Who Wants Financial Wellness?

You might have missed it (I nearly did), but January has been declared “National Financial Wellness Month.”

The designation (apparently, it’s been so designated since 2011 or thereabouts) is meant to create a time where we’re all encouraged to pay closer attention to our financial well-being. Which, considering that we’ve just emerged from a season of what for many is one of “overspending,” January seems either a good time — or perhaps two months too late.

Seriously, while the numbers are modest, surveys (conducted primarily by those promoting or supported by promoters of those services) routinely show that some workers want[i] —  and even expect —  financial wellness type support from their employers. Not surprisingly, there are employers willing to accommodate this assumption, though —  depending on employer size, location, and source —  fewer than half do, with larger employers notably more likely to do so. And that’s with a truly fluid definition of what those services actually entail.

But do these programs actually work? The data —  and measurement —  is murky, to say the least.

The challenge starts with the fluid definition of what constitutes a financial wellness “program,” is further muddied by varying degrees of employer support, and ultimately compounded by (widely) varying means of measuring “success.” 

A recent survey by the Employee Benefit Research Institute (EBRI) found that the top factor in measuring the success of financial wellness initiatives was improved overall worker satisfaction, followed by increased employee productivity —  areas that might well benefit from financial wellness initiatives but are arguably influenced by a wider range of factors. 

Meanwhile, bottom-line measures such as reducing health care claims and costs were NOT commonly cited as top factors in measuring the success of financial wellness initiatives.

Little wonder that any kind of quantifiable ROI remains…elusive[ii].

But another —  and perhaps larger —  challenge remains: utilization. Transamerica recently reported that a consortium of industry experts[iii] only expects utilization by a third of individuals with access to those programs – despite their decades-long existence.  And that’s a future projection, supported by AI chatbots and the like in addition to human support.

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Indeed, despite the headlines proclaiming interest — it doesn’t take much effort to see that the surveys are finding an INCREASE in (modest) interest, rather than a commanding demand.

More’s the pity since there’s any number of signs that suggest American workers really need (if not want) the kind of financial guidance and help that these programs ostensibly could provide —  and not much sign that they’re inclined to seek it outside of the workplace[iv].

So, who wants financial wellness —  well, it’s hard to imagine someone who doesn’t, though they might not recognize it by that label or appreciate what it means.

Here’s hoping that THIS financial wellness month we’re able to help more folks both know about, and take advantage of, the available programs —  that we do a better job of defining what those programs are and can mean — and that the combination leads to more and better financial security for working Americans.

-          Nevin E. Adams, JD

 

[i] According to Bank of America’s 2025 Workplace Benefits Report (PDF), conducted in partnership with Bank of America Institute, 26% of the workforce is seeking help in areas such as emergency savings, paying down debt, and overall financial wellness, compared to 13% in 2023.  

[ii] But for what I still maintain is an interesting exercise, check out Building a Bottom Line on Financial Wellness.

[iii] Full disclosure – I’m among this group.

[iv] Setting aside the obvious concerns of the kind of help they might stumble into on their own.

Putting a Price on Financial Literacy

  A new report claims that Americans lost nearly $1,000 last year due to a lack of financial literacy — and while that was less than the year before, the data seems a little . . . squishy.

The report comes from the National Financial Educators Council,[i] which has been conducting this particular survey for several years now.[ii] They drew their conclusion from a survey of some 1,200 American adults between Dec. 24 and Dec. 28 who responded to the question, 

"During the past year (2025), about how much money do you think you lost because you lacked knowledge about personal finances?"

Now, I’ve previously commented on the inherent unreliability of surveys based on self-reporting of financial matters — and this one, taken in the midst of the holiday season (and the aftermath of Christmas unwrapping) is surely no exception. Moreover, year-over-year comparisons of COMPLETELY different groups of people surely can’t be considered a reliable-trends benchmark (though this wouldn’t be the first survey to attempt that). That these year-over-year comparisons (of highly questionable results) are drawn from completely different groups — and then those “assessments” AVERAGED … well, you begin to appreciate just how “squishy” this conclusion might be.

But then, as if the result wasn’t sufficient to grab your attention, they take that average — and multiply it by the 260 million adult residents (according to a U.S. Census Bureau estimate) to claim that in 2025 more than $246 BILLION in lost revenue. Ah, math…and the “magic” of “compounding” questionable numbers to make them even bigger (and more questionable).  

So, what does this tell us about the cost of financial illiteracy? I’d say — not much.

While I’ve little doubt that a lack of financial acumen costs Americans money, I find little credibility on their self-assessment of that impact,[iii] not to mention what happens to that figure once it’s “averaged” (and then multiplied) — and nothing to suggest that it costs them less now than a year ago, beyond sheer economics. Heck, it probably costs them considerably more than they think.

Once upon a time I, like many of you, advocated for more financial education in schools,[iv] decried the extended emphasis on things like s.ex education and PE with no time or allowance for things like money management and budgeting (which, ironically, was once part of the curriculum of what was actually labeled home “economics”). In recent years, much to my dismay, I stumbled across research[v] that indicated that while financial knowledge can be shared, if there’s no practical application at hand, that knowledge tends to quickly atrophy. And — considering what has happened to my once working knowledge of AP Calculus — well, I find that entirely plausible.

At this point, I’d be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge that about 36 states have some kind of financial literacy requirement tied to high school graduation, and 29 of those require a dedicated personal finance course. I know that many of you are both currently and actively involved in programs to help young people achieve a much-needed level of financial acumen, if not literacy. I continue to see encouraging and inspiring LinkedIn posts and commentary about those activities. Good for you.

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That said, the aforementioned research suggests that knowledge without application of that knowledge fades quickly — and that would seem to suggest that our industry needs to quit holding out as a panacea the notion that financial education programs in school will “solve” the 401(k) education problem. 

That doesn’t mean we should abandon those workplace efforts, certainly not in core areas like budgeting, debt management and saving. At a minimum, it might well dust off the cobwebs of their earlier education, if they were lucky enough to receive it.

There’s certainly a price to be paid for that education (or lack thereof), and even though it might come to actual application later than it might, it’s arguably still better late than never.

• Nevin E. Adams, JD

 

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[i] To their credit, the NFEC actually has a definition of financial literacy: “understanding the topic of money.”  But they expand on that to say, “Financial Literacy is ‘Possessing the financial knowledge, behaviors, systems, team, and plan to confidently take effective action that best fulfills an individual’s personal, family, and global community goals.’” I’m not sure how workable that is in a real-life assessment, though they have an extensive website touting education programs and credentials purporting to do just that.

[ii] According to a press release, the NFEC first fielded this survey in 2017 as part of its research to clarify the status of financial literacy in the country. The organization then leverages the results to advocate for greater economic empowerment. In the three previous years' surveys, Americans reported losing $1,819 in 2022, $1,506 in 2023, and $1,015 in 2024 due to a lack of personal finance knowledge.

[iii] As long as we’re relying on self-reporting, I’d be more curious as to the “how” and “why” than the how much, as that might actually provide some insights on areas where financial education might actually help.

[iv] See “Focus” Group.

[v] See The Problem(s) with Financial 'Literacy'.

2025 - The (Retirement) Year in Review - "Revised" - and With a 'Twist'

 I recently did a roundup of some of the most significant retirement-related events of 2025. Then Jack VanDerhei, PhD fed that column through ChatGPT applying the style that famed humorist Dave Barry takes with HIS annual Year-in-Review. The result follows... Enjoy!

The Year in Retirement Plans: 2025

By someone who survived it and would like credit

By almost any measure, 2025 was a remarkable year for retirement plans, largely because it managed to be historically consequential without passing a single massive, system-rewriting law. This is unusual in the same way it is unusual when your roof collapses even though no meteor hit it.

There was no SECURE Act sequel. No Pension Protection Act reboot. Congress flirted with something called the One Big Beautiful Bill, then decided retirement plans should sit this one out, possibly because they were tired. Instead, 2025 delivered something far more subtle and far more exhausting: implementation problems, interpretive confusion, and enough litigation to keep ERISA lawyers hydrated for decades.

Rules were finalized, challenged, revised, challenged again, and then stared at intensely. Courts wrestled with fundamental ERISA questions that everyone thought had already been answered, except apparently not. A new Administration arrived and “recalibrated” several long-held positions, which is Washington code for “pretending we always believed this.” And fiduciaries were reminded, once again, that what really matters is not what happened, but how thoroughly you documented what you meant to happen.

Individually, these developments looked small. Collectively, they turned 2025 into one of the most important retirement-plan years in recent memory, the way a thousand paper cuts can technically count as a major injury.

Let’s relive it. Slowly. Carefully. With coffee.

January

January opened with a regulatory farewell tour from the outgoing Administration. Labor, Treasury, and the IRS issued rules addressing catch-up contributions, auto-enrollment, missing participants, and updates to the Voluntary Fiduciary Correction Program, which is the government’s way of saying, “We noticed you messed up, but we’ll pretend it was an accident.”

Meanwhile, the Supreme Court took up the question of who bears the burden of proof in ERISA fiduciary cases, a topic so exciting it caused several justices to blink slowly. At the same time, the American Airlines ESG case produced the rare legal outcome of “Yes, the process was prudent, but also no, that wasn’t loyal,” leaving observers nodding thoughtfully while quietly wondering if words still had meanings.

February

February brought personnel news, with Daniel Aronowitz nominated to lead EBSA, and legislative déjà vu, as Congress once again introduced a bill to allow 403(b) plans to invest in collective investment trusts. This bill has now been introduced so many times it qualifies for tenure.

Litigation, however, was fresh and energetic. Lawsuits challenged the use of forfeitures to offset employer contributions, including a high-profile case against Charter Communications’ $7 billion plan. A Texas judge upheld the ESG rule, surprising nearly everyone who had read literally anything else. HP won a forfeiture case, which would later become extremely important, like a minor character in a movie who suddenly gets their own sequel.

March

March brought confirmation of Lori Chavez-DeRemer as Secretary of Labor, followed immediately by more lawsuits, because the universe insists on balance.

New healthcare fiduciary claims hit JPMorgan. Johnson & Johnson saw a previously dismissed case resurrected, proving that no lawsuit is ever truly gone. One of the many BlackRock LifePath challenges was dismissed with prejudice, while Clorox discovered that winning once does not guarantee winning again, especially when forfeitures are involved.

April

April was the month litigation stopped being theoretical.

The Supreme Court ruled unanimously in the Cornell University case, clarifying exactly nothing in a way that encouraged everyone to file more lawsuits. Then came a rare ERISA jury trial against Pentegra, resulting in a $39 million verdict and the sudden realization that juries exist.

Meanwhile, fiduciaries scored a win in the first pension risk transfer case, suggesting that at least sometimes, moving liabilities off your balance sheet does not automatically make you a villain.

May

May was dominated by the One Big Beautiful Bill, which turned out to be neither particularly beautiful nor relevant to retirement plans. Still, momentum continued on the 403(b)-CIT front, and the IRS announced a modest increase in HSA limits, which thrilled dozens of people.

Litigation pressed on. Forfeiture cases multiplied, some were dismissed, and one settled quietly, like a family argument everyone agreed not to mention again.

June

June brought a regulatory pivot. The Labor Department reconsidered its ESG rule and rescinded its prior crypto warning, returning to a neutral stance best summarized as, “You’re adults. Please stop asking us.”

Courts, meanwhile, began dismissing forfeiture cases with increasing confidence. Wells Fargo and JPMorgan prevailed, with JPMorgan’s victory coming with prejudice, which in legal terms means “please stop.”

July

July featured new guidance on pooled employer plans, which raised many questions and answered several others incorrectly. More notably, the Labor Department filed an amicus brief supporting fiduciaries in the HP forfeiture appeal, causing observers to double-check the calendar.

The Pentegra case settled for $48.5 million, confirming that jury verdicts are not just theoretical exercises. A Texas court invalidated part of the fiduciary rollover rule, echoing Florida, because nothing says consistency like multiple courts disagreeing in harmony.

August

August delivered an executive order encouraging retirement plans to consider private markets, including alternatives, digital assets, real estate, and lifetime income products. This marked the first time all of these were mentioned together without anyone visibly sweating.

Litigation continued, with Empower sued over alleged misuse of participant data to cross-sell managed accounts, joining TIAA and Morningstar in the rapidly growing genre of “You had the data, but should you have used it?”

September

September brought the confirmation of Daniel Aronowitz as EBSA head, thanks to a procedural maneuver best described as “now everyone is confirmed, please stop emailing us.”

The IRS finalized Roth catch-up rules effective in 2027, which somehow managed to confuse people about a requirement scheduled for 2026. The SEC fined Vanguard and Empower over managed account disclosures, and the American Airlines ESG case concluded with governance changes but no damages, proving that sometimes everyone loses differently.

October

A government shutdown slowed activity, but not enough to prevent the release of Social Security COLA figures, because retirees notice.

Courts dismissed several pension risk transfer cases for lack of harm, while allowing others to proceed based on the possibility that harm might someday exist if the universe cooperated.

November

Post-shutdown, the IRS released 2026 contribution limits and the updated FICA threshold, reminding everyone that math is relentless.

More forfeiture cases were dismissed, some explicitly citing Labor’s HP amicus brief. New cases appeared anyway, because hope springs eternal. Advisors sued the Labor Department. Attorneys sought fees. Everyone was very busy.

December

December ended the year emphatically.

The Labor Department urged the Supreme Court to review major ERISA issues, siding with fiduciaries and explicitly reversing its prior positions, which is rare and also deeply confusing to historians. The Department abandoned its defense of the fiduciary rule while hinting at a replacement, because suspense matters.

Schlichter Bogard rolled out a new wave of lawsuits targeting voluntary benefits, proving there is always another category. A Johnson & Johnson healthcare case was dismissed. The Department requested more time in Honeywell, suggesting another amicus was loading.

Congress passed a bill allowing 403(b) plans to invest in CITs, plus floated auto-IRAs, Roth rollovers, ERISA lawsuit reform, and expanded emergency savings, all of which may or may not happen, but felt important at the time.

What Did We Learn?

The defining feature of 2025 was not transformation, but stress-testing. The system was tested. Employers were tested. Courts were tested. Fiduciaries were tested, mostly on whether they kept enough meeting minutes.

And somehow, the system held. Not gracefully. Not efficiently. But it held.

Going into 2026, there will be more lawsuits, more rules, and more confident statements that turn out to be provisional. But 2025 proved something important: retirement plans continue to function not because they are perfect, but because the people running them are persistent, pragmatic, and very good at reading footnotes.

Preserving the system will require less noise, clearer rules, fair enforcement, and a collective agreement that prudence does not require clairvoyance.

On to 2026. Please stretch first.

- Nevin E. Adams, JD (and ChatGPT)