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Something broke in the grocery store sometime around 2022. The same cart of food that used to ring up at $80 suddenly costs $140, and we're standing there at the register wondering if we accidentally bought premium items or if the cashier scanned something twice. We didn't, and they didn't. The prices just changed, and they changed in a way that feels less like normal economic fluctuation and more like someone's running a con.

The scam feeling isn't just about paying more. We've weathered price increases before. This feels different because the increases don't match any coherent story we're being told, the packages keep shrinking while the prices grow, and corporations are reporting record profits while explaining that they had no choice but to raise prices. The math isn't mathing, and we're all doing mental arithmetic in the cereal aisle trying to figure out where exactly the con is happening.

The Shrinkflation Shell Game

Walk down any grocery aisle and really look at the products. That box of crackers is taller than it used to be, giving the illusion of the same amount of product, but it's also noticeably thinner. The ice cream container that once held half a gallon now holds 1.5 quarts, often in a container shaped exactly like the old one. A 2024 report on shrinkflation by the United Steelworkers (USW) union states that about 10% of inflation in key categories like household paper products and snacks stems from product downsizing, with some items effectively more expensive per unit despite nominal price stability.

The practice has a name now—shrinkflation—but naming it doesn't make it feel less like a magic trick designed to separate us from our money. Companies bank on us not noticing, or not remembering exactly how many ounces of peanut butter we usually buy, or being too tired after a full day of work to stand in the aisle doing unit price calculations. They're right, mostly. We notice something feels off, but we're already at the store, we need the peanut butter, and we don't have the energy to stage a protest over four missing ounces.

What makes this particularly galling is the deliberate deception involved. These are the same packages we've been buying for years, subtly reshaped to hide the reduction. The orange juice carton is sleeker. The chip bag has more air. The candy bar is "easier to share" because it's been cut into smaller pieces, never mind that the total weight dropped by a third. We're not stupid, and treating us like we are adds insult to the financial injury.

The Profit Margin Gaslighting

Grocery chains and food manufacturers spent 2022 and 2023 telling us they had no choice but to raise prices due to supply chain issues, labor costs, and inflation. Then their earnings reports came out. Kroger's gross profit margin hit 22% in 2023. Tyson Foods reported operating income of $2.2 billion in fiscal 2023. PepsiCo's revenue grew by nearly 10% in 2023 while they simultaneously raised prices by an average of 16% across their product lines.

Companies used a moment of genuine economic disruption to raise prices far beyond what their increased costs required, then pocketed the difference. A 2023 report from the Federal Reserve Bank of Kansas City found that markups accounted for more than half of inflation in 2021, a dramatic increase from historical norms where markups contributed minimally to price changes.

We're not economists, most of us, but we understand the basic logic of cause and effect. If costs went up by 5% and prices went up by 15%, someone's making an extra 10% that they're not entitled to. When we point this out, we're told we don't understand how business works, or that companies have to protect their shareholders, or that profit margins are more complicated than simple subtraction. Maybe they are, but the grocery store CEO's compensation package isn't complicated at all. It's just very large and getting larger while we're cutting back on fresh fruit.

The Loyalty Program Hostage Situation

Grocery shopping used to be straightforward. Items had prices, and we paid those prices. Now every chain has a mandatory loyalty program, and the "regular" price of items has become a fictional number that exists solely to make the "member" price look like a deal. A gallon of milk is listed at $7.99 but rings up at $4.99 with the card. We're not getting a deal; we're being charged a penalty for refusing to hand over our purchasing data.

The programs themselves are dressed up as consumer benefits, offering personalized coupons and special discounts. What they actually do is allow stores to engage in sophisticated price discrimination, charging different prices to different customers based on their perceived willingness to pay. They track everything we buy, when we buy it, and how often, then use that data to extract maximum revenue.

The worst part is that we've been trained to feel grateful for these programs, like the store is doing us a favor by letting us pay reasonable prices in exchange for comprehensive surveillance of our eating habits. We've normalized a system where the baseline price is artificially inflated so that the "discount" price can feel like a victory. We're not winning anything. We're just paying closer to what the item is actually worth after the store has played its pricing games. The house always wins, but now it's convinced us to thank it for the opportunity to play.