I started tracking my spending during the first lockdown, not because I was particularly disciplined, but because I was bored and anxious and needed something to control. Every evening, I’d sit at my kitchen table and log the day’s expenses into a colour‑coded spreadsheet: rent, groceries, the occasional guilty Deliveroo order. After three months, I had a dataset that told a story I wasn’t expecting. It wasn’t just about where my money went; it was about what I valued, what I feared, and how those two things were locked in a quiet, daily battle. The months I felt most lonely, I spent more on takeaway coffee — tiny, transient luxuries that filled a gap the pandemic had carved open. The months I felt hopeful, my spending shifted toward books, courses, investments in a future I still believed in. That spreadsheet was a mirror, and the reflection was uncomfortable. I realised that finance wasn’t just about numbers; it was about human behaviour, psychology, and the invisible forces that shape our decisions. And I wanted to understand those forces from the inside out.
When the time came to choose a dissertation topic, I knew I wanted to explore something at the intersection of finance and human behaviour. But the field was enormous: corporate finance, investment strategy, risk management, fintech disruption, behavioural economics, sustainable investing. I needed a specific, researchable question. I started by exploring what other students had already investigated. I came across a collection of finance dissertation topics that helped me see the full picture. Some projects examined the impact of financial literacy programmes on household saving rates, others analysed the role of robo‑advisors in democratising investment, and a few explored how cognitive biases affect retail investor decision‑making. That range gave me the confidence to settle on a question that felt both personal and urgent: how does financial anxiety — the chronic worry about money that affects millions of people — influence investment behaviour among young adults in the UK?
Once I had my direction, I designed a mixed‑methods study. I surveyed over 200 people aged 18–30 about their financial anxiety levels and investment habits. Then I interviewed a smaller group in depth, asking them to walk me through their financial decision‑making in their own words. The conversations were raw and sometimes heartbreaking. A young teacher told me she was so terrified of losing money that she kept all her savings in a low‑interest account, even though she knew inflation was eroding its value. “I know it’s irrational,” she said, “but the thought of seeing my balance drop makes me physically ill.” A freelance graphic designer described the guilt of spending on anything non‑essential, even after a profitable month, because he never knew when the next dry spell would hit. Over and over, I heard the same refrain: financial anxiety wasn’t just a psychological burden; it was actively preventing people from building wealth.
My research found that financial anxiety significantly reduces the likelihood of investing in equities, even after controlling for income, education, and financial literacy. Anxious investors were more likely to hold cash, less likely to diversify, and more susceptible to panic selling during market downturns. I argued that financial education programmes need to address not just knowledge gaps but also the emotional dimensions of money — helping people build resilience alongside their portfolios. It was a modest contribution, but it felt meaningful. I wasn’t just writing about abstract theories; I was writing about the quiet, private fears that shape how people live.
Writing that dissertation changed my relationship with my own finances. I became more aware of the emotional triggers that influenced my spending and saving. I learned that financial wellbeing isn’t just about how much you have; it’s about how you feel about what you have, and whether you can make decisions from a place of clarity rather than fear. If you’re considering a finance dissertation, I’d encourage you to look beyond the numbers. Think about the money stories you’ve inherited from your family, the financial anxieties you’ve witnessed or experienced, and the systemic forces that shape who gets to build wealth and who doesn’t. The best research questions are often the ones that feel personal — the ones that make you uncomfortable, curious, and quietly determined to understand something that matters.