China’s 1997 Cohort Questions What Counts as Wealth in an Era of Soaring Assets】

For most users, the phrase is not a nostalgic reference to a specific financial event but a shorthand for a personal financial benchmark. Many of the commenters were born in 1997, meaning they are now twenty‑eight, early in their careers and, in the eyes of their peers, still measuring their net worth against a set of cultural milestones: 10 k, 100 k, 1 million yuan, and the elusive 30 million that would qualify as “wealthy”.

“It feels like everyone expects you to own a flat by now, but my asset list just has a bike and a modest savings account,” wrote one Weibo user, attaching a meme of a tiny piggy bank. Another replied, “No savings is normal for us. The market is crazy, and housing costs are through the roof – we’re surviving, not thriving.” The tone oscillates between humor and genuine anxiety, underscoring how the phrase has become a cultural litmus test for financial self‑assessment among China’s millennials.

The question, however, does not arise in a vacuum. Its roots reach back to the Asian Financial Crisis of 1997, the year that reshaped the region’s economic landscape. When the crisis hit, asset values—especially property in Hong Kong and Taiwan—plummeted, and many families saw their savings evaporate. In China, the turmoil prompted the creation of state‑run asset management companies tasked with cleaning up distressed loans and legacy assets. The aftermath set the stage for the massive reforms of the late 1990s and early 2000s, which, over the next two decades, turned the country into a global engine of growth.

Since then, the scale of wealth accumulation in China has been staggering. Real‑estate prices in major cities have risen by more than tenfold, the stock market has expanded dramatically, and the country’s middle class now boasts purchasing power that would have seemed unimaginable in 1997. In that context, what once qualified as a “substantial” asset base looks modest today. The phrase “97年的资产算少的了吧” captures that comparative shock: assets that were once respectable now feel “small” against the backdrop of soaring valuations.

Economists point to three interlocking forces behind the sentiment. First, rapid asset growth has lifted living standards for many, translating into better housing, wider access to consumer goods, and an expanding domestic market. Second, this growth has also deepened wealth disparity; a small elite has captured a disproportionate share of the gains, while ordinary earners contend with rising costs, especially in housing. Third, the cumulative effect of inflation, higher living expenses, and a booming consumer culture has shifted societal expectations: the “comfortable” standard of wealth that defined a generation in the late 1990s now seems insufficient for today’s aspirations.

Policy makers have taken note. The Chinese government’s post‑crisis push to establish public‑sector asset management firms highlighted an early effort to stabilize the financial system. More recently, authorities have tightened regulations on property speculation, introduced “housing‑related” taxes, and promoted “common prosperity” initiatives aimed at narrowing the wealth gap. Yet the debate on Weibo suggests that these top‑down measures have yet to resonate with the lived experience of the 1997 cohort, who feel the pressure of an ever‑expanding asset market and an uncertain path to financial security.

Industry analysts see the conversation as a barometer for the broader economic transition. Sectors that have flourished in tandem with wealth creation—real estate, finance, technology, luxury goods, education, and health care—now face the challenge of sustaining demand in a market where younger buyers are more cautious. The massive domestic consumer base that once seemed inexhaustible is showing signs of fatigue, prompting multinational firms to recalibrate their strategies toward more affordable product lines or digital services that appeal to a generation wary of debt and price volatility.

The phrase also serves a cultural function, uniting a cohort in a shared experience of self‑scrutiny. By posing a rhetorical question—“Are assets from ’97 considered small?”—the hashtag invites both comparison and solidarity. It reflects a broader societal shift from viewing wealth as a static, monolithic benchmark to recognizing it as a fluid, context‑dependent metric that evolves with macro‑economic forces.

In the sea of online discourse, “#97年的资产算少的了吧#” may seem like a fleeting meme, but its resonance points to deeper undercurrents. It illustrates how a generation navigates the paradox of unprecedented national prosperity and personal financial uncertainty. As China continues to assert its influence on the global stage, the voices behind the hashtag remind us that statistical growth does not automatically translate into individual confidence. The ongoing dialogue on Weibo underscores a simple truth: in a world where asset values soar, the feeling of having “enough” becomes a moving target, one that every new cohort must redefine for itself.