18. May 2026

Shrinkflation: Paying More for Less, Obviously

There are few things more insulting than opening a packet of something you’ve paid actual money for and finding out half of it is air.
Not premium air. Not hand-selected artisan air. Just normal packet air, sealed in nicely so the company can pretend the product is still worth buying.

That, basically, is shrinkflation.

The price stays the same, or usually creeps up, while the product gets smaller. It is daylight robbery, but with nicer packaging and a “new improved recipe” sticker slapped on the front.

And we’re supposed to just nod along.

A Curly Wurly used to be massive. You needed two hands and a decent lunch break to get through one. Now you open it and wonder whether someone at the factory snapped half off for quality control.

Same with Wagon Wheels. They used to be the size of your head. That was sort of the point. Now they look like something from a child’s play kitchen.

At some point, someone in a boardroom clearly said, “What if we made everything smaller and hoped nobody noticed?”

Then someone else said, “Great idea. Let’s charge more as well.”

This is where we are now.

Crisp packets contain six crisps and a weather system. Chocolate bars vanish before you’ve mentally committed to eating them. Biscuit packets have more plastic tray than biscuit.

And then there’s fruit.

I bought a net of easy peelers the other day. Three quid. For tiny orange marbles wearing peel. By the time you’ve peeled one, you’re left with something the size of a contact lens.

Easy peelers? Easy to lose, more like.

Of course, brands blame rising costs. Transport, energy, packaging, weather, probably the moon. Fine. Costs go up. We get it.

But shrinkflation feels sneaky. A price rise is at least honest. You can see it, swear quietly, and decide whether you’re prepared to remortgage for a packet of Hobnobs.

Shrinkflation creeps past you in a fake moustache.

Same packaging. Same colours. Same cheerful nonsense on the front. Just less inside.

Then they try to dress it up.

“Now in a lighter pack.”

Lovely. I was hoping for less food.

“Perfect for portion control.”

Thanks. Nothing says customer care like being treated like a greedy Labrador.

“Great for sharing.”

Sharing what? There are four sweets in there. Shall we cut a Malteser in half and draw up a family rota?

Shopping now feels like detective work. You have to check the weight, price per gram, number of items and whether the photo on the front is lying to you emotionally.

And we all notice. We notice when chocolate bars look nervous. We notice when crisp bags are 80% atmosphere. We notice when easy peelers are being sold in sizes usually reserved for Monopoly pieces.

But we still buy them, because we’re British, and apparently our national hobby is complaining while handing over our bank card.

Just don’t pretend nothing has changed.

Say it properly.

“Sorry, everything is smaller, more expensive and slightly disappointing.” At least then we’d know where we stand.