海底撈沉淪記：從火鍋霸主到「路邊攤革命」的生死轉型
——暴跌3,320億港元市值、關店300家、首次開放加盟，中國高端餐飲大蕭條下的自救樣本

曾經是中國火鍋界無人能敵的王者，海底撈如今卻陷入前所未有的困境。從創下超過4,500億港元市值巔峰，到2024年僅剩1,220億，海底撈的神話在短短三年間急速崩塌。背後，不只是企業自身的盲目擴張與創新乏力，更深層的原因，來自中國整體消費市場的劇烈轉變與高端餐飲集體滑落的命運交織。

疫情後，海底撈趁租金低谷瘋狂拓店，三年間新增超過700間門市。然而隨著消費降級來臨，這波擴張最終成沉重包袱。2023年，海底撈的翻桌率由高峰期的每日5.0次銳減至2.9次，客單價也滑落18%，單店營收腰斬。與此同時，火鍋行業的整體寒冬也在逼近，2023年中國境內火鍋相關企業有超過3.2萬家註銷。

曾經人均150元的海底撈火鍋，如今在許多消費者眼中已成「奢侈品」。張亮麻辣燙、楊國福等主打30元平價的品牌迅速搶佔市場份額，網路上關於海底撈的負評更頻頻出現，不少人抱怨其菜色普通、定價過高，「服務過度但性價比低」成了社群平台上的熱門批評。更雪上加霜的是海底撈的營運結構，本身就是一個成本黑洞。為維持品牌「極致服務」的形象，人力成本竟佔總營收的28%，遠高於行業平均的15%。加上主攻商場型門市，一線城市租金動輒每月50萬，單靠翻桌率與客單價難以支撐其龐大固定支出。

在生死邊緣徘徊之際，海底撈不得不開始一場脫胎換骨的轉型行動。首先，是「放下身段」，擁抱路邊攤經濟。2024年初，海底撈在成都與廣州率先試點推出18元的火鍋盒飯套餐，包含迷你火鍋與米飯。北京三里屯店甚至開起夜市外擺區，售賣串串香，單價下探至3至8元。初期數據顯示，這些路邊攤形式的攤點日均流水竟超過店內30%，儘管毛利率僅有12%，卻為品牌找回一絲人氣與生機。另一項重大策略，是海底撈創立30年以來首次開放加盟。2024年3月，加盟制度正式啟動，投資門檻為自有資金500萬元人民幣起跳。總部保留8%的營收抽成，並繼續掌控食材供應鏈，以保障品質與收入來源。為避免規模失控與品牌稀釋，首批加盟僅限於50個三線城市，作為試水之舉。

在海外方面，海底撈也明顯放緩腳步。截至2024年，全球122家海外門市的新增數僅有6間，其中越南與印尼分別新增2與4間，增速遠低於往年。而為緩解品牌與價格矛盾，海底撈也積極發展副牌，如主打人均60元、砍掉美甲與唱歌服務的「嗨撈火鍋」；設立街邊9.9元麻辣燙檔口的「撈派小廚」；甚至推出與火鍋底料相關聯的茶飲品牌「海底撈茶飲」，販售如12元一杯的檸檬茶產品。其實，海底撈的困境並非孤例。西貝莜面村因推出298元/斤的「天價牛排」而遭網暴，隨後緊急改推29元的工作餐；鼎泰豐即便將小籠包從88元降至48元，依然難擋客流下滑；湊湊火鍋雖靠「火鍋＋奶茶」撐場，但2024年同店銷售額仍大跌22%。整體而言，中國高端餐飲正在面臨「中產幻覺」的破滅，月薪萬人民幣的族群逐漸減少外出用餐，對品牌溢價的接受度也大幅降低，性價比成了新的決勝點。

至於海底撈的未來，外界看法不一。部分專家指出，憑藉其全球供應鏈與品牌影響力，海底撈仍有下沉市場的發展空間，特別是在三四線城市，其招牌效應依然存在。然而也有不少風險警示。若加盟擴張失控，品管下降，恐導致食品安全與信任危機；此外，過往所倚重的「服務至上」品牌基因，與如今講究效率與性價比的快餐營運邏輯之間，也存在難以調和的文化衝突。

多位餐飲分析師認為，海底撈正逐步從一家「餐飲公司」，轉型為「食品供應鏈公司」。未來，其主要利潤來源可能將不再是堂食客人，而是來自於對加盟商銷售火鍋底料與食材的後端供應。最終，海底撈這場從美甲、洗手機、跪式服務到夜市盒飯的「自救革命」，其實正是一場被時代逼迫的「消費降級運動」。當中國進入「存錢優先」的理性時代，高端餐飲不是選擇降價求生，就是等著被市場淘汰。創辦人張勇曾說：「以前是我們教顧客怎麼吃火鍋，現在是顧客教我們怎麼活下去。」這句話，正是海底撈走到十字路口的寫照。這場轉型，沒有退路——要嘛徹底「路邊攤化」，要嘛成為下一個全聚德。

The Fall of Haidilao: From Hotpot Empire to a “Street Food Revolution” Survival Gamble
— A Plunge of HKD 332 Billion in Market Value, Closure of 300 Stores, and the First-Ever Franchising Plan: A Case Study of High-End Dining’s Downfall in China

Once the undisputed king of China’s hotpot industry, Haidilao now finds itself in an unprecedented crisis. From a market capitalization peak of over HKD 450 billion to just HKD 122 billion in 2024, the myth of Haidilao has collapsed in just three years. This fall from grace is not only the result of reckless expansion and waning innovation but also the consequence of profound structural shifts in China’s consumption landscape and the collective decline of the high-end dining sector.

In the aftermath of the COVID-19 pandemic, Haidilao took advantage of low rental costs and launched a rapid expansion, opening over 700 new stores in three years. However, as consumer spending downgraded, this expansion became a heavy burden. By 2023, the brand’s daily table turnover rate plummeted from 5.0 to 2.9, and the average spending per customer dropped by 18%, halving single-store revenue. Meanwhile, China’s hotpot industry faced its own deep freeze—over 32,000 hotpot-related businesses were deregistered nationwide in 2023.

What was once a RMB 150 per capita dining experience is now viewed by many as a luxury. Budget-friendly competitors such as Zhang Liang Malatang and Yang Guofu have quickly seized market share with RMB 30 offerings. Online, negative reviews of Haidilao have surged, with customers complaining about bland dishes and high prices. The sentiment “excessive service but poor value” has become a popular refrain on platforms like Xiaohongshu (RED).

To make matters worse, Haidilao’s operational model itself is a cost trap. To uphold its premium “ultimate service” image, labor costs account for a staggering 28% of total revenue—well above the industry average of 15%. On top of that, most of its outlets are in shopping malls, where rents in first-tier cities often exceed RMB 500,000 per month. Without high turnover and high spending, the fixed costs are unsustainable.

Teetering on the edge of survival, Haidilao has begun a radical transformation. First came the “lowering of status” to embrace street-food economics. In early 2024, Haidilao piloted an RMB 18 hotpot bento combo in Chengdu and Guangzhou, featuring mini hotpot and rice. Its Sanlitun store in Beijing even set up an outdoor night market area selling skewers priced between RMB 3 and 8. Early data suggests these street-style stands generate over 30% more daily sales than dine-in operations, albeit with a slim 12% profit margin—still a sign of regained popularity.

Another groundbreaking move was Haidilao’s first-ever franchising initiative in its 30-year history. Launched in March 2024, the program requires a minimum RMB 5 million in self-funded investment. The headquarters takes 8% of gross revenue and retains control over the food supply chain, ensuring product consistency and a new revenue stream. To manage risk, the first round of franchising is limited to 50 third-tier cities, serving as a pilot phase.

On the international front, Haidilao has also slowed its pace. As of 2024, it added only 6 new overseas outlets—2 in Vietnam and 4 in Indonesia—a stark contrast to its earlier rapid expansion. To reconcile the gap between brand positioning and consumer expectations, Haidilao is developing sub-brands. These include "HiLao Hotpot," a neighborhood-format store with a lower RMB 60 per capita and no frills like manicures; “Laopai Kitchen,” which offers RMB 9.9 malatang in kiosk-style stalls; and even “Haidilao Tea,” a beverage brand that leverages its hotpot broth IP to sell RMB 12 lemon teas.

Haidilao’s woes, however, are not isolated. Xibei Youmian Village was slammed for launching a RMB 298/lb steak and quickly pivoted to RMB 29 lunch sets. Din Tai Fung lowered its soup dumpling prices from RMB 88 to 48, yet still couldn’t stem the loss of foot traffic. Coucou Hotpot barely hangs on by pairing hotpot with bubble tea, but even then saw a 22% year-on-year drop in same-store sales in 2024. In short, China’s high-end dining is in full retreat, as the so-called “middle-class illusion” evaporates. Households earning RMB 10,000 per month are dining out less, and tolerance for brand markups has diminished. Consumers now vote with their wallets—“delicious and affordable” is the new gold standard.

As for Haidilao’s future, opinions are divided. Some analysts believe the brand still has room to grow in lower-tier cities, where brand recognition remains strong. Its global supply chain is another key advantage that could support its low-price strategy. However, risks abound. If franchising scales too quickly and quality control slips, it could trigger food safety and trust crises. Moreover, the company’s legacy of “service-above-all” may conflict with the fast-paced, cost-sensitive operations needed in today’s quick-service dining environment.

Many food industry analysts now view Haidilao as shifting from a “restaurant company” to a “food supply chain company.” In the future, the majority of its profits may come not from dine-in customers, but from supplying hotpot bases and ingredients to franchisees and other businesses.

Ultimately, Haidilao’s transformation—from offering free manicures and hand-washes to selling bento boxes on the street—is not just a company’s survival bid. It’s a snapshot of a broader consumer downgrade in China. In an era where saving money has replaced indulgent spending, high-end dining faces a stark choice: slash prices to survive or wait to be eliminated.

As founder Zhang Yong once said:
“Before, we taught customers how to eat hotpot. Now, they’re teaching us how to stay alive.”
This transformation leaves no room for retreat—Haidilao must either fully embrace its "street food" reinvention or risk becoming the next Quanjude.