---
title: "Why Are Young People Increasingly Turned Off by Authority?"
description: "When consumers have the power to refuse and walk away, the old narratives built on authority endorsements, social-obligation pressure, and a lecturing tone are losing their grip."
author: "Zhao Bo (赵波)"
email: "zhaobo258@gmail.com"
telephone: "+8615854817671"
published: "2026-07-29"
language: "en"
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copyright: "Copyright © 2026 Zhao Bo (赵波)"
attribution: "Zhao Bo (赵波) — https://zhaobo-ai-essays.pages.dev/en/why-young-consumers-reject-authority/"
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---

# Why Are Young People Increasingly Turned Off by Authority?

> When consumers have the power to refuse and walk away, the old narratives built on authority endorsements, social-obligation pressure, and a lecturing tone are losing their grip.

## I

June 17, 2026. The Beijing Exhibition Center Theater, at the premiere of Feng Xiaogang's new film *Catch the Spy*.

Han Hong produced the film's score and has known Feng Xiaogang for more than twenty years. She stepped up on stage and, in her thick Beijing accent, called out to the crowd: "Brothers and sisters of Beijing, fellas and gals — can you give us a little face here? Beijing's got more than twenty million people. If you'd take the trouble to show up and lift that first wave of box office, we're all set!" Then she bowed a full ninety degrees.

The applause in the room was warm. But once the video hit the internet, it read very differently.

The comment sections erupted instantly: "Why should we give *you* face?" "Going to the movies is a purchase, not a wedding-gift obligation." "If the box office does well, are you cutting me in?" Someone dug up the monthly-donation figures for the Han Hong Love Charity Foundation — in the week after the premiere, monthly-donation cancellations rose 27% over the previous period. Longtime donors posted screenshots of themselves switching off auto-renewal, captioned: "I donate to help sick kids get treatment, not to pad your old friend's box office."

Even more damning, someone unearthed another Feng Xiaogang video from nine years earlier — the 2017 Shanghai International Film Festival, where Feng stood on stage and said: "There are so many trash movies because there are trash audiences." Netizens spliced the two clips together: on one side, Feng Xiaogang pointing at the audience and calling them "trash"; on the other, Han Hong bowing on his behalf and pleading for "a little face." One top-voted comment cut straight to it: "Back then you called the audience trash — now you're begging the trash to buy tickets?"

Han Hong probably never imagined that this one shout on behalf of an old friend would crack open a reputation built through twenty years of charity work. She later apologized, saying her "wording was inappropriate and ill-considered." But the apology didn't stop the outcry.

Why did a single "give us a little face" trigger such a backlash?

Because the underlying logic of that sentence is: I am the authority, I'm honoring you by asking, so you should buy a ticket. It dressed up a commercial purchasing decision as a personal social obligation. What audiences resented wasn't Han Hong herself, but the "you should do as I say" posture — in an era when consumers already have the right to say "no," she was still applying pressure through authority and personal favor.

This is not an isolated incident.

In August 2025, the chairman of fruit retailer Pagoda said in a video: "All these years, we've been walking the path of educating consumers toward maturity. We will not pander to consumers." Consumers fired straight back: "I'm just buying some fruit and now I'm getting lectured?" "Fine, don't pander — it's not like there's nowhere else to buy fruit." "The last guy who talked like that was the founder of Chicecream."

Then in September, Taoli Bread ran an elevator ad: "Some people say five-nut filling doesn't taste good. We believe: that's because you're still young, and haven't yet tasted the beatings life dishes out." The brand meant to move consumers with "life is hard" — and instead got beaten up by the entire internet.

Three incidents, spanning entertainment, fruit retail, and the bread business — a wide spread, but underneath it all the same thing: **authority looked down on consumers from on high, and consumers pushed straight back.**

Why? It's not that consumers suddenly became touchy. It's that consumers have changed — from people who obey authority into people who scrutinize it.

In my earlier piece "In an Affluent Society, Consumers Want Value for Money and Emotional Value," I offered a judgment: P&G's HBG theory rests on an assumption of scarcity. Because information was scarce, purchasing channels were scarce, and quality goods were scarce, consumers leaned toward big brands, big media, and big channels. A brand only needed to capture the scarce resources — TV advertising, in-store pallet displays, channel coverage — to win.

This logic is structurally identical to the Milgram experiment: Milgram found that ordinary people will act against their own judgment when instructed by an authority figure — obedience to authority isn't a character flaw; it's humanity's factory setting in the presence of authority. Consumers obeyed brand authority not because those brands were truly the best, but because consumers had neither the ability nor the tools to verify. When information is scarce, whatever authority says is true.

But today, the situation has changed.

## II

People who grew up in an age of scarcity naturally trust authority. Not because they are ignorant, but because in an environment of scarcity, obeying authority is the optimal strategy.

Goods were limited — you could only buy what was on the shelf. Information was limited — you could only believe what the TV ads told you. Channels were limited — you could only go to the nearest store. In that environment, "big brand = good quality" wasn't a proposition to be verified; it was a survival shortcut. You trusted P&G, Master Kong, and Yili not because you had checked their ingredient lists and supply chains, but because everyone else trusted them — and you had no other choice.

But people who grew up in an age of abundance are different.

From birth, they have lived amid extraordinary material plenty. Open their phones and there is unlimited information; open a food-delivery app and there are unlimited choices; open Xiaohongshu and there are countless real users sharing their experiences. They have never lived through scarcity, so "obey authority" was never part of their survival playbook.

More importantly, they have the capacity for reflection.

In her column *Cai Yu's Business Reference*, Cai Yu put forward an important judgment: **"Demand awakens before supply."** She argues that today's consumers understand what they want better than brands do, and are better than brands at unlocking resources on the supply side. Consumers are confirming and reshaping their worldviews, outlooks on life, and values amid an era of upheaval — and consumption has become a key outlet for expressing and affirming those values.

What does this mean? It means consumers no longer passively accept a brand's definition of "what is good." Instead, they actively interrogate it: You say you have a long and storied history — what does that have to do with me? You say your craft is intangible cultural heritage — can you make the drink actually taste better? You say it's a classic recipe — what does that have to do with the low-sugar life I want today?

It's not that authority has stopped working. It's that **people raised in scarcity lacked the capacity to question authority, while people raised in abundance are born with both the means and the impulse to question it.**

The former obey; the latter scrutinize. That is the deep psychological mechanism behind the generational divide.
## III

When consumers shift from "obedience" to "scrutiny," the old narrative doesn't fail at one weak link—the entire chain snaps at once.

**Start with authority endorsement.**

In the past, a brand only had to say "we have a long history," "heritage craftsmanship," "expert recommended," and consumers would buy it. Because consumers had no tools to verify.

Today, consumers can look it up the moment they open their phones. You say "heritage craftsmanship," and they'll search: what exactly is this craft? What does it have to do with my experience? You say "a century of tradition," and they'll ask: what problem of mine, today, does a century of tradition solve?

Neiliansheng, a cloth-shoe shop on Beijing's Qianmen Street that has been open for 168 years, is a national-level intangible cultural heritage. Its deputy general manager, Cheng Xu, said something very honest: "Many young people feel that 'time-honored brands' are better suited to their elders—far removed from their aesthetic standards and lifestyle habits."

168 years of history, heritage craftsmanship, a place in old Beijing folk rhymes—these were once the hardest of assets. But before the sovereign individual, they no longer convert automatically into reasons to buy. Because the sovereign individual holds the right to interpret their own experience: whether this pair of shoes is comfortable is not for you to decide—my feet decide.

A time-honored baijiu brand says "heritage craftsmanship," and the consumer asks, "Can heritage craftsmanship make the drink go down easier for me?" An old grain-and-oil brand says "decades of unchanging quality," and the consumer asks, "What does unchanging quality have to do with my health needs right now?" A traditional beverage brand is still talking about its "classic formula," and the consumer asks, "What does a classic formula have to do with the low-sugar life I want today?"

Authority hasn't disappeared. It's unexplained authority that is failing.

**Next, identity coding.**

The essence of the painted mask isn't that brands slap labels on consumers. It's that brands are answering a question on the consumer's behalf—"Who am I?"

In the past, this wasn't wishful thinking on the brand's part. In the era of the achiever, consumers themselves needed that answer. He needed a pair of Neiliansheng shoes to prove he was "someone who understands old Beijing culture," a bottle of premium liquor to prove he was "a man of means," a fine car to prove he was "a success." The brand supplied identity labels; the consumer bought the labels to position himself—a transaction both sides needed. The brand painted a mask, the consumer stepped willingly into the role, and each got what they wanted.

But in the era of the sovereign individual, one party has exited the transaction.

Consumers no longer need brands to answer "Who am I?" for them. They want to answer it themselves. The same person chooses premium liquor for a business banquet, craft beer with friends, pour-over coffee when alone. It's not that he can't afford more—it's that in different settings, he exercises different powers of verdict. His identity is fluid, situational, self-defined—it needs no fixed mask to frame it.

This is where the painted mask truly fails: not because brands are still applying labels, but because consumers no longer need you to apply them. Once, helping him position his identity was a service; now, defining his identity for him is an offense.

**Finally, the lecturing posture.**

In the past, brands could educate consumers. "You don't understand liquor," "you don't know how to taste," "you need to learn"—this kind of lecturing worked in an age of information scarcity, because consumers genuinely didn't know and genuinely had no channels to learn. Brands monopolized the right to interpret: what counts as good, what counts as worth it, what counts as correct—all decided by the brand.

But the sovereign individual holds the right to interpret. His own experience is legitimate evidence. If it doesn't taste good, he can say it doesn't taste good—no need to be educated into "you just don't understand yet." If it's too sweet, he can say it's too sweet—no need to be told "that's the traditional flavor."

The essence of the lecturing posture is that the brand treats the consumer as an object to be educated, rather than a subject with judgment. Today, at every single touchpoint, consumers recognize this posture and push back.

Pagoda said it would "educate consumers to maturity," and consumers fired back: "I'm just buying some damn fruit and now I'm getting lectured?" Toly Bread said, "You're still young—you haven't yet tasted life's beatings," and a consumer replied, "Sounds like you haven't tasted a beating from consumers." Brands set out to move consumers from a position of condescension, only to discover they were the ones getting schooled.

Meanwhile, other brands are validating this trend from the opposite direction. Ten years ago, Genki Forest cracked the market open with one line—"0 sugar, 0 fat, 0 calories." That line was itself a good narrative: concise, forceful, straight at the pain point. But when "zero sugar, zero additives" went from differentiator to industry standard, when every brand could say the same line, the story could no longer carry itself. In the summer of 2026, Genki Forest is doing one thing—making up the missed lessons. Cumulative investment of nearly 8 billion yuan in self-built factories, and in his ninth-anniversary internal letter, founder Tang Binsen wrote: "No thrashing about, build internal strength, pursue real results." Simplelove yogurt was even more direct, publishing 551 full-process testing standards covering the complete chain from pasture soil to factory gate.

551 testing standards are not a narrative—they are a tool for consumers to "verify for themselves." You say you're healthy? I'll show you the entire chain from pasture to factory. The consumer doesn't need you to tell him "you should believe"; he needs you to give him the grounds to verify.

This is the turn from "you don't understand" to "you decide": the brand no longer monopolizes the right to interpret, but hands it back to the consumer.

The difference between the old narrative and the new is not a difference in copywriting style. The old narrative is "I speak, you listen"—information flows from brand to consumer, and the consumer passively receives. The new narrative is "you feel, I catch it"—the consumer arrives carrying their own emotions and stories, and the brand provides the trigger for them to reach their own conclusions. The direction has reversed.
## Four

The three pillars of the old narrative have collapsed. But if consumers no longer trust authority, what do they trust?

They trust **their own experience, and the validation of people on their own wavelength.**

In my earlier piece, "PEST Market Growth Strategies in the Age of Surplus," I proposed the concept of "positional scarcity." In the past, competitive moats were built by seizing scarce resources at the material level—production capacity, media, distribution channels. Today, none of these are scarce anymore.

The new scarcity lies at the psychological level: **a sense of superiority, a sense of belonging, a sense of recognition.**

Superiority is not "I'm richer than you"—it's "I know this stuff better than you." What I chose isn't the most expensive; it's the one that fits me best.

Belonging is not "I use big brands too"—it's "I'm part of a tribe of people who use the same thing." We share a way of living.

Recognition is not "the brand tells me who I am"—it's "this brand understands who I am." What it says is exactly me.

The brands on the rise today did not earn their legitimacy through "a long and storied history," nor did they educate consumers by telling them "you don't understand." What they rely on is this: understanding consumers' real emotions, offering experiences that can be verified, and letting consumers reach the conclusion "this is worth it" on their own.

**The new legitimacy does not rest on authority endorsement. It rests on the consumer's active choice, made after their own verification.**

## Five

So no, it's not that tradition has no value. It's that the way tradition expresses itself has shifted from "command" to something that needs "translation."

The old way says: because we have a long history, you should respect us.

The new way should answer: how does this history help people today understand a good pair of shoes, a craft, a commitment to quality?

The old way says: because this is an intangible cultural heritage craft, it is therefore good.

The new way should answer: what different sensation does this craft actually bring to your feet?

The old way says: you don't understand tradition.

The new way should answer: we used traditional methods to solve a problem you have today.

So when consumers keep asking "what does this have to do with me," what they're really asking is not "what does your history have to do with me," but rather—**can you enter my story, and help me express who I am?**

A brand's job is not to tell its own story—"how old I am," "how authoritative I am," "how little you understand." A brand's job is to enter the consumer's story and become part of their self-expression.

Neiliansheng shouldn't be telling you "we're 168 years old"—it should be answering "how do these shoes help you walk the road you need to walk today." A time-honored baijiu house shouldn't be demanding your reverence for "heritage craftsmanship"—it should be answering "how does this glass help you celebrate what you want to celebrate today." A legacy grain-and-oil brand shouldn't be stressing "decades of unchanging quality"—it should be answering "how does this bag of rice help you live the life you want to live today."

That is the true answer to "what does this have to do with me." It's not about what your history has to do with me—it's about whether you can enter my life and help me express who I am.

How do you tell whether a brand has actually answered the question? Look at whether it says "here's what I have" or "here's what you can do with it." The former talks about itself; the latter talks about you. Tomorrow, take any ad you see and run it through this filter—you'll know instantly.

If all your brand can say is "how old I am," "how authoritative I am," "how little you understand," then you and the story behind those consumers simply cannot connect.

You have been hit with a dimensionality-reduction strike—by your own consumers.

It's not that authority has vanished. It's that consumers no longer need you to define what "good" is on their behalf. They want to look for themselves, try for themselves, judge for themselves.

**Whether you can answer "what does this have to do with me"—that question determines whether your brand still deserves a place on the shelf.**

This is the third installment in the series "Who Defines 'Worth It'?" In the next piece, I will move from "diagnosis" to "prescription"—how brands should rebuild their expressive relationship with consumers in the age of the new, self-possessed consumer.

---

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