How to talk about saving and conscientious spending in the era of “consumption downgrade”

Design by Wang Siqi; elements from VCG and Midjourney

“Changing from frugality to extravagance is easy， but going from extravagance to frugality is hard，” Sima Guang （司馬光）， a politician from the Northern Song dynasty （960 – 1127）， summarized over 1，000 years ago. Today， Chinese society is facing exactly this challenge.

In the not-so-distant past， China was noted for conspicuous consumption fueled by “tycoon （土豪tǔháo）” mentality， ubiquitous “buy buy buy （買買買mǎi mǎi mǎi）” culture， and the trend of “overt displays of wealth （炫富xuànfù）.” However， according to data firm Syntun， this year， sales during “618，” China’s second largest shopping festival， where online and offline merchants offered deals and promotions from late May to June， declined for the first time since the event was launched in 2008.

Economists have summarized China’s new love for thrift with the term “consumption downgrade （消費降級xiāofèijiàngjí）.” Rather than cutting out all non-essential spending， consumption downgrading is a strategy to balance cutting costs and maintaining an acceptable quality of life. Consumers may sacrifice experience， individuality， or taste to a certain degree to get the best bang for their buck. In 2018， the term was listed as one of the 10 “New Words of the Year” by the State Language Resources Monitoring and Research Center， and seems to have become increasingly popular amid the Covid-19 pandemic and gradual increases in cost of living in big cities. They might say：

I’m downgrading my consumption by replacing Starbucks with instant coffee.

Wǒ xiànzài xiāofèi jiàngjí le， yòng sùróng kāfēi dàitì Xīngbākè.

我現(xiàn)在消費降級了，用速溶咖啡代替星巴克。

There are two main ways to save. The first is to cut out unnecessary expenses. These could include items that one buys due to the influence of marketing or a lack of critical thinking. Such goods are referred to as 智商稅（zhìshāngshuì） or “IQ tax”—a tax one pays for stupidity.

I don’t buy luxury facial masks anymore. They are pure IQ tax.

Wǒ bú zài mǎi guìfù miànmó le， nà wánquán shì zhìshāngshuì.

我不再買貴婦面膜了，那完全是智商稅。

The second method involves finding cost-effective alternatives to expensive products. Goods that can deliver similar satisfaction at a fraction of the cost of others on the market are dubbed 平替（píngtì， affordable substitutes）. For example， the “military coat （軍大衣），” a thick cotton-padded jacket originally designed for soldiers， became a fashion trend on college campuses last winter as a substitute for pricy goose down coats. Netizens even created a slogan for finding affordable substitutes， perhaps to convince themselves that they aren’t broke， just strategic：

It’s not that I can’t afford the big brands， but rather， the alternatives offer better value for money.

Bú shì dàpái mǎibuqǐ， érshì píngtì gèng yǒu xìngjiàbǐ.

不是大牌買不起，而是平替更有性價比。

The price advantage of popular alternative products can sometimes shatter the monopoly of big brands and even bring down competitors’ prices. Therefore， inexpensive goods and brands are known as “price butchers （價格屠夫jiàgé túfū），” a complimentary term from consumers for brands with “people-friendly prices （價格親民jiàgé qīnmín）”：

This brand of air conditioner is so cheap， it’s a total price butcher.

Zhège páizi de kōngtiáo zhēn de tài piányi le， wánquán shì jiàgé túfū.

這個牌子的空調(diào)真的太便宜了，完全是價格屠夫。

Even for essential purchases， there are strategies for saving money. The first one is known as 薅羊毛（hāo yángmáo， scavenging wool）， an idiom that came from an old comedy sketch referring to the act of shamelessly taking advantage of promotions， coupons， and discounts—sometimes， unscrupulously. Consumers engaging in “wool scavenging” typically have an eagle eye for spotting discount strategies， cashback programs， and limited-time deals， often even joining online communities dedicated to sharing deals and price-saving tips. Before a shopping festival， you may hear someone say：

I’ve stopped buying things lately. I’m just waiting to scavenge wool during “618.”

Wǒ zuìjìn shénme dōu bù mǎi le， jiù děngzhe “l(fā)iù-yāobā” hāo yángmáo le.

我最近什么都不買了，就等著“6·18”薅羊毛了。

Another method is 拼團(tuán)（pīntuán）， or group buying. It uses the collective power of a group to get discounts by purchasing products or services in bulk. Some online platforms facilitate group buying， setting minimum group sizes required for members to enjoy the discount. Therefore， a savvy consumer will always try to join a group before purchasing...or make their own. Before ordering takeout in the office， it may be wise to ask one’s colleagues：

Anybody interested in doing a group buy for lunch？

Yǒu rén yào pīn wǔfàn ma？

有人要拼午飯嗎？

Consumption downgrade has encouraged a surging secondhand market. Though some stick to buying used items for cheap， savvier consumers sell their unwanted possessions there as a way to recoup some of their expenditures—a tactic referred to as 回血（huíxuè， regenerate health）， originally a gaming term meaning to recover health points or vitality. After all， earning is the best way of saving：

I sold my old computer yesterday， and have healed up a bit.

Wǒ zuótiān bǎ jiù diànnǎo mài le， huíle diǎnr xuè.

我昨天把舊電腦賣了，回了點兒血。

Netizens may joke about their thrifty behaviors by attributing them to poverty， but consumption downgrade has also led many to reflect on consumerism and their lifestyle choices. After all， it wasn’t long ago that their parents practiced frugality in times of hardship， and considered thriftiness common sense. Just as the Tang dynasty （618 – 907） poet Li Shangyin （李商隱） wrote once： “Having surveyed the states and homes of former sages： success comes from diligence and frugality， failure from extravagance.”