Shein’s Bargain-App Formula Crumbles Under Trump
Chinese fashion giant faces a double whammy of steep U.S. tariffs and an end to its duty-free shipping.
Chinese fashion giant faces a double whammy of steep U.S. tariffs and an end to its duty-free shipping.
The meteoric popularity among American shoppers of China-founded app Shein was greatly helped by duty-free shipping of its ultra-cheap fashion. After President Trump closed that option for Chinese goods, its clothes will now bear the full impact of his new tariffs.
The U.S. tariffs imposed on Wednesday and China’s retaliation throw a wet blanket over all goods trade between the two countries. For Shein, the additional impact of Trump’s move to end the so-called de mini m is exemption for China means a double hit and perhaps the most pivotal challenge for the fashion giant, whose links to China have long landed it at the center of U.S.-China tensions.
The fashion giant had already shifted its plans for an initial public offering from New York to London, where it had hoped to list by June. But Trump’s new tariffs on China and elimination of duty-free exemption for China on goods valued at $800 or less effective May 2 makes its prospects of going public at all increasingly dim.
The nimble supply chain that Shein prides itself on now faces enormous pressure to keep costs low.
“Shein will probably have to reinvent the wheel,” said Vinci Zhang , an analyst at research and analytics firm M Science. “It’s almost certain they will raise the price, otherwise they won’t survive.”
Shein didn’t respond to a request for comment.
Because Trump only ended the de minimis option for China, Shein could still ship wares to the U.S. tariff-free from other countries. Shein had encouraged some suppliers to move their factories to Vietnam, but Trump’s announcement last week of 46% tariffs on goods from Vietnam has undermined such efforts. On Wednesday, Trump authorized a 90-day delay on most tariffs while increasing tariffs on China.
Cathy Lin , who runs a Guangzhou-based contract manufacturer that supplies Shein and its Chinese rival Temu, has put on hold her plan to set up a factory in Vietnam. “Moving there might not be a once-and-for-all solution,” she said. Lin said she has found two partners in Macau and Vietnam who can temporarily help ship parcels to the U.S.
Trump first tried to end the duty-free exemption for China in February, but had to delay the crackdown to let the Commerce Department set up a system to process inspections and levies on the shipments. Shein, now based in Singapore, has argued that the de minimis exemption isn’t critical to its success. Nevertheless, during the two-month reprieve, Shein has scrambled to prepare.
Shein, whose clothing, on average, costs 20% to 35% less than fast-fashion rivals such as Zara and H&M , has raised prices on some items in the past two months. Eight sellers on Shein and Temu, which also increased some prices, said orders from the U.S. have fallen by 20% to 50% in March compared with January.
After Trump’s latest tariff announcement, Brian Luo , who runs a U.S. delivery company that helps companies such as Shein and Temu get parcels to U.S. customers, said the delivery orders he received for Monday plunged to 1,600 from a daily average of 4,000.
“Once the tariffs are added, people might shift back to Amazon , especially because their delivery speed is faster,” Luo said.
Under the new U.S. tariffs, apparel imported from China could face total levies close to 150%, according to Sheng Lu, professor of fashion and apparel studies at the University of Delaware.
Shein has no customers in China, though it subcontracts with thousands of factories there to power its enormous selection of cheap apparel and respond to fleeting consumer tastes. The company has been diversifying its supply chain in the past few years and now also manufactures in Brazil and Turkey, closer to its consumers in North America and Europe.
In recent months, Shein has been in talks with manufacturers in the U.S. to produce some of its clothing there, people familiar with the matter said. More than one-third of Temu’s U.S. orders are now fulfilled by sellers with inventory in the U.S.
In a rare public comment, commerce officials in Guangzhou, where many Shein suppliers are based, told a Communist Party-controlled newspaper that Shein was increasing investments in China and denied that its suppliers are moving out of China.
Nonetheless, Goldman Sachs analysts on Monday lowered forecasts for Temu’s gross sales by as much as a third to a range of $63 billion to $84 billion.
Temu, owned by Chinese e-commerce company PDD Holdings , didn’t respond to a request for comment.
Last year, companies sent small packages worth $46 billion to the U.S. from China under the de minimis exception, representing 11% of U.S. imports from China, Nomura economists estimated.
While the U.S. is one of its biggest markets, Shein sells to more than 150 countries.
In a chat group on WeChat with more than 200 merchants who sell to American consumers on Shein or Temu, vendors raced to come up with contingency plans. “If I can’t sell to the U.S., that’s OK. There are still other good markets,” said Wang Xianwei , a kitchen-utensil seller in China.
But Shein has run into regulatory and political issues around the world. The European Union is also looking to close its own version of the de minimis provision, and some countries have already ended similar loopholes.
Shein’s revenue grew 19% to around $38 billion in 2024, below the increases of 40% or more that the company had seen in the past few years, people familiar with the retailer said.
Since its New York listing plans collapsed, Shein has strengthened its focus on compliance to meet political and regulatory challenges. Its London IPO application has been awaiting approval from Chinese and British regulators since last June.
“Trump’s tariffs and other policies are closing the window for the IPO,” said a person close to Beijing’s thinking.
A divide has opened in the tech job market between those with artificial-intelligence skills and everyone else.
A 30-metre masterpiece unveiled in Monaco brings Lamborghini’s supercar drama to the high seas, powered by 7,600 horsepower and unmistakable Italian design.
A divide has opened in the tech job market between those with artificial-intelligence skills and everyone else.
There has rarely, if ever, been so much tech talent available in the job market. Yet many tech companies say good help is hard to find.
What gives?
U.S. colleges more than doubled the number of computer-science degrees awarded from 2013 to 2022, according to federal data. Then came round after round of layoffs at Google, Meta, Amazon, and others.
The Bureau of Labor Statistics predicts businesses will employ 6% fewer computer programmers in 2034 than they did last year.
All of this should, in theory, mean there is an ample supply of eager, capable engineers ready for hire.
But in their feverish pursuit of artificial-intelligence supremacy, employers say there aren’t enough people with the most in-demand skills. The few perceived as AI savants can command multimillion-dollar pay packages. On a second tier of AI savvy, workers can rake in close to $1 million a year .
Landing a job is tough for most everyone else.
Frustrated job seekers contend businesses could expand the AI talent pipeline with a little imagination. The argument is companies should accept that relatively few people have AI-specific experience because the technology is so new. They ought to focus on identifying candidates with transferable skills and let those people learn on the job.
Often, though, companies seem to hold out for dream candidates with deep backgrounds in machine learning. Many AI-related roles go unfilled for weeks or months—or get taken off job boards only to be reposted soon after.
It is difficult to define what makes an AI all-star, but I’m sorry to report that it’s probably not whatever you’re doing.
Maybe you’re learning how to work more efficiently with the aid of ChatGPT and its robotic brethren. Perhaps you’re taking one of those innumerable AI certificate courses.
You might as well be playing pickup basketball at your local YMCA in hopes of being signed by the Los Angeles Lakers. The AI minds that companies truly covet are almost as rare as professional athletes.
“We’re talking about hundreds of people in the world, at the most,” says Cristóbal Valenzuela, chief executive of Runway, which makes AI image and video tools.
He describes it like this: Picture an AI model as a machine with 1,000 dials. The goal is to train the machine to detect patterns and predict outcomes. To do this, you have to feed it reams of data and know which dials to adjust—and by how much.
The universe of people with the right touch is confined to those with uncanny intuition, genius-level smarts or the foresight (possibly luck) to go into AI many years ago, before it was all the rage.
As a venture-backed startup with about 120 employees, Runway doesn’t necessarily vie with Silicon Valley giants for the AI job market’s version of LeBron James. But when I spoke with Valenzuela recently, his company was advertising base salaries of up to $440,000 for an engineering manager and $490,000 for a director of machine learning.
A job listing like one of these might attract 2,000 applicants in a week, Valenzuela says, and there is a decent chance he won’t pick any of them. A lot of people who claim to be AI literate merely produce “workslop”—generic, low-quality material. He spends a lot of time reading academic journals and browsing GitHub portfolios, and recruiting people whose work impresses him.
In addition to an uncommon skill set, companies trying to win in the hypercompetitive AI arena are scouting for commitment bordering on fanaticism .
Daniel Park is seeking three new members for his nine-person startup. He says he will wait a year or longer if that’s what it takes to fill roles with advertised base salaries of up to $500,000.
He’s looking for “prodigies” willing to work seven days a week. Much of the team lives together in a six-bedroom house in San Francisco.
If this sounds like a lonely existence, Park’s team members may be able to solve their own problem. His company, Pickle, aims to develop personalised AI companions akin to Tony Stark’s Jarvis in “Iron Man.”
James Strawn wasn’t an AI early adopter, and the father of two teenagers doesn’t want to sacrifice his personal life for a job. He is beginning to wonder whether there is still a place for people like him in the tech sector.
He was laid off over the summer after 25 years at Adobe , where he was a senior software quality-assurance engineer. Strawn, 55, started as a contractor and recalls his hiring as a leap of faith by the company.
He had been an artist and graphic designer. The managers who interviewed him figured he could use that background to help make Illustrator and other Adobe software more user-friendly.
Looking for work now, he doesn’t see the same willingness by companies to take a chance on someone whose résumé isn’t a perfect match to the job description. He’s had one interview since his layoff.
“I always thought my years of experience at a high-profile company would at least be enough to get me interviews where I could explain how I could contribute,” says Strawn, who is taking foundational AI courses. “It’s just not like that.”
The trouble for people starting out in AI—whether recent grads or job switchers like Strawn—is that companies see them as a dime a dozen.
“There’s this AI arms race, and the fact of the matter is entry-level people aren’t going to help you win it,” says Matt Massucci, CEO of the tech recruiting firm Hirewell. “There’s this concept of the 10x engineer—the one engineer who can do the work of 10. That’s what companies are really leaning into and paying for.”
He adds that companies can automate some low-level engineering tasks, which frees up more money to throw at high-end talent.
It’s a dynamic that creates a few handsomely paid haves and a lot more have-nots.
A luxury lifestyle might cost more than it used to, but how does it compare with cities around the world?
In the remote waters of Indonesia’s Anambas Islands, Bawah Reserve is redefining what it means to blend barefoot luxury with environmental stewardship.