This week in charts
U.S. vs. emerging market equities – overvaluation
Most widely held stocks vs. the S&P 500 Index – forward price-to-earnings ratios
Magnificent 7 ownership
Passive flows
Active share
Mutual fund cash balances
S&P 500 Index by weighting – forward P/E ratios over time
Young adults living with parents
U.S. vs. Canada – home prices & income
Used car costs by province
Private equity fundraising slides as sector’s downturn deepens
Private equity firms are struggling to raise money despite offering unprecedented enticements to attract new investor cash, underscoring a sector-wide contraction that is denting the profitability of the industry.
Private equity groups raised just $592bn in the 12 months to June: their lowest tally for seven years, data from Preqin show.
The decline came even as firms offered more discounts such as management fee cuts, “early-bird discounts” for investors who commit quickly to new funds and other incentives.
They “are offering a smorgasbord of discounts”, said Marco Masotti, global head of private equity fundraising at law firm Paul Weiss, who added in a report by the firm that PE groups were “facing mounting fee pressure and agreeing to a cascade of discounts”.
The industry’s fundraising has shrunk by nearly a third from its record levels in 2021. Higher interest rates and a slowdown in dealmaking have left firms unable to sell trillions of dollars in ageing investments, causing growing frustration from investors, many of whom are now refusing to back funds.
Accentuating PE’s challenges are a flurry of newer entrants into the industry in the decade after the 2008 financial crisis, leaving the market oversaturated. It had left a record number of funds chasing every potential dollar of new investment, consultancy Bain said in June.
“There are just too many private equity managers seeking capital out there. I just don’t know how else to say it,” said Masotti.
As a result, more groups are offering discounts, such as pledging to return the transaction fees that were once charged to their clients, as well as volume-based discounts and novel terms such as caps on some legal and travel expenses.
These types of enticements have reduced net management fees paid to PE groups by about half since the global financial crisis, Bain & Co. found.
Industry leaders had hoped for a resurgence in dealmaking this year, with the slowdown rooted in firms’ inability to return cash to its investors. PE groups only returned 11 per cent of the industry’s assets to investors last year, the lowest figure since 2009, Bain calculates.
“After three years with a lack of liquidity, the rule book for fundraising has been fundamentally rewritten,” said Richard von Gusovius, global co-head of distribution at the private capital advisory Campbell Lutyens. “The investors really want their money back.”
This week’s fun finds
To put it generally and reductively, American food has not always been known for embracing spice. But now a large and apparently growing number of people in this country are willingly chomping down on fruits that have been expressly cultivated to bind to their body’s pain receptors and unleash fury with every bite. “It’s one of the great puzzles of culinary history,” Paul Rozin, a retired psychologist who spent much of his career studying spice, told me. “It is remarkable that something that tastes so bad is so popular.”
This trend, like basically every trend, is being driven by young people: According to a survey by NCSolutions, which helps packaged-food companies advertise, 51 percent of Generation Z consider themselves hot-sauce connoisseurs, and 35 percent have signed a waiver before eating something spicy. But it is also the result of a collision of several changes in the way Americans eat. Food costs are high, and the industry is crowded; spice can be a cheap way to produce flavor, get consumer attention, and mask less-expensive ingredients such as corn and chicken. New techniques have enabled manufacturers to tweak flavors much more easily, injecting spice into just about any mass-produced food: ice cream, lemonade, Gushers, boxed mac and cheese, the sandwich bread at Subway.
Immigration, the internet, cheap shipping, and inexpensive international travel have ushered in a truly global food era, one in which people are much more familiar with, and able to access, ingredients and ideas from the heat-seeking culinary traditions common in Asia and Central America. And at the same time, spicy food has also gotten better, moving away from the blunt-force trauma of what Dylan Keenan, who runs the online hot-sauce store Heat, described to me as “stupid hot stuff that didn’t taste good” in favor of more nuanced flavors: the back-of-the-throat burn of the Trinidad Scorpion, the lip-numbing kick of Sichuan peppercorns. The Reaper, despite sounding intense, still tastes more interesting than the pepper extract that used to supercharge hot sauces and snack foods; it’s sweet and a little fruity, supposedly, at least before the pain sets in. All told, spicy food is easier to make, easier to find, and easier to love than it was just a few decades ago.
The body’s spice receptors adapt over time, like feet get calluses. So spice creep is ceaseless and self-perpetuating: We’re getting used to spicier foods, so we are eating spicier foods, so we are getting even more used to even spicier foods, as though our taste buds are all on a flywheel that can’t stop speeding up. In 2022, responding to customer demand, Fly By Jing introduced an even hotter version of its Sichuan chili crisp, made with what its founder, Jing Gao, described to me as “the hottest Chinese chili you can grow.” (Xtra Spicy is now the company’s second-best seller, behind its original recipe.) At Heat, Keenan told me, sales of extra-hot sauces are growing faster than milder ones, and What’s the hottest thing that still tastes good? is the most common customer request. “I do think it’s likely that within a generation or two,” he wrote to me in an email, “the median American will be able to handle spice levels that would have sent a medieval peasant into anaphylactic shock.” Historically speaking, he pointed out, spice tolerance has only moved in one direction.
It’s true. The first person to eat a hot pepper probably did it somewhere in the lowlands of southern Mexico more than 10,000 years ago, and I would guess they probably thought it would kill them. But they went back for more, or at least they told their friends. Part of this is pure neurochemistry: Capsaicin, the compound that makes many spicy foods spicy, transmits pain signals to the brain, which the brain then counteracts by releasing endorphins—it’s like a runner’s high, except you can get it while sitting in your car outside of a McDonald’s. Rozin calls the phenomenon “benign masochism”: a little bit of pain, as a treat. “It’s bungee jumping and roller coasters and swimming in cold water,” he said, and it is a uniquely human impulse. (Imagine what would happen if you put a dog on a roller coaster.) “We somehow get a pleasure out of our body telling us not to do something, but we know it’s okay.” In the 1970s, when he was studying spice in Oaxaca, Rozin found that even children had learned to tolerate spice. When he offered the local pigs and dogs a choice, they picked bland food every time.