Now *This* is a Recession Indicator

 
 

By sTACY LEE KONG

Image: Shutterstock

 
 

If you ask X, just about anything can be a recession indicator. The return of the ice bucket challenge? A recession indicator. People thinking Ed Sheeran is cool? A recession indicator (according to him, anyway). Angelenos choreographing a flash mob to Doechii’s “Anxiety”? Definitely a recession indicator. Oh, and DoorDash and Klarna inking a deal that would allow people to pay for food in installments? As film and TV writer Caroline Renard pointed out when the news broke, we can probably classify that one as more of a second Great Depression indicator, but you know. Same same. 

And if all of those random things are (joking not joking) signs of impending financial doom, you know the internet’s response to the barrage of TikToks about luxury goods being manufactured in China that went viral last week is one too. But I actually think there’s more to unpack about that trend, which took over all my timelines for an intense five-day period before largely disappearing. Because it’s not just about wanting nice things on the cheap, right? I think it’s also about class anxiety, our perception of luxury and a reckoning with the realities of capitalism and the global economic systems those of us in the West have largely benefited from—something we’re belatedly realizing has shifted.

But yes, we should start by talking about the economic anxiety of it all

In case your feed wasn’t similarly inundated, some background: on April 9, U.S. President Donald Trump announced a 90-day pause on what he dubbed “reciprocal tariffs” for most countries, except China. Instead, he raised tariffs on Chinese goods to 125%, which China matched with equivalent tariffs on American goods. Within days, people claiming to represent manufacturers in Guangzhou, Fushun and other Chinese cities flooded TikTok with videos that directly appealed to American consumers, claiming they’d be able to purchase dupes of everything from Hermès handbags to Lululemon leggings to Restoration Hardware-style luxury furnishings that were basically indistinguishable from the real products, because they were being made in the same factories out of the same materials. The internet was obsessed, of course, both because it was funny seeing these (alleged) manufacturers essentially telling Trump to fuck around and find out, and because, well, cheap Hermès. 

Now, per the meme, a recession indicator is a Y2K throwback—something that is happening currently, but was also popular in the early aughts during the last U.S. recession. (See also: ukuleles, the fact that we’re apparently getting both a White Chicks 2 and a Scary Movie 6, the return of thinspo.) And by that guideline, these TikToks aren’t technically a recession indicator. Also, the U.S. is not technically in a recession. However! As Mashable explained back in February when the term started trending, the entire idea of recession indicators is less about the actual state of the American economy and more about Americans’ economic anxiety. 

“While we aren't currently in a recession, that doesn't mean it doesn't feel like it,” writer Christianna Silva noted. “The wealth gap is widening and racial wealth divide remains. The cost of living has surged while wages have remained stagnant. Over the past 30 years, the wealthiest Americans have seen their net worth soar, while the poorest have plunged into ‘negative wealth’—where their debts outweigh their assets, according to data from the National Bureau of Economic Research. As NBC reports, the average age of homebuyers in 2024 was 56 years old—a record high.”

In that context, I think we can attribute at least some of the internet fervour around this genre of video to the same fears around affordability. That is to say, people are feeling the squeeze, but that doesn’t mean they’re immune to the desire for nice things—they’re just incentivized to find ways to get them for less. And to be fair, this doesn’t just apply to the luxury sector. Foreign Policy recently reported that the cost of consumer goods in the U.S. is significantly higher due to costs unrelated to tariffs, including markups, which can range from 100% to 300% on clothing and 350% on accessories, as well as logistics costs, i.e., warehousing, shipping and distribution, which can add an additional 40% to prices. Hence the popularity of shopping apps like Taobao and DHgate, which is known as Dunhuang in China. “By eliminating these layers and brand premium, Dunhuang offers consumers significant savings—savings that are simply too dramatic to ignore,” writes Lizzi C. Lee, a fellow on Chinese economy at the Asia Society Policy Institute’s Center for China Analysis.​ “Counterfeits? Customs delays? These worries pale in comparison to the one truth that the trade war made unavoidable: The price gap hasn’t closed—and may not anytime soon. If anything, tariffs have made domestic shopping more painful in the short term, revealing an uncomfortable economic truth that policy alone can’t disguise: For a growing share of Americans, domestic prices are simply out of reach.” 

This trend also speaks to the roots of the Western obsession with cheap consumer goods

That alone is an important story, but I’m also kind of obsessed with something that’s maybe a little bit more abstract: what can this trend, and the discourse around it, tell us about our attitude toward shopping? In a recent Bloomberg column, Amanda Mull convincingly argues that the American Dream isn’t the opportunity for every person to achieve success and a good life, it’s actually access to an abundance of stuff, which Trump’s tariffs threaten on a fundamental level. The piece is largely concerned with whether the Trump administration fully understands the degree to which the American public wants cheap consumer goods (she says no), but the section I find most interesting is the one where she traces the Western obsession with consumerism back to the post-WW2 culture war between America and the Soviet Union. That’s when the U.S. used microwaves, dishwashers, washing machines, dryers and TVs to “pitch U.S.-style capitalism to war-weary, communist-sympathetic Europeans,” an effort she describes as “one of the most effective propaganda campaigns in American history.” 

Decades later, “Americans still want dishwashers—and iPhones and new sneakers and closets overflowing with clothes and rainbows of fruit and vegetables at the grocery store,” she goes on to say, noting that consumerism is “still one of the primary animating principles of America’s identity—and its economy. Today household consumer spending constitutes almost 70% of U.S. gross domestic product, the highest proportion for any industrialized nation. Supplying this bounty has required massive development of production capacity around the globe. Although Americans consistently express a preference for American-made goods in surveys, their actual purchasing habits have demonstrated for decades that affordability and abundance trump any ideological preference for domestic manufacturing when it comes time to buy.” 

We can see the tendrils of this propaganda campaign in the Western obsession with Shein and other ultra-fast fashion retailers, of course. (I mean, despite many investigative reports about these companies’ exploitative labour practices, not to mention the presence of lead and other carcinogenic chemicals in the clothes themselves, the girlies are still doing haul videos featuring hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars’ worth of clothing that will almost certainly disintegrate after one wash.) But, it’s also evident here. As luxury becomes more culturally accessible, it follows that there would be a corresponding push to make it actually accessible, one way or the other. By which I mean, the internet has allowed for a kind of democratization of luxury, where even people who will never be able to afford Schiaparelli (i.e., me) can learn about the brand, appreciate the storytelling and craftsmanship that goes into its designs, and subsequently integrate that knowledge into their aesthetic understanding of the world. Some of those people (again, me) might dream about one day wearing actual Schiaparelli, whether that’s by hunting for vintage pieces or plotting to win the lottery. But for many—thanks so much consumerism!!!—what that will actually look like is engaging in dupe culture. 

And what exactly does this say about the meaning of ‘luxury’?

A couple of things worth noting here: first, luxury retailers definitely produce some of their goods in Chinese factories, as well as in Cambodia, Vietnam, India and Turkey, among others. But the idea that LVMH, Prada, Gucci, Dior et al. are making all of their products in China is definitely not accurate. (And Hermès actually does make all of its leather goods in France, so that was not a ‘real’ Birkin in that TikTok.) That being said, we don’t really have any way of knowing whether the people who are making these videos are in any way connected to the factories that have legitimate contracts with retailers, luxury or otherwise. As Cora Harrington pointed out in the midst of the TikTok frenzy, it’s unlikely a legit manufacturer would jeopardize a multi-million dollar contract to sell random Americans a single $6 pair of leggings. So, you know, buyer beware and all. Lastly, it’s both inaccurate and racist to believe that something is inherently low-quality if it is manufactured in China or elsewhere in the Global South, and this lingering attitude (which yes, has been very present in this discourse) is absolutely a legacy of colonization. But, it’s also not quite true that producing the same design with the same materials automatically results in an equivalent product, as fashion expert Derek Guy thoughtfully explained on X.

But I’m actually not so interested in litigating whether these claims are true or not. Instead, I’m fascinated by what these debates tell us about how high-end brands are perceived—and the fact that people were so excited to downplay the value of luxury goods while at the same time striving to appear like they could afford those same handbags and shoes. 

On the first point, well… things are not going super well. According to Vogue Business, this discourse actually “signals a deeper cultural shift: a renegotiation of who holds the authority to define luxury value. The question is not whether the claims are true, says [Neil Saunders, retail managing director at research firm GlobalData]: ‘What matters is perceived value. If the videos undermine the perception of value, as in the quality of the product or its exclusivity, that’s more of an issue.’ While the claims made in the videos are unverified, they’ve gained traction in an already fragmented attention economy because they tap into a deeper truth: consumers are starting to ask hard questions about luxury’s value proposition, and most brands have not evolved their communication strategy fast enough to answer.” 

Which isn’t just because of a TikTok trend, of course. In general, the luxury sector is experiencing a slowdown. According to McKinsey & Co.’s State of Fashion 2025 Report, “for the first time since 2016 (excluding 2020), luxury value creation is expected to create less value than the previous year.” Interestingly, McKinsey doesn’t seem to think this is solely a recession indicator, instead putting the blame on an increasingly diverse customer base that has a complex relationship with luxury goods and a growing preference for luxury experiences, not to mention self-inflicted woes due to a period of rapid growth, including overexposure and quality concerns.

Meanwhile, on the second point, it’s hard not to see class anxiety at the root of this behaviour. If the goal is just a nice handbag, there are plenty of indie brands that are doing excellent work for the same price you’d pay for one of these ostensibly high-quality dupes. But that’s not what all these new Taobao and DHgate customers actually want; the goal remains a convincing facsimile of a ‘real’ luxury product. We can dress it up any which way, couch it in anti-Trump language, and even use social justice vernacular to justify the purchase, but at least in part, this purchasing decision is about wanting access to the cultural cachet that comes with luxury products, even if you can’t actually afford to buy from LVMH or Prada or whoever. Which is why it’s worth thinking about the ‘why’ of this desire, right? Like… what are these consumers trying to communicate about themselves? And what do they think is the difference between a bag that could be mistaken for an authentic Birkin and one that couldn’t be? 

Luxury retailers need to respond in the right way

And to be clear, I’m not trying to imply that it’s morally or ethically wrong to purchase faux designer. I’m actually kind of torn on the entire concept of knock-offs/dupes/replicas, tbh. On one hand, I do really value craftsmanship, so the story of excellence, history and care that these designers emphasize when talking about their production processes is an attractive one. I also just don’t get the point of pretending to belong to a group that you don’t actually belong to. But on the other hand, I can’t quite bring myself to feel outraged about a decline in profit for mega corporations that perpetuate all sorts of bullshit that I do find morally and ethically wrong. Especially when, as McKinsey noted, luxury brands achieved 5% compound annual growth between 2019 and 2023, with “price increases account[ing] for more than 80 percent of growth during this period, while volume gains were more moderate.” (Emphasis mine.) There has always been a disconnect between what a Hermès bag costs to make and what it’s sold for, but the artisan argument could ameliorate that, for some people at least. However, as consumers realize that companies raised prices out of corporate greed, without improving quality, it begins to undermine their value propositions—and feels unfair in, y’know, a class warfare kind of way.

At its core, this trend is about whether the masses can have access to luxury products, but a key element of luxury is that it operates as a status symbol. The whole point is exclusivity driven by inaccessible prices, and those factors outweigh quality by a considerable margin. So, if there are suddenly lots of Birkins—or things that look enough like Birkins that you can’t easily tell if they’re ‘real’ or not—floating around, how can they possibly stay luxury items? And if it’s possible to flood the market with things that look enough like Birkins that you can’t easily tell if they’re ‘real’ or not, what does ‘real’ even mean?

These aren’t just philosophical questions; they’re real business concerns for the luxury sector, especially as it navigates this period of economic upheaval. And if these companies don’t respond in the right way, it could be very bad for the brand. 

Thank you for reading this week’s newsletter! Still looking for intersectional pop culture analysis? Here are a few ways to get more Friday:

💫 Upgrade to a paid subscription to support independent, progressive lifestyle media, and to access member-only perks, including And Did You Hear About, a weekly list of Stacy’s best recommendations for what to read, watch, listen to and otherwise enjoy from around the web. (Note: paid subscribers can manage, update and cancel their subscriptions through Stripe.)

💫 Follow Friday on social media. We’re on Instagram, YouTube and (occasionally) TikTok.

💫 If you’d like to make a one-time donation toward the cost of creating Friday Things, you can donate through Ko-Fi.

Culture, FashionStacy Lee KongTikTok, Birkin, Hermes, LVMH, Fashion, Doechii, Ed Sheeran, Donald Trump