When I first heard the news that the EU had slapped a €200 million fine on Temu, I felt a small jolt of vindication. It wasn't the legal jargon that got me; it was the memory of the woman I met in a charity shop last autumn. She was holding a child's unicorn backpack, its zipper already broken after three weeks, the polyester fabric pilling like a mangy dog. 'It cost me four quid,' she said, her face a mix of shame and resignation. 'I knew it was too good to be true.' That backpack, I suspect, was a ghost of Temu's supply chain: cheap, tempting, and ultimately a burden on someone else's conscience.
The fine, announced by European regulators this morning, is the largest ever imposed on a Chinese e-commerce platform. The EU's executive arm accused Temu of failing to police its marketplace, allowing a torrent of illegal goods to flood the continent: counterfeit batteries that could explode, unsafe children's toys, electronics that don't meet safety standards. The company, which has become a household name for bargain hunters, now faces a reckoning. But the real story isn't the fine. It's what the fine reveals about the cultural pact we make when we click 'buy now'.
Temu's rise has been nothing short of remarkable. It has lured millions with prices that defy logic: a dress for £3, a set of screwdrivers for £2.50, a vacuum cleaner for a tenner. For cash-strapped families in a cost-of-living crisis, these prices are a lifeline. But they also come with a hidden tax: the tax of broken promises, dangerous products, and environmental waste. The EU's fine is a formal admission that the system is broken. But the system didn't break by itself. We broke it, one bargain at a time.
I think about the workers in Temu's supply chain, invisible to the shoppers scrolling through its app. They are part of a globalised labour market that thrives on speed and cheapness. The EU's fine might force Temu to improve its vetting processes, but it won't change the underlying economics of ultra-fast fashion and disposable electronics. The fine is a bandage on a wound that needs surgery.
On the street, the reaction has been mixed. In a coffee shop near King's Cross, I overheard two women discussing the news. 'Good,' one said. 'They deserve it. My mate bought a phone charger from there and it nearly set her flat on fire.' The other shrugged. 'I'll still use it. Where else can I get a party dress for a tenner?' That second woman is the heart of the problem. We have become so accustomed to cheap goods that we have normalised a system that exploits both people and planet.
This fine also highlights a deeper cultural shift: the erosion of trust in digital marketplaces. A decade ago, Amazon was the villain of choice for its treatment of workers. Now, Temu and its cousin Shein have taken the crown. But the difference is that Temu's business model relies on a kind of algorithmic chaos – thousands of sellers, millions of products, almost no oversight. The EU is essentially saying that chaos has a price.
I wonder what happens next. Temu will likely appeal, or perhaps simply absorb the cost as a business expense. But the real change has to come from us, the consumers. We need to recalibrate our sense of value. When a dress costs less than a cup of coffee, something is amiss. The fine might make Temu safer, but it won't make it more ethical. That requires a cultural shift: a willingness to pay a little more for products that don't come with a hidden cost.
As I left the coffee shop, I saw a woman on her phone, her screen aglow with the familiar Temu logo. She was scrolling through children's pyjamas, each one cheaper than the last. I wanted to tell her about the unicorn backpack, about the charity shop, about the fine. But I held back. Nobody likes a sermon. Instead, I hope the news cycle does its work. I hope the fine plants a seed of doubt. Because the only way to undo the Temu trap is to stop stepping into it.
