Dad's Inflation, Granddad's Investing
I caught a story in the The Economist about a study by Ulrike Malmendier of Cal (Berkeley) and Stefan Nagel of Stanford suggesting that people who live through periods of high inflation anticipate future inflation being higher than those who have not lived through such times, and those who live through economic crises tend to make investment decisions that are heavily influenced by that experience.
This strongly conforms to anecdotal evidence I have from my own father. For my entire life, at least since infancy, I’ve been fortunate enough to live in a time and country where inflation has been exceedingly low by international and historical standards. Core inflation in the U.S. has consistently been under 5% since the mid-1980s, and has usually been much lower. (In fact, a major danger in our current economic crisis is that inflation will be too low, or even negative.) Four dollars today has about the same value as two dollars did in 1985. In other words, it took 24 years for the value of a dollar to halve, which works out to an average inflation rate of about 3% over that period, using the “Rule of 72.” (72/24 = 3) That’s about the figure I use in my head when trying to calculate the time value of money. From my privileged modern American perspective, that’s “normal.”
My father entered the workforce in the mid-1970s, right as the U.S. entered a brutal period of inflation. Those two 1985 dollars I mentioned that would be worth four dollars today, they would have been worth only one dollar in 1974. That means the value of a dollar halved in just 11 years, at an average inflation rate between 6% and 7%. That’s a fairly typical number in some countries, but history suggests that’s no longer the norm in the U.S.: It took 21 years for the value of a dollar to halve between 1953 and 1974, which is pretty close to the inflation history I lived through. (And most of that inflation came in the early 70s; U.S. inflation was under 3% during the 1950s and 1960s.)
But when my dad tries to calculate what money was worth in the past, he does the math like the 1970s never ended, wildly overestimating the rate of inflation. Eventually I called him out on it so many times that it became one of our inside jokes that I call “The Dad Rate of Inflation.” Today, he’ll poke fun at it, and in stories he’ll facetiously say things like “it cost a dollar back then, which would probably be like 500 dollars today.” So it doesn’t surprise me that Malmendier and Nagel found this to be a common fallacy among age cohorts.
More broadly, what Malmendier and Nagel found is that people who were born at certain times are disproportionately affected in their thinking by certain economic events, and make very different financial decisions, including decisions about the way they invest money.
This has profound implications for people in my age cohort. It suggests that the current economic crisis, which stands to be a formative experience for our generation, will likely influence the investing decisions that we make for the rest of our lives. I suspect it will cause many in our cohort to consistently overprice risk the way my father overprices inflation, and that this will cause a lot of people to inefficiently manage their portfolio, probably for their entire working lives. However, if our generation draws the correct lessons from this crisis, there’s at least the chance that we might act as a stabilizing force for both asset prices (stocks, housing prices, et. al.) and the overall economy.
There are lots of lessons one could draw from this crisis, but if I had to shake folks by the collar and impart just one lesson it would be this: the laws of economic gravity have not been repealed. Eventually, the market corrects itself, bubbles pop, and prices of things fall back into line with their actual value.
In the real world, if the price of oranges go up, people will buy fewer oranges, creating a balance between price and demand. In finance, if something goes up in value, everybody rushes in to buy more of it, assuming it will keep going up in value. And, indeed, for a while it does go up in value, because a greater number of people are chasing a limited supply of assets. And that causes more people to want to jump in on the “growth opportunity.” This is how bubbles form.
But like I said, the laws of economic gravity have not been repealed. The assets, whether they are stocks or whatever, haven’t really gained any extra worth. Stocks are just a claim on the future value of the company, which in turn is just a reflection of the value that company contributes to the economy. Individual companies can and occasionally do grow exponentially in terms of what they produce and how much they are worth. So individual stocks can shoot up in value and the price can still accurately reflect the company’s underlying value. But the stock market as a whole can’t do that. As said, stocks prices merely claims on the value of future goods and services produced. In the late 1990s, the value of the major U.S. stock markets more than doubled in just a few years. Some companies really have been become twice as valuable in that period. But American industry as a whole clearly had not. The total output of our production hadn’t increased by anything approaching that amount. The result was a bubble—the paper gains in people’s investment accounts were all illusory.
Few people seemed to be worried about a bubble. The only thing people worried about, for the most part, was how to get some of that money for themselves. More people wanted to get into the stock market, and they were willing to pay far more for the privilege of doing so. This drove up prices, and it also something called the price-to-earnings (P/E) ratio of most stocks. A company’s earnings reflect the value of what it actually produces, and P/E is sort of like the gravity that keeps stock prices tethered to the Earth. If a company’s stock price shoots up and up even though earnings stay relatively constant, then the P/E will shoot up. A high P/E ratio is usually a warning to investors. The only thing that justified a high P/E is the expectation that earnings will greatly increase in the future. For any one specific company, that might be a very realistic expectation. But like I said, that can’t be true for the entire market. So the S&P Composite P/E is a simple but very useful measure of whether stocks are overvalued (a bubble). There’s another metric called the dividend-to-price ratio (D/P) that goes down during a stock bubble, and this metric suggested the exact same thing the P/E did.
For most of the post-Depression period, P/E has hovered between 10 and 20. That’s a reasonable range. At the height of the stock bubble, the P/E had climbed over 40. That should have been a signal that it was actually a really bad time to buy stocks because they were overvalued. But everybody wanted to buy stocks because they kept going up in value and the assumption was that this would continue forever. Of course, it couldn’t.
The inverse applied during recessions. The P/E is back down within a pretty normal range, even though earnings are down, and D/P has shot way up. So this would actually be a really good time to invest in the stock market if anyone had any money left. But very few people want to invest in the stock market right now … because prices have gone down so much. It’s like looking at the laws of price and demand through a fun house mirror. People seem totally immune to the central tenet of investing, which is to buy low and sell high.
Incidentally, the same thing happened to housing prices. In fact, some people have suggested that part of what happened is that the pressure deflating from the dot-com stock bubble largely got pumped right back into a housing bubble. Housing prices went up, and so people became willing to pay more for houses because they were such great investments that were certain to keep going up in value. Again, the housing market’s version of P/E, the price-to-rent ratio, soared sky high, but few people took this as a sign that houses were seriously overvalued. The problem was further exacerbated by something that doesn’t really have a parallel in the stock market: because housing prices were going up, people were rushing to build more houses. This meant that supply started to outstrip demand, and thus when the housing bubble popped, it popped especially harshly and is probably not yet finished deflating.
So what would it mean if people of our generation are sufficiently scarred by the current crisis that, as a group, we tend to absorb the whole “buy low, sell high” lesson and get skittish about investing in a climate that bears all the signs of a bubble? It certainly wouldn’t end the bubble as we know it, but it might mitigate the intensity of bubbles somewhat. If more people had looked at a P/E in the high 30s and decided that maybe they’d be better off investing their money in bonds or something than investing it in stocks, demand would have slacked off and prices probably wouldn’t have climbed to quite such perilous heights. They still would have been overvalued, and there still would have been a market correction, but perhaps the fall wouldn’t have been quite so steep or so painful. The test, of course, will be to see if investors can take what they learned from a stock bubble and a housing bubble and later apply it to future bubbles. If people, particularly the ones who are now experiencing the crisis first hand, learn the right lessons, they can be a counter-cyclical force that helps to prevent deep recessions.
And if not, we’ll pretty much get what The Onion joked about in one its headlines: “Recession-Plagued Nation Demands New Bubble To Invest In.” Let’s hope for the best, though.
This strongly conforms to anecdotal evidence I have from my own father. For my entire life, at least since infancy, I’ve been fortunate enough to live in a time and country where inflation has been exceedingly low by international and historical standards. Core inflation in the U.S. has consistently been under 5% since the mid-1980s, and has usually been much lower. (In fact, a major danger in our current economic crisis is that inflation will be too low, or even negative.) Four dollars today has about the same value as two dollars did in 1985. In other words, it took 24 years for the value of a dollar to halve, which works out to an average inflation rate of about 3% over that period, using the “Rule of 72.” (72/24 = 3) That’s about the figure I use in my head when trying to calculate the time value of money. From my privileged modern American perspective, that’s “normal.”
My father entered the workforce in the mid-1970s, right as the U.S. entered a brutal period of inflation. Those two 1985 dollars I mentioned that would be worth four dollars today, they would have been worth only one dollar in 1974. That means the value of a dollar halved in just 11 years, at an average inflation rate between 6% and 7%. That’s a fairly typical number in some countries, but history suggests that’s no longer the norm in the U.S.: It took 21 years for the value of a dollar to halve between 1953 and 1974, which is pretty close to the inflation history I lived through. (And most of that inflation came in the early 70s; U.S. inflation was under 3% during the 1950s and 1960s.)
But when my dad tries to calculate what money was worth in the past, he does the math like the 1970s never ended, wildly overestimating the rate of inflation. Eventually I called him out on it so many times that it became one of our inside jokes that I call “The Dad Rate of Inflation.” Today, he’ll poke fun at it, and in stories he’ll facetiously say things like “it cost a dollar back then, which would probably be like 500 dollars today.” So it doesn’t surprise me that Malmendier and Nagel found this to be a common fallacy among age cohorts.
More broadly, what Malmendier and Nagel found is that people who were born at certain times are disproportionately affected in their thinking by certain economic events, and make very different financial decisions, including decisions about the way they invest money.
This has profound implications for people in my age cohort. It suggests that the current economic crisis, which stands to be a formative experience for our generation, will likely influence the investing decisions that we make for the rest of our lives. I suspect it will cause many in our cohort to consistently overprice risk the way my father overprices inflation, and that this will cause a lot of people to inefficiently manage their portfolio, probably for their entire working lives. However, if our generation draws the correct lessons from this crisis, there’s at least the chance that we might act as a stabilizing force for both asset prices (stocks, housing prices, et. al.) and the overall economy.
There are lots of lessons one could draw from this crisis, but if I had to shake folks by the collar and impart just one lesson it would be this: the laws of economic gravity have not been repealed. Eventually, the market corrects itself, bubbles pop, and prices of things fall back into line with their actual value.
In the real world, if the price of oranges go up, people will buy fewer oranges, creating a balance between price and demand. In finance, if something goes up in value, everybody rushes in to buy more of it, assuming it will keep going up in value. And, indeed, for a while it does go up in value, because a greater number of people are chasing a limited supply of assets. And that causes more people to want to jump in on the “growth opportunity.” This is how bubbles form.
But like I said, the laws of economic gravity have not been repealed. The assets, whether they are stocks or whatever, haven’t really gained any extra worth. Stocks are just a claim on the future value of the company, which in turn is just a reflection of the value that company contributes to the economy. Individual companies can and occasionally do grow exponentially in terms of what they produce and how much they are worth. So individual stocks can shoot up in value and the price can still accurately reflect the company’s underlying value. But the stock market as a whole can’t do that. As said, stocks prices merely claims on the value of future goods and services produced. In the late 1990s, the value of the major U.S. stock markets more than doubled in just a few years. Some companies really have been become twice as valuable in that period. But American industry as a whole clearly had not. The total output of our production hadn’t increased by anything approaching that amount. The result was a bubble—the paper gains in people’s investment accounts were all illusory.
Few people seemed to be worried about a bubble. The only thing people worried about, for the most part, was how to get some of that money for themselves. More people wanted to get into the stock market, and they were willing to pay far more for the privilege of doing so. This drove up prices, and it also something called the price-to-earnings (P/E) ratio of most stocks. A company’s earnings reflect the value of what it actually produces, and P/E is sort of like the gravity that keeps stock prices tethered to the Earth. If a company’s stock price shoots up and up even though earnings stay relatively constant, then the P/E will shoot up. A high P/E ratio is usually a warning to investors. The only thing that justified a high P/E is the expectation that earnings will greatly increase in the future. For any one specific company, that might be a very realistic expectation. But like I said, that can’t be true for the entire market. So the S&P Composite P/E is a simple but very useful measure of whether stocks are overvalued (a bubble). There’s another metric called the dividend-to-price ratio (D/P) that goes down during a stock bubble, and this metric suggested the exact same thing the P/E did.
For most of the post-Depression period, P/E has hovered between 10 and 20. That’s a reasonable range. At the height of the stock bubble, the P/E had climbed over 40. That should have been a signal that it was actually a really bad time to buy stocks because they were overvalued. But everybody wanted to buy stocks because they kept going up in value and the assumption was that this would continue forever. Of course, it couldn’t.
The inverse applied during recessions. The P/E is back down within a pretty normal range, even though earnings are down, and D/P has shot way up. So this would actually be a really good time to invest in the stock market if anyone had any money left. But very few people want to invest in the stock market right now … because prices have gone down so much. It’s like looking at the laws of price and demand through a fun house mirror. People seem totally immune to the central tenet of investing, which is to buy low and sell high.
Incidentally, the same thing happened to housing prices. In fact, some people have suggested that part of what happened is that the pressure deflating from the dot-com stock bubble largely got pumped right back into a housing bubble. Housing prices went up, and so people became willing to pay more for houses because they were such great investments that were certain to keep going up in value. Again, the housing market’s version of P/E, the price-to-rent ratio, soared sky high, but few people took this as a sign that houses were seriously overvalued. The problem was further exacerbated by something that doesn’t really have a parallel in the stock market: because housing prices were going up, people were rushing to build more houses. This meant that supply started to outstrip demand, and thus when the housing bubble popped, it popped especially harshly and is probably not yet finished deflating.
So what would it mean if people of our generation are sufficiently scarred by the current crisis that, as a group, we tend to absorb the whole “buy low, sell high” lesson and get skittish about investing in a climate that bears all the signs of a bubble? It certainly wouldn’t end the bubble as we know it, but it might mitigate the intensity of bubbles somewhat. If more people had looked at a P/E in the high 30s and decided that maybe they’d be better off investing their money in bonds or something than investing it in stocks, demand would have slacked off and prices probably wouldn’t have climbed to quite such perilous heights. They still would have been overvalued, and there still would have been a market correction, but perhaps the fall wouldn’t have been quite so steep or so painful. The test, of course, will be to see if investors can take what they learned from a stock bubble and a housing bubble and later apply it to future bubbles. If people, particularly the ones who are now experiencing the crisis first hand, learn the right lessons, they can be a counter-cyclical force that helps to prevent deep recessions.
And if not, we’ll pretty much get what The Onion joked about in one its headlines: “Recession-Plagued Nation Demands New Bubble To Invest In.” Let’s hope for the best, though.
