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‘Young forty’ debate reflects a youth culture that values authenticity

Published: 11 Dec. 2025, 00:03

Choi Soon-hwa

The author is a professor of international business at Dongduk Women's University.

A debate over so-called young forty consumers has intensified. A decade ago, the term referred to people in their forties who embraced trends and had youthful tastes. Today, it is more often used to describe middle-aged consumers who buy products popular with younger people in an attempt to appear youthful. In the United States, a similar expression — “millennial cringe” — is used to poke fun at millennials now entering their forties who cling awkwardly to dated styles, from skinny jeans to overly staged selfies, which younger adults find embarrassing.

AI-generated images of typical “young forty” adults [JOONGANG ILBO]

When products and cultural trends broaden into the middle-aged market and lose traction among younger ones, companies feel the consequences. Leggings, which surged during the athleisure and “skinny-fit” fashion boom, became less popular as younger generations shifted toward loose silhouettes. That shift contributed to athletic apparel retailer Lululemon’s share price falling by half this year and dealt a blow to spandex manufacturers in Korea and China. Apple’s recently released orange iPhone has even been tagged as a “young forty” item after it caught the attention of trend-sensitive middle-aged consumers.

In markets dominated by affluent consumers and younger buyers, companies often draw distinctions across classes and generations. Wealthier consumers shape trends through purchasing power and aesthetic tastes, while younger consumers drive change through information fluency and a willingness to experiment. As many people pursue the prestige of luxury and the freshness of youth, trendsetters seek rarer items and bolder experiences.

Since the 2000s, hipster culture — rooted in nonmainstream taste, self-expression and a preference for the unconventional — has had a major influence on younger consumers. It elevated underground art, independent shops and neighborhood-based culture. “Ugly fashion,” with its deliberately awkward shapes and offbeat colors, came to be seen as a challenge to conventional notions of beauty.

Pabst Blue Ribbon (PBR), a U.S. beer brand, is among the clearest examples of how a company can benefit from these trends. Long considered a cheap “working-class beer,” PBR spent the 1990s losing market share to Budweiser and Coors and appeared close to shutting down. But in the 2000s, its obscurity became an advantage. Young people drawn to hipster culture liked that PBR was inexpensive, unfamiliar to many of their peers and distinct from heavily marketed mainstream beers. A lack of advertising — a consequence of financial constraints — unexpectedly helped reinforce its appeal.

PBR adopted what it called a “no marketing” strategy, correctly reading the minds of young consumers who disliked mass marketing and preferred brands that conveyed identity. The company rejected television advertising and even declined a proposal from musician Kid Rock, a well-known PBR fan, who volunteered to promote the beer. Instead, PBR invested in niche culture: sponsoring small indie music shows, supporting skateboarding and local cycling events and hosting can design competitions featuring regional artists.

Through the mid-2010s, PBR grew rapidly and was reborn as the beer of choice for many in their twenties. Fans likened it to the Harley-Davidson of the beer industry. One San Francisco startup even advertised unlimited PBR for a year as a perk for new hires. But as PBR gained visibility, its scarcity — and thus its outsider appeal — waned. Growth stalled, and the company was slow to respond to the tastes of consumers born in the late 1990s, who preferred low-calorie seltzers and low-alcohol beers. PBR could not escape what is often called the “hipster paradox”: A product embraced for its rejection of trends becomes a trend itself and loses the very audience that made it popular.

Brands associated with youth lose their appeal as their customers age. To overcome the paradox and satisfy both longtime fans and younger consumers, companies must preserve tradition while continuing to experiment. Footwear and apparel corporation New Balance, founded 119 years ago, has maintained its youthful edge by pairing retro designs with active lifestyle lines, from skateboarding to running. Its recent so-called snoafer — a hybrid of a sneaker and a loafer that's based on the classic 1906 model — has gained a strong following.

Korea is among the fastest trend-adopting markets in the world. Dense social networks make it easy for people to observe one another, and many want to try new products before others do. As young consumers race to buy new items and share their tastes on social media, middle-aged consumers follow. Some buy in fear of falling behind. Insead Prof. David Dubois has argued that Korean consumers’ appetite for discovery is a key driver of the global rise of K-brands. Sustained growth, he notes, requires a balance between swiftness and authenticity.

An entry from the U.S. beer company's Pabst Blue Ribbon’s can design contest [PBR WEBSITE]

Negative perceptions of young forty behavior reflect the values of younger generations, who prioritize authenticity. Middle-aged consumers who mimic youthful appearances through products, brands or slang but hold attitudes or values that do not match can appear disingenuous. By contrast, middle-aged adults who express their convictions plainly and speak with the depth of lived experience often gain respect.

Companies face an even higher bar. Greenwashing, or touting environmental commitments without substantive action, and similar marketing tactics have drawn sharp criticism because younger consumers can detect the gap between messaging and reality. Cultivating a youthful image means little without the insight to understand generational change.

The young forty debate ultimately raises an essential question for brands: How should youthfulness be defined and expressed in a way that feels real, not performed?

This article was originally written in Korean and translated by a bilingual reporter with the help of generative AI tools. It was then edited by a native English-speaking editor. All AI-assisted translations are reviewed and refined by our newsroom.