Premium Fruit Chain Baiguoyuan Sparks Nationwide Backlash Over High Prices and Consumer “Education” Narrative.

In a short video posted to the company’s official channel, Yu responded to a growing chorus of complaints about the cost of a single kiwi—20.9 yuan (roughly US $3)—by drawing a stark line between two kinds of businesses. “There are those who exploit consumer ignorance, and there are those who educate consumers to maturity,” he said, adding that Baiguoyuan has always chosen the latter path and “does not cater to consumers.” The phrase “educating consumers” was meant, he claimed, to signal a commitment to quality and long‑term value, but many netizens heard instead a patronising dismissal of ordinary shoppers.

Within hours, the hashtag #百果园教育消费者小心被教育 (“Baiguoyuan educates consumers, beware of being educated”) and the more succinct #月薪2万吃不起百果园 (“earning 20,000 yuan a month can’t afford Baiguoyuan”) surged to the top of Weibo’s trending list. The latter tag, which translates roughly as “Even with a 20,000‑yuan monthly salary, I can’t afford Baiguoyuan,” resonated because 20,000 yuan (about US $2,800) is widely regarded as a comfortable urban income in most Chinese cities outside the tier‑one megacities. The irony of a “well‑paid” worker being priced out of a basic grocery item struck a chord that quickly transcended the fruit‑store dispute.

The backlash was swift and scathing. Users mocked the chairman’s “education” rhetoric, accusing him of an elitist, out‑of‑touch attitude that treats customers as subjects to be instructed rather than partners to be served. Many likened Baiguoyuan’s tone to that of other controversial brands—most notably the ice‑cream chain Zhongxuegao, whose own “high‑end” positioning had earlier provoked similar derision. Commenters repeatedly asked whether the chain’s fruit was any fresher or tastier than cheaper alternatives from supermarkets such as Sam’s Club, concluding that the higher price was not justified by any discernible quality boost.

The sentiment was not limited to price complaints. Baiguoyuan’s recent financial disclosures added fuel to the fire. In its 2024 earnings report, the company announced a 9.8 % drop in revenue to 10.273 billion yuan, and a pre‑tax loss of 391 million yuan—the first net loss in five years after a modest profit of 381 million yuan the previous year. The figures underscore a broader market shift: Chinese consumers, once eager to “upgrade” their consumption, are now more price‑sensitive, scrutinising value for money across all categories, from luxury goods to everyday groceries.

Industry analysts see Baiguoyuan’s predicament as a symptom of a larger challenge facing the high‑end fruit retail sector. The market, traditionally buoyed by rising disposable incomes and a cultural emphasis on fresh, high‑quality produce, is now confronting a “consumption downgrade” as households re‑evaluate spending priorities amid stagnant wages and rising living costs. The chain’s supply‑chain model—reliant on rapid turnover of perishable goods and a premium‑pricing strategy—has become increasingly vulnerable to both consumer price‑scrutiny and the inevitable waste that accompanies over‑stocked, high‑margin inventory.

Beyond the balance sheet, the episode has illuminated deeper social undercurrents. The phrase “月薪2万吃不起” (“a 20,000‑yuan salary can’t afford”) has entered public discourse as a shorthand for the growing perception that even relatively well‑paid urban workers are squeezed by the cost of basic necessities. In a country where income inequality has widened dramatically over the past decade, the juxtaposition of a “good” salary with the inability to purchase everyday fruit underscores a widening gap between expectations and reality. For many, the Baiguoyuan controversy is less about a single kiwi and more about a feeling that the promise of “common prosperity” is slipping away.

The public’s reaction also hints at a shift in consumer culture. The once‑celebrated narrative of “consumption upgrading”—where buying premium products was a badge of modernity and success—now meets a counter‑trend of “pragmatic consumption.” Shoppers are increasingly demanding transparency, fairness, and tangible value, and they are quick to call out brands that appear to prioritize profit over genuine quality. In Baiguoyuan’s case, the chairman’s attempt to frame high prices as an educational tool backfired spectacularly, reinforcing the perception that the company is more interested in preserving a lofty brand image than in serving the everyday needs of its customers.

The ripple effects may even reach policy circles. Chinese officials have long emphasized “common prosperity” and the need to curb excessive price disparities, especially in essential commodities. While the Baiguoyuan episode is unlikely to trigger direct regulatory action, it adds to a mounting chorus of consumer complaints that could prompt tighter market oversight, particularly concerning price gouging and transparent labeling. Moreover, the episode dovetails with broader governmental concerns about social stability: if a sizable segment of the urban middle class feels financially constrained despite respectable earnings, the risk of eroding consumer confidence—and by extension, domestic demand—looms large.

In the short term, Baiguoyuan faces a clear reputational crisis. The company’s social‑media presence has been flooded with memes dubbing it “水果刺客” (the “fruit assassin”) and calls for a price‑reduction strategy. Whether the chain will recalibrate its pricing, adjust its marketing tone, or risk further alienation of its core customer base remains to be seen. For Yu Huiyong, the “educating consumers” narrative may need a swift rewrite, lest the brand’s attempt at differentiation become a cautionary tale of how a misread of public sentiment can turn a fruit‑store into a flashpoint for nationwide discontent.

What began as a dispute over the cost of a kiwi has, within days, morphed into a broader commentary on China’s evolving economic landscape. It spotlights the tension between corporate ambition and consumer expectations, the fragility of “premium” branding in a price‑conscious market, and the lingering unease over income distribution in a society still grappling with the promises of rapid growth. As the hashtags continue to trend and netizens keep posting their own “I can’t afford Baiguoyuan” anecdotes, the episode serves as a vivid reminder: in today’s China, even a fruit chain can become a barometer of social and economic change.