Trump wants Americans to stop one of their most common behaviors

[UNITED STATES] President Donald Trump may be an unlikely spokesperson for the “buy nothing” movement—or at least a version of it. The president has repeatedly suggested that his tariffs are not just about protecting American industry, but also about encouraging Americans to purchase less. In the face of rising prices and potential shortages, Trump has argued that Americans should simply make do with fewer things.

It’s a surprising stance from a president whose persona is built on wealth and extravagance—and even more so in a country where consumption is practically a civic virtue. For many Americans, shopping is more than routine—it’s a way of life.

Trump’s push for reduced consumerism is rooted in his broader strategy of economic nationalism. His administration has imposed tariffs on countries such as China, which he accuses of exploiting the U.S. through unfair trade practices. Trump argues these measures will bolster domestic industries and reduce the trade deficit. Yet this approach has ignited a fierce debate: will tariffs actually strengthen the economy, or will they burden American consumers with higher prices?

The most vivid example of this economic philosophy is Trump’s recent fixation on toys—specifically dolls. At a Cabinet meeting in April, Trump remarked, “Maybe the children will have two dolls instead of 30,” and added that those two might cost a bit more. In a May appearance on Meet the Press, he elaborated: “I don’t think that a beautiful baby girl who’s 11 years old needs 30 dolls. I think three or four is enough, because what we were doing with China was just unbelievable.” He’s also suggested that schoolchildren can make do with five pencils rather than 250.

These statements reflect a broader narrative the president is promoting: that Americans should consume less and support domestic manufacturing, thereby contributing to a more resilient national economy. However, this narrative glosses over the complexities of global supply chains and the risk of retaliatory tariffs, which could further strain the economy.

Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent echoed Trump’s sentiment during a segment on The Ingraham Angle, suggesting that a young girl might sacrifice toys now but enjoy greater “economic freedom” in the future thanks to Trump’s leadership.

It’s true that toys have become cheaper in recent decades, leading to an overabundance in many households. Some parents might even welcome a break from the plastic clutter that seems to multiply with every holiday or birthday. Still, Trump’s focus on dolls as a symbol of consumer excess feels oddly out of place. Of all the things to cut back on, children’s toys aren’t typically seen as indulgent.

More broadly, the idea of curbing consumption runs counter to a deeply ingrained American value: the freedom to buy. For generations, material abundance and consumer choice have been cornerstones of American life. It’s not a mindset easily altered by tariffs or political rhetoric.

Critics argue that Trump’s messaging represents a fundamental misunderstanding of both the American economy and its culture. Consumer spending accounts for about two-thirds of the U.S. GDP. A widespread pullback could have serious macroeconomic consequences. And from a political standpoint, calls for austerity have rarely resonated with voters.

“In America, patriotism and consumerism are usually about buying, not about restraint,” says Gary Cross, a cultural historian at Penn State and author of several works on consumerism.

The roots of America’s consumer identity run deep. Since the post–World War II boom, suburban growth and middle-class prosperity have been defined by consumption—owning homes, cars, and goods has long symbolized success. As sociologist Jennifer Smith Maguire of Sheffield Business School puts it, “Consumerism is bound up with that whole definition of living a life of freedom and choice and self-expression.”

In this framework, purchases mark life milestones. Teenagers find independence in trips to the mall (a trend Gen Z is reviving). Adults invest in weddings, homes, and furniture. Later in life, people grapple with parting from the possessions that came to define their personal histories.

This tight coupling between consumerism and identity makes any push for spending restraint a tough sell. Americans often view shopping not just as a choice, but as a right—and challenges to that freedom can provoke strong resistance.

We shop, in part, to signal who we are: environmentally conscious, stylish, young-at-heart. The dizzying variety of yogurts or jeans on offer isn’t just excess—it’s a reflection of how Americans have come to see themselves.

“Products help us tell the story of who we are,” explains Americus Reed, a marketing professor at Wharton. “If I choose A and not B or C, that choice reflects something about me.”

To many Americans, consumerism is democracy in action. Not everyone can be wealthy, but everyone can aspire to the symbols of wealth. Participation in the market—even in small ways—feels like a piece of the American Dream.

“Even a little consumption keeps alive the hope that with hard work and luck, I might someday afford more,” Maguire says. “It’s the democracy of goods.”

And economically, wide participation is vital. With personal spending driving the economy, even a modest decline in consumer confidence can have ripple effects. Michael Madowitz, an economist at the Roosevelt Institute, explains: “Consumer spending is so large that even small pullbacks—people delaying purchases by a few months—can have significant macro impacts.”

Historically, consumerism has also been framed as patriotic. It helped power the economy after World War II and became a Cold War contrast to the Soviet model. After 9/11, Americans were urged to keep shopping. During the COVID-19 pandemic, stimulus checks were sent to encourage continued spending.

In contrast, calls for sacrifice rarely land well. Former President Jimmy Carter’s plea in 1977 for Americans to turn down the thermostat—while wearing a cardigan—was mocked for years. His predecessor, Gerald Ford, met similar resistance when he launched the “Whip Inflation Now” campaign urging frugality.

That’s not to say Americans haven’t made sacrifices in times of crisis. But as Cross notes, such sacrifices usually come when the public broadly agrees an emergency exists. “I’m not sure people feel that way right now,” he says.

Trump argues that trade imbalances and foreign exploitation justify a consumption pullback. But most Americans don’t seem convinced. Polls suggest consumers are skeptical about the tariffs’ long-term benefits and increasingly wary of their short-term costs.

As concern grows over rising prices, Trump’s advice to buy less hasn’t offered much comfort. His calls for restraint feel out of step in a nation where consumption is seen as both an economic engine and a personal freedom.

Moreover, Americans generally bristle at being told how to spend their money. “When you restrict freedom, you’ll often get the opposite behavior,” says Reed.

And in an era of deep political polarization, the messenger matters. Progressives already wary of Trump aren’t likely to embrace his calls for consumer sacrifice. There's also an undeniable irony in the source: a billionaire president with a gold-plated image telling others to practice frugality.