The ‘Finfluencer’ Economy Is About to Pop
- adamorridge
- Apr 24
- 4 min read
I'm writing this while scrolling past a TikTok where a 23-year-old in a pastel hoodie is breaking down the magic of compound interest using gummy bears.
The comments section is a mix of “Thanks, this really helped!” and “Just YOLO’d £500 into Dogecoin, wish me luck.”
This is financial literacy in 2025: punchy, pastel, and only sometimes practical.
If you’ve spent any time on TikTok or Instagram lately, odds are you’ve stumbled into #FinTok—the chaotic, oddly compelling corner of the internet where financial influencers, or "finfluencers," teach budgeting with memes, pitch investment strategies with trending audio, and casually drop discount links to crypto exchanges in between.
At first glance, it feels harmless, even helpful. Who doesn’t want to be smarter with money? Especially if you’re in that sweet spot - earning well, but still haunted by student loans, house deposit goals, and the creeping realisation that brunch isn’t a retirement plan.
But beneath the bite-sized money hacks and dopamine-rich engagement lies a ballooning economy built on unverified advice, undisclosed sponsorships, and worryingly thin layers of accountability. And like most bubbles: it looks ready to pop.
Let's talk numbers. The hashtag #FinTok alone has racked up over 4.7 billion views on TikTok. A 2023 Forbes study found nearly 80% of young adults turn to social media for financial advice. The influence is real - and growing.
But here’s where things get wobbly. According to a recent survey in Young Money and reported on in FTAdvisor, 77% of young people who follow finfluencers say they trust them. 14% percent say they would act on their advice. A similar report published by Forbes found that only 31% check whether these personalities have any actual qualifications.
It's not just naivety. It's design.
TikTok, Instagram, and similar platforms reward speed, simplicity, and spectacle—traits that clash violently with the nuance and regulation of sound financial planning. Advice gets flattened into soundbites. Risk gets romanticised. Investment gets gamified.
The result? A generation of ambitious, financially-aware young professionals are being served glittery, oversimplified financial strategies without the guardrails. And it's working—until it isn’t.
Take the 2024 crackdown: the FCA issued 38 alerts for unlawful financial promotions last year alone. Nine people, including reality TV stars, are awaiting trial for pushing unregulated investment schemes on Instagram. If convicted, they face up to two years in prison. And this is just the visible part of the iceberg.
A recent SCM (Social Capital Markets) study analysed thousands of finfluencer videos and found that 71% contained misleading information. 83% percent lacked disclaimers. Over half implied guaranteed returns—a bold claim in a world where even the safest index fund can nosedive.
It’s not just a legal concern. It’s a tech one.
These platforms aren’t built to check for accuracy; they’re built to keep you watching. And as Meta continues scaling back its third-party fact-checking, the signal-to-noise ratio on financial advice keeps getting worse. TikTok, in particular, scored worst in SCM’s report: 90% of finfluencer content on the app lacked basic disclaimers. Nearly half recommended investing a specific percentage of income - a wildly personal decision - without nuance.
This is especially dangerous in areas like cryptocurrency, where price swings make rollercoasters look tame. A 2024 BaFin study found that 43% of social media users had invested in crypto, compared to just 25% of non-users. That correlation isn’t just suggestive - it’s screaming cause and effect.
But before we dunk too hard on the hoodie-clad hype machines, let’s be honest: this happened because there was a gap. A real one.
Most schools still don’t teach practical money skills. According to the Money and Pensions Service, 3 in 4 UK teachers say their students leave school without essential financial education. That void has been filled by bite-sized, buzz-worthy content creators who can break down ISAs and compound interest faster than a spreadsheet ever could.
This content scratches a very specific itch: the desire to feel smart with money, without the time to become an expert. Between managing careers, rent spikes, and “just one more subscription,” there’s a very real appetite for convenient, relatable financial advice. Finfluencers deliver that. Just not always well.
The scary part is how seductive it all feels. Personal finance is now a lifestyle genre. You don’t just invest - you become “the kind of person” who invests. You’re not just saving - you’re on your “rich girl walk” or flexing your passive income wins. It's identity-driven money management.
And when identity is on the line, critical thinking often takes a backseat.
This doesn’t mean we abandon financial content on social media. But we do need to demand better. We need regulation that fits the medium, not just the message. We need platforms to clearly differentiate paid promotions. And we need a kind of literacy that’s not just about APRs and ETFs - but about recognising when we’re being sold confidence dressed up as advice.
The finfluencer bubble may not burst in the traditional financial sense - but its credibility is starting to wobble. And for a generation that’s already sceptical of traditional institutions, that’s saying something.
The bottom line? TikTok might teach you how to budget like a boss, but it won’t build your pension. And that gummy bear compound interest video? It won’t be around when the markets dip and you need a plan.
Maybe, just maybe, the real flex isn’t YOLO-ing your paycheque into the latest hot stock. It’s calling a certified financial adviser... and then muting the algorithm for a bit.
Because financial freedom isn’t a vibe. It’s a strategy. And the smartest money on social media may soon be the money that logs off.
