China's TVs Are Cheap, Big and Off: Why Nobody Presses Power
A 24-inch television in China now costs under 300 yuan — roughly the price of one hotpot dinner for two. A 65-inch set runs a little over 1,000 yuan, a 75-inch around 2,000, and an 85-inch about 3,000. A decade or two ago, that money would not have bought even a 29-inch picture-tube model. By the ordinary logic of retail, cheaper should mean more sold. Television has spent years proving the opposite.
Industry figures sketch the slide. China’s color-TV retail volume stood at about 50.89 million units in 2016, then fell to around 27.63 million by 2025 — a decline of more than half and a near-decade low. Shipments in the first half of 2026 came to roughly 14.9 million units. Meanwhile the number of sets sitting in Chinese homes is estimated at about 400 million, and the share of them actually switched on has dropped from around 70 percent to about 30 percent. The screens are still there; the habit is not.
The most visible reason is the phone. For a generation of viewers, short video, streaming dramas and live commerce all arrive through a handset that never leaves their palm. Watching is no longer a scheduled family event around a fixed box in the corner. It is a private, continuous, pocket-sized activity that follows you into the kitchen, the subway and the bathroom. A television demands a seat, a remote and a decision; a phone demands nothing.
The television’s own software did not help. Many Chinese smart TVs greet users with lengthy boot-up animations, layered menus, and advertising that plays before anything else. Finding a single channel can take several clicks through interfaces designed to sell subscriptions rather than serve viewers. Older users, in particular, describe the experience as a maze. A device that once turned on instantly now feels like a negotiation.
There is also the matter of what is worth watching together. Family viewing once meant a shared evening drama or a weekend sports match. Today’s most-discussed shows are often consumed alone, on a schedule set by an algorithm, and discussed in comment sections rather than on a sofa. The living room has not disappeared, but its center of gravity has moved.
Hardware makers have responded by chasing size and picture quality. Panels keep getting larger and cheaper, and premium models push brightness, contrast and gaming refresh rates. Yet a better screen cannot manufacture a reason to switch it on. Some brands now market televisions as art displays or smart-home dashboards, hoping the panel earns a place on the wall even when nobody is watching. Early signs suggest the strategy is more about premium upgrades than about reviving daily use.
The economics cut both ways. Brutal price competition squeezed margins, so manufacturers leaned on advertising and subscription revenue built into the operating system. That pushed interfaces further from what viewers wanted, feeding the very disengagement that shrinks the audience advertisers pay for. It is a quiet loop: cheaper sets, busier software, fewer hours watched.
None of this means the television is dying. Big screens remain the best way to watch a blockbuster film, a major final, or a game with friends. But the set is becoming a special-occasion device rather than a nightly companion — closer to a projector or a games console than to the hearth it replaced. The 400 million screens mounted on Chinese walls are not broken. They are simply waiting for something worth the trouble of turning them on.