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I was 11 years old when Frampton Comes Alive! was released in 1976. I still have my original copy of the double live album, which I bought with money from my Akron Beacon Journal paper route.
It was a big hit with my friends and me at Indian Trail Elementary School and played in heavy rotation during inside recess, along with albums from Kiss and Grand Funk Railroad, during fifth and sixth grades (no judging, we were 11).
That record mattered to me. Not just because the music was awesome, but because it felt like something bigger than me. A crowd. A moment. A shared experience I could drop the needle onto whenever I wanted.
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If you’ve ever listened to the song “Do You Feel Like We Do,” especially the live version, you know exactly what I mean. The lights go down, the crowd swells, and suddenly thousands of people are feeling the same thing at the same time.
There’s energy in that. When everyone around you feels confident and certain, it doesn’t just feel good. It feels true.
That same dynamic shows up in investing more often than we like to admit.
When enough people believe the same thing, conviction becomes contagious. And once conviction becomes shared, doubt feels unnecessary.
The problem is that markets don’t experience feelings the way people do.
When feelings replace analysis
Feeling aligned with a group reduces our perception of risk. When others agree with us, our brains interpret that as a sign of safety.
That’s what makes the question “Do you feel like we do?” so powerful. It isn’t really a question. It’s reassurance. It says: You’re part of this. You’re on the inside. You’re not alone.
In investing, that sense of belonging can quietly replace analysis.
Over time, beliefs about investments often stop being just opinions and start becoming expressions of identity. We don’t just own something, we believe in it. We associate it with our intelligence, our values or our worldview.
We share our belief, sometimes without even being asked, at the golf course, at social functions and with coworkers. At that point, the investment is no longer just a vehicle for capital. It becomes a statement about who we are.
Rick Kahler, a financial adviser and certified financial therapist in Rapid City, South Dakota, writes frequently about the emotional side of money. He recently shared a telling example.
One of his clients held on to a losing technology stock because it was associated with a public figure she admired. She didn’t want to sell it — not because of earnings or prospects, but because of what it represented to her.
Later, she inherited speculative mining shares she felt no attachment to, and they soared in value.
Her emotional attachment had nothing to do with either outcome. The market moved independently of her feelings in both cases.
Confirmation bias and loss aversion
This is where confirmation bias comes into play. Once an investment becomes part of our identity, we naturally seek out information that supports our belief and ignore information that doesn’t.
We follow voices that agree with us. We share charts that reinforce the story. Negative data gets dismissed as temporary or misunderstood.
The famous talk box Frampton used on that album is a surprisingly good metaphor for this. It sounds like a human voice — expressive, confident, commanding — but it’s electronically distorted. The sound is louder and more compelling, but not more informative.
Confirmation bias works the same way. It amplifies conviction without improving accuracy.
Loss aversion then seals the loop. Prospect theory teaches us that losses hurt about twice as much as gains feel good.
Selling a losing investment doesn’t just feel like a financial setback — it feels like admitting error. It can feel like abandoning a cause or leaving the crowd just as the music is still playing.
So, investors hold on. They wait to “get back to even.” They confuse emotional endurance with discipline.
Loss aversion often disguises itself as patience. More often, it’s the fear of emotional discomfort.
Are you your own worst enemy?
It’s worth stepping back and asking what the market actually cares about. It doesn’t ask how confident you felt. It doesn’t ask how many people agreed with you. It doesn’t ask how meaningful the story was.
It asks what you paid, what changed and what someone else is willing to pay next. That indifference can feel cold. But it’s also clarifying. Markets don’t punish emotion. They simply ignore it.
The solution isn’t to eliminate feelings from investing — that’s neither realistic nor necessary. The goal is to build systems that don’t rely on emotional decision-making in the first place.
Written investment policies, diversification, automatic contributions, regular rebalancing and long-term planning all exist for one reason: They help protect us from ourselves.
Warren Buffett often quotes his mentor, Benjamin Graham: “The investor’s chief problem — and even his worst enemy — is likely to be himself.”
Research suggests that emotional decision-making can significantly reduce long-term returns. Over decades, that gap compounds into something meaningful.
Designing your behaviors around human psychology isn’t a flaw in investing. It’s a requirement.
When I pull out that old copy of Frampton Comes Alive! today, the feeling is still there. Nostalgia. Energy. A sense of being part of something.
But when the record ends, the needle lifts. The room goes quiet. Markets work the same way. The feeling passes. The price remains the same (sorry, couldn’t resist).
You’re allowed to feel however you want about an investment. Just don’t expect the market to feel like you do.
