Young Chinese consumers are increasingly turning away from traditional logo-driven luxury towards purchases and experiences that offer “emotional value” and a sense of “spiritual identity.” This shift reflects a desire for self-soothing and inner peace amidst the backdrop of job insecurity and a sluggish post-Covid economic recovery.
For college student Yang in Nanjing, eastern China, retail therapy since starting college in 2022 has evolved beyond big brands. He now prioritizes “small accessories, plush toys, fragrances and travel,” valuing “ritual, novelty and things that have a unique identity.” This sentiment marks a departure from the logo-mania that long characterized China’s Gen Z and millennial shoppers.
Across Chinese cities, young people are investing in “lucky” accessories, crystals, and Zen-inspired fashion and fragrances, seeking temporary emotional release. They are also spending on spiritual experiences, such as weekend trips to Buddhist sites like Mount Emei in Sichuan, restorative wellness retreats, and frequent visits to the numerous temples nationwide.
Social media platforms in China showcase a burgeoning spiritual luxury market. For instance, a Cartier Juste un Clou nail bracelet in 18-karat white gold, priced at 34,100 yuan ($5,000), is believed to offer protection from misfortune and ward off negative influences. Similarly, an 18-karat rose gold and diamond Tiffany & Co. “T” bangle, costing 47,300 yuan ($7,000), is marketed as a charm against poor bosses and a catalyst for new job opportunities. Other examples include Qeelin’s Wulu jewelry, shaped like auspicious bottle gourds, said to bring family fortune, and Vivienne Westwood’s orb necklaces, thought to aid career advancement—a sentiment perhaps amplified by the country’s youth unemployment rate hovering over 16%.
Linda Yu, a general manager at Shanghai-headquartered marketing agency Red Ant Asia, notes that young people are now “paying for a form of self-definition and an emotional container,” indicating that some brands have successfully moved spiritual consumption into the mainstream. Local luxury labels, like the viral handbag brand Songmont, subtly integrate Chinese philosophies into their branding without overt iconography. Songmont, for example, features a podcast where famous directors and actors discuss self-acceptance and creativity in contemplative two-hour episodes. Yu explains that Songmont “doesn’t sell luck per se — it sells peace of mind that comes from slowing down,” with designs inspired by ancient Shanxi architecture and the Yellow River floodplain, and deliberately slow marketing.
While China is officially an atheist state, with fewer than 10% formally identifying with a religion according to a Pew Research Center report, the role of religion significantly expands when “spirituality, customs and superstitions” are included in the definition. A 2018 survey cited by Pew, for instance, found that 47% of Chinese adults believe in fengshui. The practice of praying at temples for wealth and good fortune is common even among those not particularly religious, and the tradition of attributing talismanic properties to jewelry dates back thousands of years. This cultural context may explain why overtly commercial collaborations, such as fast-food chains partnering with temples or fashion labels capitalizing on spiritualism, have not faced the same backlash as they might in Western countries.
However, Chinese state media, reflecting Communist Party attitudes, has expressed skepticism about the trend, cautioning consumers about potential scams. A Marxist scholar, quoted in a recent China Youth Daily article, warned, “Turning to xuanxue can provide some stress relief. Becoming obsessed with, or even superstitious about it, can lead people astray.”
Despite official skepticism, the personal pursuit of spiritual solace is evident. Zach Liu, a 32-year-old university consultant originally from Suzhou, who is not particularly religious, spent his honeymoon traveling to temples around Dali in Yunnan province with his wife. He recalled spending about 100 yuan ($15) on a prayer plaque at the ancient Chongsheng Temple, wishing for his family’s good health, and observed hundreds of other young temple-goers purchasing blessed charms and beads. Liu noted that “When there’s growing pressure (in life), people tend to visit temples to take a breather, even if it’s temporary,” highlighting “self-soothing and spiritual enrichment” alongside engagement with culture, scenery, and history. He also pointed to the prevalence of online content from temples and influencers on platforms like Xiaohongshu.
Influencer and jewelry designer She Ze Lin, 25, from Guangdong province’s Chaozhou region, exemplifies this trend, regularly visiting temples for inspiration and content, and even leading groups of followers to various religious sites across China. She observes that for many young people, social circles now often revolve around topics like astrology, MBTI, or fortune-telling, suggesting these practices serve as social tools.
This aligns with the rapid growth of divination, astrology, and tarot reading apps. The Tencent-backed Cece astrology app, for instance, has been downloaded approximately 24 million times, according to data from market intelligence firm Sensor Tower. Consumers are also paying online astrologers to alleviate uncertainty and hopelessness, with some even making small smartphone payments (as little as one or two yuan) for “digital prayers” during temple livestreams.
The trend extends to luxury wellness retreats, such as Energy Alchemy, a five-day program in Bali priced at 42,000 yuan ($6,200), targeting wealthy millennial Chinese women. Its founder, Weiley Chen Walter, who launched the business after 15 years in fintech, notes that modern Chinese women are increasingly asking deeper questions about identity, emotional inheritance, burnout, and self-worth—topics rarely openly discussed by previous generations. She adds that young women are speaking out online about their desire for “inner peace” beyond outward success.
This widespread quest for inner peace, whether through vacations or symbolic purchases, is set against a backdrop of rapid technological, social, and economic change in China. Liu explains that participation in the spiritual economy helps “mitigate feelings of uncertainty” because the traditional path of studying hard for college, graduating, and securing a high-paying job “just no longer holds true for many young people.” He adds that the arrival of AI, for example, leaves many unsure about the future relevance of their current jobs. Ultimately, the spiritual economy in China is less about outright faith and more about ritual, emotion, and a sense of agency, reflecting a generation trying to purchase calm in a country where certainty itself has become a luxury. As college student Yang concludes, “After all, we all spend money to buy happiness,” and “We exchange the fruits of our labor for emotional fulfillment.”
CNN’s Joyce Jiang, Fred He and Shuai Zhang contributed to this report.
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