacked against you, it’s only natural for self-preservation to move top of the priority list. It’s all well and good rocking up to climate marches, community events, and getting behind viral hashtags on social media, but when your own window of opportunity is narrowing, it makes sense to invest most of your energy in numero uno.

The internet didn’t exactly help, either.

Doomscrolling and general fatigue

The same social media platforms that acted as a milieu for collective action pre-COVID now relentlessly churn out depressing updates on war, climate disaster, political turmoil, hate crime, and economic instability.

Gen Z’s innate sense of moral responsibility hasn’t been stamped out, but the capacity to respond to every crisis publicly certainly has. Compassion fatigue isn’t unique to Gen Z, but it’s arguably felt hardest among them, given they grew up as ‘digital natives’ immediately connected and engaged throughout their formative years.

The resulting pivot away from mainstream news consumption has been widespread, with reports suggesting much of Gen Z feels too beleaguered by the societal state of play to partake in a daily ritual of existential dread.

They’ve also seen much of what they originally fought for unravelled by governments, which has taken the wind out the sails in regard to civic action. Trump in his second term immediately set about destroying climate legislation built over decades, and we’ve seen global frameworks for emissions reduction – chiefly the Paris Agreement – fade into obscurity.

Gen Z remains environmentally conscious, with sustainability factored into both daily spending and engagement with politics. It’s just harder to rekindle that disruptive energy of yesteryear when oil-powered AI is now all the rage and global climate conferences are even more of a joke than before the likes of Greta took up the fight.

Brands are also aware that the need to appear virtuous is no longer more important than providing value. Ultimately, the vast majority of young people’s purchases are now guided by affordability, which wasn’t always the case.

Greenwashing sponsored cynicism

Prior to the pandemic, the name of the game for any brand targeting Gen Z spending power was to appear ethically sound, environmentally responsible, and embracing of diversity. From the very beginning, Gen Z has had an uncanny ability to discern whether a company is genuine in its intentions, with the term ‘Greenwashing’ coming to prominence in 2019.

The rate at which companies suddenly discovered a conscience the second associated marketing became popular was comical. Everyone suddenly put out blog statements about diversifying their workforce, striving for net zero in the coming years, celebrating pride, and improving work conditions.

Many of the most shameless offenders, including Shell, found that virtuosic lip service created more problems than it solved, and the term ‘Greenhushing’ was coined. This describes the act of those with good intentions hiding genuine progressive aims or achievements through fear of being mischaracterised as frauds.

Gen Z is also quick to throw accusations of virtue signalling around among its own these days, with any mention of previous viral moments like the black BLM Instagram tile inducing instant cringe among older members of the cohort.

This fear of being lumped in with people piggybacking on causes for clout or attention remains prominent in 2026. Without tangible evidence, lofty pledges and statements are likely to be dismissed or scoffed at. The upside is that performative posting is rarer. The downside is that apprehension has set in around posting anything that could be labelled inauthentic.

Someone who may have previously shared an infographic promoting a grassroots protest in 2019 may now think twice for fear of coming off badly.