“F#@! Them Kids”: The Quiet Crisis of Population Collapse

Our generation is stuck on pause, and society is starting to feel the empty spaces.

By the time my father was 35, baby me was already in the picture. My father was living the quintessential nuclear life: married with a kid, paying down a mortgage and building his career. Life, for him, was linear—each milestone a logical progression from the last.

Fast forward 34 years. I just got done celebrating my own 35th birthday. Not surprisingly for this era, my life looks wildly different from my father’s at the same age: no mortgage, no wife, and definitely no kids. 

I do want to have them. But I’m still on step one, navigating a dating world that feels less like a path to partnership and more like an endless algorithm of “possibilities.” 

On dating apps, I see women express that they want kids too, but somehow it feels like we’re all circling the idea without ever landing on it. In the modern world, it’s easier than ever to connect for a date, but just as easy to unplug and never speak again. We’re all lingering longer in Neverland, pushing off the big life checkpoints my parents had easily crossed by this age. It’s not just me; it’s a generational shift. Across the world, people are having fewer children later in life—or not at all. And all this points to the silent crisis of population collapse. Birth rates are plummeting, societies are aging, and the future we’re building looks radically different from the one our parents envisioned at our age.

The Global Decline Is Already Underway

Population collapse isn’t a far-off theory; it’s happening now. Japan’s population has been shrinking for over a decade, with the country seeing a decrease of 800,000 people in 2022 alone. South Korea’s fertility rate dropped to 0.72 births per woman in 2022, the lowest globally and significantly below the replacement level of 2.1.

In Europe, nations like Italy and Germany are grappling with shrinking workforces and aging populations. Even in the United States, which has traditionally relied on immigration and higher fertility rates to sustain growth, the latter is hovering at 1.66 births per woman. Projections suggest population stagnation and eventual decline in the latter half of this century if trends continue.

These numbers aren’t just statistics—they’re reshaping the way we live. In Japan, labor shortages have led to automation in everything from eldercare to agriculture. In South Korea, entire villages are turning into ghost towns. In Europe, governments are grappling with shrinking workforces and surging retirement costs.

For those of us living through this, the impact feels both academic and personal. It’s the kind of crisis you read about in studies, hear discussed in lectures, or see in news reports—distant and almost hypothetical. Yet it seeps into our daily lives in quiet, tangible ways: the relationships we form, the decisions we put off, the futures we struggle to imagine. It’s a reflection of how our priorities, fears, and circumstances have reshaped what it means to build a life.

The Growing Barriers to Parenthood

The path to parenthood today feels less like a natural progression and more like a maze of obstacles, both imposed by society and shaped by individual circumstances:

1. Dating in the age of too many options

Dating today feels like wading through a sea of potential, where intentions rarely translate into action. The idea of having kids comes up in profiles, conversations, and even fleeting moments of connection, but it often feels abstract—like something we’re all vaguely aiming for but never quite grounding in reality. Instead of building toward a shared future, dating feels like a series of disconnected interactions, each one skimming the surface without diving deeper. The result is a collective drift, where the idea of starting a family feels both ever-present and oddly out of reach.

This new dating model doesn’t just delay relationships; it delays life plans. The longer we wait to settle down, the harder it becomes to move from the abstract someday to the concrete soon. It’s not just a dating problem; it’s a generational one.

2. Economic pressures make parenthood feel unattainable

Even if I found the right partner tomorrow, the realities of raising children in today’s world feel somewhat insurmountable. In the U.S., the cost of raising a child to 18 is now $310,000—a number that’s ballooned thanks to rising childcare costs and inflation. For Millennials and Gen Z, already grappling with student loans, skyrocketing rents, and delayed homeownership, starting a family often feels more like a pipe dream than a workable plan.

3. Cultural shifts are changing what we prioritize

Family structures have also changed. My parents didn’t grow up questioning whether they’d have kids; it was just part of adulthood. For my generation, having children feels more like ordering dessert—an idea that feels sweet but non-essential in the bigger picture.

Women, in particular, are rethinking timelines. Today, 57% of U.S. college students are women, and more women than ever are pursuing advanced degrees and high-powered careers. While this progress is to be lauded, it also means that many women are delaying parenthood until later in life, when fertility becomes more complicated.

How Governments Are Responding

Governments are scrambling to address declining birth raes, but with mixed success:

• South Korea: Despite spending $280 billion on financial incentives like cash payments and childcare subsidies, the country’s fertility rate remains the lowest in the world.

• Hungary: Families with four or more children qualify for tax exemptions and housing support, but the impact has been modest.

• Scandinavia: Countries like Sweden and Norway, with their generous parental leave and subsidized childcare, have seen better outcomes, though fertility rates remain below replacement levels.

Policy doesn’t seem to be enough to solve the problem. Cultural shifts, economic pressures, and individual choices all play a role—and they’re much harder to legislate.

What a Future Without Kids Could Look Like

For Millennials and Gen Z, the consequences of population decline are already shaping our lives:

1. Financial burdens

With fewer workers contributing to taxes, younger generations will shoulder a heavier load to support aging populations. Pensions and social security systems may dwindle, forcing greater reliance on personal savings. Healthcare systems will struggle with increased demand, leading to higher costs and fewer resources for younger people.

2. Labor shortages

Entire industries may shrink as fewer workers are available, with automation stepping in to fill the gaps. This shift risks polarizing the job market, deepening economic inequality, and concentrating wealth among those who control automation. Over-reliance on machines may also erode critical human skills, leaving industries vulnerable to failures or disruptions.

3. Changing cities and communities

Urban areas will transform as populations decline. Some cities may consolidate into denser hubs with revitalized infrastructure, while others face abandonment and decay. This divide could worsen economic inequality, reshaping where and how future generations live and work.

A Quiet Place More Fearsome Than the Movie

Globally, the threat of population collapse isn’t just a demographic issue—it’s a question of how societies will sustain themselves in the future. What happens when there are fewer workers to keep economies running, fewer taxpayers to fund healthcare and pensions, and fewer young people to care for an aging population? We might see cities shrink, industries disappear, and cultural traditions fade away. It’s a world that feels quieter and lonelier.

For me, this isn’t just about what might happen at scale—but about my own life. At 35, I want kids, but I’m not sure if I’ll ever have them. I’m starting to see the years slipping by, and the path forward feels less certain. I think about the older people I know who didn’t have kids or spouses. When I was younger, I thought, I don’t want to end up like that. But now, that possibility feels realer. Can I accept a life without children? Will I ever be okay with a future where I don’t create the family I always imagined?

These questions don’t have easy answers, and I know I’m not alone in asking them. For so many of us, the weight of societal shifts and personal choices feels heavier than ever. And yet, perhaps the most pressing question isn’t whether we’ll have kids, but how we’ll find purpose in a world where the rules have changed—and what we’ll leave behind, whether or not anyone is here to inherit it.