The Great Sobering: Why China’s Baijiu, Beer & Wine Market are Shrinking

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Walk into a business banquet in China a decade ago, and the air itself would have a different texture. It would be thick with the sharp, sweet, and undeniably fiery aroma of baijiu, the potent grain spirit that serves as the country’s social and commercial lubricant. The evening would be a carefully choreographed ballet of toasts, each glass drained with a hearty “Ganbei!” (干杯, or “dry the cup”), a ritual designed to build trust, show respect, and accumulate that all-important social currency known as mianzi (面子), or “face.” It was the taste of deals being made, of relationships being forged in fire.

Now, fast-forward to today. Picture a different scene: a group of young professionals huddled in a sleek, brightly lit café. The air is scented with fresh fruit and oolong tea. They’re not toasting with fiery spirits but sipping on elaborate concoctions topped with cheese foam, discussing their latest startup idea. This isn’t a hypothetical; it’s the new reality. And this shift helps explain one of the most significant stories unfolding in the Chinese economy today.

Recent headlines and data show that China’s massive alcohol market is “cooling down”—or as the wonderfully descriptive local slang puts it, it’s getting liáng le (凉了), “chilly.” But this isn’t a simple, across-the-board recession. It’s a complex and fascinating fracturing. The country’s three main alcoholic beverages—the iconic white spirit (baijiu), the ubiquitous beer, and the once-aspirational red wine—are all facing headwinds, but for vastly different reasons.¹

This great sobering is not just an economic downturn; it’s a profound structural and cultural realignment. It’s a story told in three distinct acts: the brutal consolidation of the traditional baijiu empire, the quiet triumph of a modernized beer industry, and the near-total collapse of a culturally adrift wine market. And running through it all is a powerful generational schism that is fundamentally reshaping what, where, and why China drinks.

The Emperor’s Crisis: Baijiu’s Gilded Cage

To understand any aspect of drinking in China, you must first understand baijiu. For an American audience, think of it as having the cultural weight of whiskey in Scotland or tequila in Mexico, but with far deeper and more intricate roots in social and business protocol. For decades, especially since the “reform and opening up” period began in the late 1970s, baijiu was the essential fuel for the engines of politics and commerce.

This reliance on official patronage came to a screeching halt in 2012 with a sweeping anti-corruption campaign that severely restricted so-called “three-public consumption” (三公消费)—lavish spending on official receptions, vehicles, and overseas trips. The policy shock forced the baijiu industry into its first major, painful adjustment period.³ Now, a decade later, it’s facing a second, more insidious crisis, one that reveals a stunning paradox at the heart of the industry.

Demystifying the “National Drink”

On the surface, the numbers paint a picture of an industry in retreat. The total number of significant baijiu producers has been plummeting, falling from 1,593 in 2015 to just 963 by 2022.¹ The overall volume of baijiu being produced is also in a multi-year decline.¹ And yet, in that same period, the industry’s total sales revenue has actually grown, from 555.9 billion RMB in 2015 to a staggering 756.3 billion RMB in 2023.¹

How can an industry produce less with fewer companies, yet make substantially more money? The answer lies in a market dynamic that economists call the “Matthew Effect”—from the biblical adage that “to those who have, more will be given.” In China’s baijiu market, this isn’t just a trend; it’s a brutal, winner-take-all war.

The market is aggressively culling its herd. Smaller and medium-sized distilleries are being squeezed out of existence, unable to compete.¹ All the growth, all the profit, is being hoarded by a handful of elite, top-tier brands. Names like Kweichow Moutai, Wuliangye, and Luzhou Laojiao are not just surviving; they are thriving, with their revenues soaring while the rest of the industry withers.¹ The market share of just the top five listed companies has ballooned from 16% in 2015 to 44% in 2023.¹ This extreme concentration of wealth and power means the giants can command ever-higher prices for their premium products, creating a vicious cycle where their massive profits are reinvested into marketing and channel control, further suffocating any potential rivals. The industry is rapidly transforming from a diverse ecosystem into a top-heavy oligopoly.

The Baijiu Paradox (2015-2023)
Year	Number of Enterprises (Above Scale)	Production Volume (Million KL)	Total Industry Revenue (Billion RMB)	Top 5 (CR5) Market Share
2015	1,593	13.13	555.9	16%
2017	1,593	11.98	565.4	22%
2019	1,176	7.86	561.8	32%
2021	965	7.16	603.3	40%
2023	963 (2022 data)	6.29	756.3	44%
Data compiled from sources: ¹

The View from the Trenches: Price Inversion and the Inventory Time Bomb

While the titans of baijiu post record profits, the view from the ground level is far grimmer. A deeply unhealthy market signal has become increasingly common: “price inversion,” or jiàgé dàoguà (价格倒挂).¹ Imagine being a car dealer forced to sell new cars for less than you paid the factory. That’s precisely what is happening to countless baijiu distributors across China.

For years, these distributors were the frontline soldiers in the industry’s growth-at-all-costs army. Distillers, chasing ambitious sales targets, pressured them to buy more and more inventory. Now, with what industry reports euphemistically call “weak consumer demand,” those same distributors are sitting on mountains of unsold bottles.¹ The price inversion is an act of desperation—a way to generate immediate cash flow and clear precious warehouse space, even if it means taking a significant loss on every case sold. This practice has, unsurprisingly, crushed the morale and enthusiasm of the entire distribution network.¹

Herein lies another paradox. While distributors are drowning in unwanted stock, the major listed companies often report their massive inventories as a sign of strength. Kweichow Moutai, the undisputed king of baijiu, reported having over 40.9 billion RMB worth of inventory at the end of the third quarter of 2023.⁸ For them, this isn’t just unsold product; it’s a strategic reserve of aged, high-quality “base liquor” that forms the foundation of their premium blends and serves as a formidable barrier to entry for any would-be competitor.

This vast inventory, however, is a double-edged sword. The strength reported on the distiller’s balance sheet is the direct cause of the weakness felt by the distributor. This reveals a fundamental power imbalance in the supply chain and points to a system that has become dangerously brittle. While the inventory is a valuable asset today, it’s also a colossal bet that consumer tastes won’t fundamentally shift. If the next generation permanently turns its back on baijiu, this multi-billion-dollar “asset” could quickly become a liability, a time bomb ticking away in warehouses across the country. The price inversion at the retail level is the canary in the coal mine, signaling that the very foundation of the sales channel is under extreme stress. A continued slump in demand could trigger a cascade of distributor failures, a crisis that would eventually ripple upwards and impact even the top brands. This pressure is likely a key reason why Moutai’s new general manager, Wang Li, was recently seen making high-profile visits to e-commerce giants like JD.com and Alibaba, looking to better understand market trends and explore new sales channels beyond the increasingly stressed traditional network.⁹

Baijiu’s “Mid-Life Crisis”

Beyond the economic pressures, baijiu is facing a deeper, more existential threat: it is rapidly losing its connection with young people. For many under the age of 35, baijiu is the drink of their parents and grandparents. It’s inextricably linked to stuffy, hierarchical business culture, a world of obligatory toasts and performative drinking that feels utterly alien to their own social lives.¹⁰

The core of the problem lies in the “consumption scenario” (消费场景). Baijiu’s traditional home is the formal banquet or the high-stakes business dinner. These are not the settings where younger Chinese consumers choose to socialize. They value authenticity, casual environments, and personal expression—values that are antithetical to the rigid etiquette of a traditional baijiu-fueled meal. The industry’s attempts to innovate often miss the mark, focusing on technicalities like creating new “aroma types” when the fundamental problem is the cultural context of consumption itself.¹³

The term “mid-life crisis” (中年危机), once used to describe a film director’s creative crossroads, serves as a perfect metaphor for the baijiu industry today.¹⁴ It is immensely successful, wealthy, and powerful, yet it is struggling to find relevance and connect with the next generation. It’s looking in the mirror and seeing an aging face it no longer recognizes. This is not a problem that can be solved with a clever marketing campaign or a fruit-infused flavor. It requires a fundamental reinvention of the product’s role in Chinese society, a daunting challenge that the industry has, so far, failed to meet.

The Modernizer’s Playbook: How Beer Won by Losing

In stark contrast to the turmoil roiling the world of baijiu, China’s beer market presents a picture of relative calm and stability. This tranquility is not an accident; it’s the result of a painful but ultimately successful transformation that offers a glimpse into the future the baijiu giants are desperately trying to build.

Beer faced its own crisis long before baijiu did. After years of explosive growth, China’s beer production peaked in 2013 at over 50 million kiloliters and then entered a prolonged period of decline.¹⁵ The old model of a hyper-fragmented market competing to sell ever-larger volumes of cheap, watery lager was no longer sustainable.

Around 2017, the industry’s leaders made a crucial and coordinated strategic pivot. They shifted their focus from “volume priority” to “profit priority”.¹⁵ The goal was no longer to sell

more beer, but to sell better beer. This strategy, known as “premiumization,” involved a wholesale shift towards higher-margin products: craft beers, imported brands, and innovative brews designed to appeal to more discerning palates.¹⁶

The results were remarkable. The strategy created a new market dynamic best described as “stable volume, rising prices” (量平价增).¹³ Even as the total amount of beer sold remained relatively flat, the overall value of the market grew significantly, from 158.1 billion RMB in 2019 to 179.5 billion RMB in 2021.¹⁵

The key to this successful transformation was market structure. Unlike the still-fragmented baijiu industry, China’s beer market is a clear oligopoly. The top five companies—a group that includes China Resources Beer, Tsingtao, and Budweiser APAC—control a staggering 93% of the market.¹⁵ This is a level of concentration that dwarfs baijiu’s CR5 of 44%.¹ While such a lack of competition might concern regulators, it provides immense stability for the major players. It allowed them to coordinate the pivot to premiumization without fear of being undercut by a thousand smaller competitors. They could invest heavily in brand-building and manage their supply chains with ruthless efficiency. In essence, the beer industry has already navigated the brutal consolidation phase that the baijiu industry is currently enduring. It provides a clear playbook for how to manage a mature market: consolidate power, focus on value over volume, and adapt to changing consumer tastes.

The Foreigner’s Folly: Wine’s Withered Vines

If the beer market is a story of successful adaptation and the baijiu market is one of painful consolidation, then the wine market is a cautionary tale of cultural rejection. It’s not just cooling down; it’s in a deep, seemingly irreversible freeze.

The scale of the collapse is breathtaking. Domestic wine production is in freefall, plummeting by over 20% in 2022 and another 14% in the first ten months of 2023.² Imports of bottled wine are also down significantly in both volume and value.¹⁸ The most damning statistic of all comes from the global stage: China’s wine consumption fell by a shocking 24.7% in 2023 alone, a drop so severe that it single-handedly dragged down the world’s average consumption rate.¹⁸

The fundamental problem is one of cultural fit. As one candid industry report puts it, “Chinese consumers on red wine have no natural perception, nor do they have extensive drinking scenarios”.⁸ Unlike baijiu, which is deeply woven into tradition, or beer, which has found a comfortable niche in casual, globalized social life, wine has failed to find an organic place in modern China.

For a time, it seemed to be succeeding. Imported wine was marketed as a symbol of Western sophistication and status, an aspirational product for the burgeoning middle class. Its demand was artificially inflated by its use in government and business entertainment—the very same “three-public consumption” that propped up high-end baijiu. When the anti-corruption drive of 2012 pulled that pillar away, there was no grassroots consumer culture to support the market.² People in China simply do not have a widespread habit of drinking wine with their daily meals, nor is it the go-to beverage for a casual get-together with friends. It remains a product without a clear purpose in the modern Chinese consumer’s life.

The crisis is systemic. Domestic wineries are plagued by a persistent reputation for low quality and are being squeezed by cheaper, more prestigious imports.¹⁸ The few publicly listed Chinese wine companies are mostly losing money, and the average sales for a scale enterprise are less than 100 million RMB annually—a pittance in China’s vast consumer market.¹⁸ The industry is stuck in a low-profit, low-growth trap, with no clear path out.

China’s Alcohol Market at a Glance (2023-2024 Snapshot)
Sector	Core Challenge	Market Concentration (CR5)	Key Trend
Baijiu	Generational disconnect; over-reliance on traditional banquet scenarios.	44% (and rising)	Brutal consolidation; premiumization at the top, price wars at the bottom.
Beer	Maintaining momentum; fending off new beverage competitors.	93% (stable)	Successful premiumization; focus on value, craft, and innovation.
Wine	Lack of cultural fit; no established, everyday consumption scenario.	Low (fragmented)	Market collapse; freefall in both domestic production and imports.
Data compiled from sources: ¹

The New Watering Hole: What Young China is Actually Drinking

To truly understand why the traditional alcohol market is struggling, one must look at where young Chinese consumers are choosing to spend their time and money. The answer, increasingly, is not in a bar or at a banquet, but in a tea shop.

The explosive growth of “new-style tea” (新式茶饮), exemplified by brands like Nayuki’s Tea (奈雪的茶, Nàixuě de chá), is the other side of this coin. These are not your grandmother’s tea houses. They are bright, modern, and designed from the ground up to be social hubs. The key to their success lies in their mastery of the “third space” concept—a term for a place outside of home and work where people can gather and connect.

The founder of Nayuki’s has been explicit about this strategy, stating that “space is also Nayuki’s product”.¹⁹ Their stores, often located in prime shopping mall real estate, are conceived as “city living rooms”—comfortable, aesthetically pleasing environments where friends can meet, couples can have a date, and professionals can hold informal meetings.²⁰

This is a masterclass in modern consumer marketing. Nayuki’s and its competitors like HeyTea are not just selling a beverage; they are selling a lifestyle.²¹ They offer a fashionable, comfortable, and highly shareable (on social media) experience that is the complete antithesis of the traditional, hierarchical baijiu banquet. They have successfully captured the youth market because they understand that modern consumption is about the entire experience—the ambiance, the social connection, and the lifestyle it signals.

In this context, a 15 RMB fruit tea from Nayuki’s is a direct competitor to a 50 RMB beer or a 200 RMB glass of baijiu. They are all competing for the same thing: the “socializing occasion.” When a group of friends in Shanghai or Chengdu decides where to hang out, the sleek, welcoming environment of a new-style tea shop is often far more appealing than a dimly lit bar or a formal restaurant. This represents a fundamental and powerful shift in social habits. The alcohol industry, and the baijiu sector in particular, has largely failed to create its own compelling “third spaces,” and as a result, it is losing the battle for the younger generation’s leisure time and disposable income.

The story of Nayuki’s recent strategic pivot is also instructive. After establishing itself as a premium brand, it found itself facing intense pressure from new, ultra-low-priced competitors like Mixue Bingcheng. In response, Nayuki “let go of its obsession” with being purely high-end. It lowered its prices and launched an aggressive franchising model to expand into smaller, lower-tier cities.²³ This agile response to a changing market demonstrates the ruthless dynamism of Chinese consumerism and serves as a stark warning: even the most successful brands must be willing to adapt, or they risk being left behind.

A Toast to the Future?

The great sobering of China’s alcohol market is not a simple recession. It is a complex, multi-faceted realignment driven by the most powerful force in any consumer economy: a generational shift in tastes, values, and habits. The old ways of drinking, tied to formality, hierarchy, and obligation, are giving way to a new paradigm that prizes experience, personal choice, and casual social connection.

Looking ahead, the path for each sector is distinct:

For baijiu, the brutal consolidation will continue. The giants like Moutai and Wuliangye will likely become even bigger and more profitable, dominating a smaller but more valuable premium market. Their existential challenge, however, remains unsolved. They must find a way to break free from the banquet hall and create new products and scenarios that resonate with young consumers. If they fail, they risk becoming fabulously wealthy relics of a bygone era.
For beer, the challenge is to maintain the momentum of its successful modernization. Having already won the battle for consolidation and premiumization, it must now fend off a growing army of competitors from outside the alcohol space—from coffee to fruit tea to energy drinks—all vying for the same “share of throat.” Continuous innovation will be key to holding the interest of fickle consumers.
For wine, the road ahead is the most arduous. It cannot rely on marketing or price cuts alone. The industry faces the monumental task of building a genuine consumer culture from the ground up. This is a long and expensive process of education and market-building, with no guarantee of success.

Ultimately, the future of drinking in China will belong to the brands that understand the new consumer paradigm. It is no longer enough to simply offer a quality liquid in a bottle. The winning brands will be those that can create a compelling experience, that can build a community, and that can offer a lifestyle their customers want to embrace. The companies that master this new formula—whether they sell baijiu, beer, or even tea—will be the ones raising a glass to success in the years to come.