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Women’s gains or women’s dilemma? Leaving Wall Street, becoming a finance influencer has become a trend.
More and more women on Wall Street are leaving the finance industry—not jumping ship to rival investment banks, but shutting down their Bloomberg terminals, turning on their phone cameras, and becoming financial influencers. The mainstream narrative paints this as a brave exodus, women embracing the freedom of the creator economy. But when you lay out the data, another reading emerges: perhaps they weren't walking out, but being squeezed out. And what the creator economy gives them is never the power of Wall Street—it's influence.
(Background: When KOLs' Voices Outweigh VCs: A Wealth Experiment Hijacked by Traffic)
(Context: CZ Unfollowed 300 People in Two Months—When Attention Becomes a Ridiculous Business)
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Key Takeaways
Wall Street is another promised land of the American Dream. For example, there's an older Hollywood movie than me, Working Girl, which tells the story of a secretary from rural America with an accent, who claws her way up in sinful New York and finally gets an office of her own in a Manhattan skyscraper.
The final shot pulls back to a glittering skyline, with Carly Simon singing "Let the River Run" (the song later won an Oscar). That movie was about women claiming their own piece of the sky in the workplace, fulfilling the American Dream of "squeezing into the men's battlefield." That character symbolizes many ambitious women: what they wanted all their lives was to get into that commercial building, that corner office, and sit behind that giant desk.
Fast forward nearly forty years to 2026—the smartest, most ambitious young women no longer want to squeeze into those financial towers. They want to leave them, then turn on their phone cameras and start building their own communities.
Bloomberg published a report on July 1st, saying more and more women on Wall Street are leaving their finance jobs to become content creators. The report reads like a female empowerment story: women breaking free from suits, office cubicles, and the club built by men, to build their own brands and be their own bosses. But as I read it, I didn't find it inspiring. Is this a new form of gender empowerment or a reset?
Women Are Actually Being Pushed Out
I specifically looked up U.S. statistics. Over the past decade, about 141k women left the finance industry, accounting for 2.6% of the industry's female workforce. During the same period, the number of men in the industry increased by nearly 389k, up 9.6%. One side is losing, the other is expanding. When an industry shows a net outflow for one gender and a significant net inflow for the other, explaining it with "they chose to pursue freedom" seems too convenient.
Digging deeper into the numbers: in the U.S. financial services industry, 48% of senior women say they often feel burned out, compared to 41% of senior men. Even among entry-level women, nearly 30% say they "often or almost always" feel burned out. As for the perennial gender pay gap, it's stuck at 10.9%—men earn 10% more than women on average, barely budging over the years.
So when we say these women "left Wall Street to chase their dreams," we're actually omitting the first half of the sentence. They were first ground down by a system that makes them work harder, pays them less, and offers little chance of reaching that corner office—only then did they become "left."
CBS in the U.S. reported on the phenomenon of women "fleeing Wall Street" years ago (the headline back then was blunt: "Bye, Ladies"). So leaving isn't new. What's new is where they go after leaving. In the past, they left to go to other companies, or simply left the workforce to become homemakers. Now they leave to do the same thing: start their own media channels.
Influence Is Not Power
This brings us to that word. They become influencers: people of influence. And the place they left controls something else: power.
These two words are often used interchangeably in Chinese, but they are two completely different forces. The core of Wall Street is power. You sit in that room, anonymously, without showing your face, deploying other people's money—billions, tens of billions. Your name doesn't need to be remembered by anyone, but your decisions change many people's lives. This is a hard, structural, behind-the-scenes force.
The creator economy gives influence. The person stands in front of the camera, shows their face, speaks, has expressions, has a persona. You influence the wallets and financial choices of hundreds of thousands of people. This is a soft force that needs to be constantly seen and performed to be maintained. Women have long been shut out of the door to power (that ceiling is made of glass—visible but unbreakable), so they go to another place to build influence by hand.
This isn't to say influence isn't valuable. It's very valuable. Finance influencers across all U.S. platforms have a combined following of over 680 million. Top creators command six- to seven-figure brand deals. Vivian Tu is a good example. She was originally a stock trader at JP Morgan. After leaving, she used the alias "Your Rich BFF" and has over 500k followers on the short-video platform TikTok. A single sponsored post costs $3,000 to $4,000. That's real, substantial income that belongs to her.
Even earlier, Haley Sacks (online alias "MrsDowJones") was laid off in 2018 and went full-time as an influencer. Now she has about 1.4 million followers across all platforms. Her recent book even hit #1 on the New York bestseller list.
But have you noticed the asymmetry hidden here? On Wall Street, you make money through the power you hold, not your face. In the creator economy, you make money because you yourself have become a commodity.
Turning Yourself Into a Product
From selling your expertise to selling yourself.
The finance industry is essentially a middleman business: you operate other people's wealth. Your expertise is a layer between you and your client; you can hide behind it. But when you become a creator, what gets sold is yourself—your face, your life, your speaking style, your "persona"—all packaged into content for the algorithm to price. You no longer have off-hours, because you are the product, and products don't clock out.
Readers in the crypto space should be familiar with this. In recent years, how many people originally in traditional finance, on trading desks, or in research departments have turned into crypto Twitter big shots, KOLs, and memecoin pumpers?
The Block (動區) has reported on the inversion where "KOLs' voices outpace VCs" and also written about CZ unfollowing 300 people in two months, lamenting that attention itself becomes a ridiculous business. The attention economy machine—the crypto world was its earliest and most thorough guinea pig. The influx of Wall Street women only adds another batch of high-quality fuel to that machine.
And when it comes to "turning yourself into a product," society's demands on women have always been harsher than on men. Male KOLs can be sloppy, relying only on their mouth and opinions; female creators, however, are often expected to also serve up their makeup, body, and approachability. They moved from a workplace that demanded they "fight like a man" to a place that demands they "sell their entire self." How much freedom is gained in between? Since I am not biologically female, I can't say with much certainty.
Who Left Whom?
Now let's return to the original question. Are these women leaving, or being expelled?
I'm inclined to think these two things aren't contradictory. What's truly special is that the system has found a way to make "being expelled" look like "a voluntary departure," and then let these departing "finance influencers" sell Wall Street's products.
Think about it: if these 140k women had resigned angrily and collectively condemned Wall Street's gender discrimination, Wall Street would feel pressure to reform—to fix that glass ceiling, close the 10.9% pay gap, and address the culture that grinds women down to burnout. But if these 140k departures are written as individual "she bravely chased her dreams and lived authentically" inspirational stories, then no one needs to be held accountable.
The system doesn't have to change, because the narrative has quietly shifted responsibility from "the system pushed them out" to "they chose to leave and succeeded."
The most ideal expulsion is making the expelled believe it was their own decision.
Wall Street doesn't have to admit it can't retain women, because women are "clearly" doing well—look how happily they smile on TikTok, how freely they earn. A story of personal liberation conveniently closes the loop on the structural failure of the finance industry.
I am not trying to deny the achievements of Vivian Tu and others (they earned it through hard work, real money). I just think their success endorses problems that remain unsolved, which seems quite unfair.
FAQ
Why do Wall Street women leave the finance industry to become influencers?
Public data shows 48% of senior women in finance often experience burnout, a gender pay gap of 10.9%, and a hard-to-break glass ceiling. Many have become financial influencers (finfluencers), such as former JP Morgan trader Vivian Tu, seeking autonomy and income that belongs to them.
What is a finfluencer (finance influencer)?
Finfluencer is a combination of "finance" and "influencer," referring to creators who share financial and investment content on social media platforms. Combined, they have over 680 million followers across all platforms, with top creators commanding six- to seven-figure brand deals per partnership.