When we hear that Finland is the happiest country in the world—for the eighth year straight, no less—it’s easy to picture serene lakes, content citizens, and a peaceful lifestyle with no real complaints.
But if you actually ask many Finns how they feel about the title, you’ll get raised eyebrows or even a dry chuckle.
On the surface, Finland may look like a wellbeing paradise.
But spend a day walking through Helsinki, and another story quickly unfolds—one that doesn’t quite match the global headlines.
A Long Line at the Food Bank Tells a Different Story
In downtown Helsinki, you’ll find long queues forming outside the Hursti food bank—a sobering sight that stands in stark contrast to Finland’s “happiest country” reputation.
Some days, as many as 2,000 people line up hoping to get basic food supplies.
Sini Hursti, who runs the charity founded by her great-grandfather, says she struggles to see the joy in the faces of those who turn up.
“I can’t agree that we’re the happiest country.
People can’t make ends meet,” she says.
She’s not alone in that opinion.
High Taxes, Low Take-Home Pay, and Shrinking Benefits
While it’s true that Finnish workers earn slightly more than those in the UK on average, most take home less after taxes—sometimes nearly half of their income is gone before it reaches their bank accounts.
And while taxes fund generous services like healthcare and education, these aren’t equally accessible everywhere.
Finland is also struggling with high unemployment, nearly double that of Britain at 9%.
The government recently introduced sweeping cuts to the welfare state.
Many benefits are now means-tested, housing allowances have been slashed, and primary care fees are rising fast.
Facing Cold Weather, Economic Strain, and a Tense Border
Add in freezing winters, long periods of darkness, and fears over the nearby Russian border, and it’s no wonder many Finns feel anxious.
The Russian invasion of Ukraine prompted both Finland and Sweden to fast-track their NATO membership.
Those who live near the 800-mile border—like residents in Lappeenranta—are particularly uneasy.
Some even keep firearms at home, though they admit they wouldn’t offer much protection in a real crisis.
“It’s Bulls***”: Locals Don’t Feel the Cheer
Not everyone is convinced by Oxford’s cheerful stats.
Alexander, a 63-year-old former tailor, calls the whole idea “bulls***.”
He says the collapse of Nokia, once a cornerstone of Finland’s economy, set the country on a downward spiral.
Many people, he says, are left isolated, lacking the kind of family support common in southern Europe.
Daniel, a homeless man in his 30s, echoes the frustration.
Struggling with addiction and unable to secure housing after years on a waiting list, he scrapes by on €590 a month.
“I don’t know who thinks we’re the happiest.
I’m just trying to survive,” he says.
Helsinki’s Darker Corners: Drugs, Crime, and Desperation
Drug problems are widespread in the capital.
In Sörnäinen, known locally as “Amphetamine Square,” drug deals and arrests are daily events.
Even public restrooms at the train station have disposal bins for used needles.
Areas like Kontula, a suburb with a high migrant population, have long battled reputations for violence and gang activity.
Still, despite the struggles, parts of Helsinki look well-kept—low-rise housing surrounded by trees and walking paths paint a different visual story.
Saunas and Statistics: A Government Trying to Stay Positive
To brighten the national mood, Finnish President Alexander Stubb pointed to one unique perk: 2.2 million saunas.
Nearly 90% of Finns use them weekly as a form of physical and mental self-care.
But not everyone buys the idea that steamy relaxation cancels out systemic issues.
Critics argue that real happiness is clouded by low wages, high taxes, a stretched education system, and political discontent.
Though suicide rates have dropped over the years, they still hover above the EU average.
Alcohol consumption has also declined, but not enough to dismiss its role in national stress levels.
A Closed Border and a Dying Economy in the East
Out east, near the closed Russian border, locals feel the economic pinch.
Shops and restaurants in towns like Lappeenranta miss the Russian tourists who once spent freely.
Bahadur, a Bangladeshi-born taxi driver studying business, says bluntly, “This town is dying without them.”
Residents here fear conflict with Russia but also mourn the economic loss from the border’s closure.
Not Everyone’s Unhappy—But It’s Complicated
Some residents, like beautician Milla and jogger-mom Virve, say they’re personally content—thanks to nature, access to services, or personal routines—but they don’t believe Finland as a whole deserves the “happiest” label.
Italian student Sara describes life in Lappeenranta as calm, even if a bit dull.
She sees Finns as kind and trustworthy, if reserved.
“If you learn the language, you’ll see the warmth underneath,” she says.
“We Have the Chance to Be Happy—But It’s Not Guaranteed”
Primary school teacher Onerva, 22, sums it up best.
“We have free healthcare and education, but we complain a lot,” she says.
“Being born in Finland is like winning the lottery, but happiness isn’t guaranteed.”
Niko, a traffic engineer, adds a thoughtful twist: “Maybe it’s not happiness we’re measuring—but the potential for it.”
So, Is Finland Really the Happiest Place on Earth?
If happiness is defined by peace, public services, and low corruption, then Finland ticks a lot of boxes.
But if it’s about how people actually feel on a cold morning in a food bank queue, or while navigating homelessness or addiction, then the picture becomes much murkier.
Maybe Finland doesn’t lead the world in happiness—but in resilience?
That might be another story.