A generation that won’t buy
In the middle of the past decade, Marie Kondo became a global superstar by teaching people how to throw away things and fold clothes neatly. The KonMari method of purging and tidying up one’s physical belongings found favour with young professionals who had seen a bewildering jump in earnings in the boom years of the early 2000s. Wall Street Wizkids and their Dalal Street counterparts had acquired expensive lifestyles and believed that the coming decades would bring even more riches. They had faith that their move from economy to business class would lead on to first-class flights, and then, perhaps even private jets.
Instead, they ran head first into the tsunami of the global financial crisis of 2008. At that time, as governments and central banks stepped in to bail out international finance capital, most believed that the collapse was going to be short-lived. But the global economy never recovered fully. The now ageing offspring of the financial bubble began to accept the fact that their days of untold affluence were a thing of the past.
That is where Marie Kondo and other gurus of minimalism found fertile ground. Those who had once dreamt of only donning designer chic from Avenue Montaigne, embraced Uniqlo. Understated and utilitarian designs with neat and clean lines became the new fad. White replaced flashy colours, and mindful deliberateness replaced speed. The search for a slower life that shunned conspicuous materialism was partly a genuine turn away from the excessive consumerism of the early years of the 2000s. The bigger reason, however, was that the rich were no longer earning as much as they did earlier. So, they made virtue out of the necessity of cutting back on their expenses.
No wonder neo-Japanese minimalist culture caught on as a global fad. The Japanese faced decades of recession well before the rest of the world did. Those who began to work in the mid-80s never saw the growth their parents’ generation had experienced. Years upon years of zero growth and zero interest rates resulted in a kind of anti-consumerist movement, where all consumption had to be utilitarian. Even sushi was turned into an assembly line system in popular restaurants, and almost everything could be got off no-frills vending machines.
The new Japanese utilitarian-minimalist aesthetic sat on an old tradition of economy of expression, whether it be Zen paintings conjured up with a few brush strokes, or Haiku poetry made of just three phrases, or even the masks of Noh drama. These traditional elements that used openness and negative space to highlight objects, lent themselves perfectly to the austere utilitarianism of Japanese culture since the 1990s. If it required more expressive outlets, to release the tensions of underpaid overwork, there was always Manga and Cosplay.
Why would this be of any interest to us in India? It is because, of late, a section of India’s wealthy professionals has also started to follow this modern Japanese minimalism. YouTube now regularly recommends videos shot in a minimalist style, often with Japanese subtitles. Where once people watched shows on the lifestyles of the rich and famous, they now search for vlogs on how to declutter one’s home. High-end home décor stores have launched cheaper pret-a-porter lines to find more buyers, or even hold on to erstwhile clients who now find themselves financially constrained.
The biggest impact has been felt by young people from India’s upper-middle class families. They have only seen riches and a comfortable lifestyle, which their parents’ generation gradually grew into. They have only commuted in luxury cars, taken holidays abroad, got the latest gadgets, fast Internet, kept their air-conditioners on full blast throughout the summers, routinely eaten avocado and quinoa salad, and never thought twice before buying the latest sneakers. The least they want, as they set out to earn their own living, is to maintain their current lifestyle, the one their parents gave them.
Imagine their shock when they realise that the salaries being offered against their expensive degrees wouldn’t even buy them the latest Apple airpods. Some work for relatively low pay and live in their parents’ homes. Others continue to extend their studies in the hope that salaries would catch up to their expectations. Covid has made things even worse. The young have seen their parents being made redundant at their workplace, and being forced to retire much earlier than they should have. In other cases, the chief earner of the family has been downsized out of a top corporate job. The home has become tension-ridden. There is a sense in the household that money is tight and it has to be saved. Children are being asked to switch off lights and fans, where earlier they would run unattended, in empty rooms.
This trend is doubly dangerous for an economy such as ours, where goods and services are mostly produced for the top 10 per cent of citizens. Not only have India’s buying classes cut back on their consumption in the short term, but also they are now reorienting themselves to a minimalist life that eschews overt consumerism. The new generation, which has seen stagnation for the past decade and more, is coming to maturity in an atmosphere where frugality has been aestheticised. They have seen their parents face bad days and are more likely to save the money they earn, which is already much lower than their class is used to. This is a long-term demand effect that can continue for decades.
It is very clear that India can no longer rely on its affluent to spearhead consumption-driven economic growth. The Modi government and its economic advisers need to see this and change the way they deal with the economy. Neoliberal trickle-down economics has to be abandoned now and the State has to take control of the economy’s commanding heights to not only create jobs, but also create a new class of consumers.
The author is a senior economic analyst
