TIME 1991 Cover Story: The Simple Life

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Not everyone believes America has changed its stripes, however. ''If the present generation has learned anything, it is that talk is cheap. But are they really doing anything different?'' asks Stanford economist Victor Fuchs. ''The baby boomers are just growing up and playing out a predictable life- cycle change.'' Elmer Johnson, a Chicago lawyer and former executive vice president of General Motors, sees ''a hardness of heart that has not yet begun to be broken.'' John Kenneth Galbraith, the eminent liberal economist, dismisses the trend as a bicoastal fad among fast-trackers. Says he, with amused cynicism: ''I just think it's pure horse.''

Yet a lot of business people who stake their livelihood on shifts in consumer behavior see thousands of small changes that they believe are adding up to something. At a Brookstone store in Boston, a man exchanges a gift, trading in a $99 executive fountain pen (''I'll never use it'') for a car-care kit. Suddenly people want to buy toys that don't take batteries. Sales of dolls are up. Power dressing is out. One sign: shoulder pads, standard issue for the female corporate warrior, are finally disappearing from women's clothing. Even designers are getting into the act: Donna Karan and Bill Blass offer more congenially priced ready-to-wear fashion lines. Revlon's Charles of the Ritz has sprouted the cheaper Ritz Express skin-care line (1 oz. of Perfect Finish makeup: $10, vs. $25 for an ounce of Revenescence liquid foundation).

The change in consumer psychology is shaking many merchants to their roots. Traditional department stores ranging from Saks Fifth Avenue to Neiman Marcus have suffered from poor business as customers flock to discounters and back- to-basics stores, notably the Limited, the Gap, Wal-Mart and K Mart. The 75-store Sharper Image chain, which made its reputation in the '80s with high- tech gadgets, has been blurring its image to include more low-cost, practical goods. Example: a $19.95 aluminum-can crusher for recyclers.

In fact, that's another reason for rejecting rampant materialism: its impact on the environment. ''Whenever I use something or buy something now, I'm thinking, Where is this going to end up?'' says Debbie Worthley, 46, a student adviser at the University of Vermont. ''I'm not as interested in buying gadgets as I was a few years ago.'' Seventh Generation, a two-year-old Colchester, Vt., mail-order firm that specializes in goods for the environmentally conscious, has an essay in its catalog titled ''Why You Should Buy Less Stuff.'' Recycling has taken hold as a voguish and satisfying pursuit. People who used to meet at trendy bars now trade bons mots while sorting their garbage into the appropriate bins at the public dump. Even the smaller luxuries are giving way to environmental vigilance. If last year's popular orange juice was a quart of premium with extra pulp, this year's is canned concentrate, which requires less packaging.

The buzz word among marketers is ''value'' products, meaning quality at a low price. The Campbell Soup Co. has introduced discount frozen foods, including Swanson budget dinners (average cost: $1.39). In the hope of stemming a decline in business that typically reached 20% in the past year, restaurants are adding such moderately priced classics as fried chicken, meat loaf and bread pudding. Restaurateurs have coined a phrase for it: ''casualization.'' In fast food, price is the object. After Taco Bell won new fans by pricing about half its items at 99 cents or less, Burger King began offering Burger Buddies cheeseburgers at 29 cents for customers who buy fries and a drink.

Sales of the ultimate yuppie symbol, the BMW, fell to 63,600 in the U.S. last year, a drop of 28% from 1985 levels. Meanwhile, Honda sales increased 29.7%, to 716,500. The sales pitch for autos today would have bored the driving gloves off an '80s car buff: safety features (antilock brakes, air bags), versatility (four doors, built-in child seats) and value. A 1991 Pontiac Grand Prix model sells for under $20,000 but looks (on the outside, anyway) like last year's sporty $26,000 Turbo model.

Even trendiness itself, or at least the slavish chronicling of consumer ephemera, has the taint of the passe. Many magazines that served as arbiters of hipness have gone out of business, including Egg, 7 Days, Smart and Fame. In the meantime, Vanity Fair thrives by sticking to cover subjects that have the rosy glow of maturity: Farrah and Ryan, Sly Stallone, Madonna. At the same time, such magazines as Workbench, Homeowner and 1001 Home Ideas are briskly building up their circulation. One of the hottest newcomers is Countryside, a Hearst glossy about the virtues of conservation, rural landscapes and life in the exurbs.

The pop-culture machine is rushing to catch up with the times. Gilded '80s shows such as Dynasty and Falcon Crest are gone, swept away by a wave of proudly downscale fare, including Roseanne, The Simpsons and Married . . . with Children. Campy hobnobber Robin Leach of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous has been replaced in the hearts of viewers by chatty Jeff Smith of The Frugal Gourmet and nonaerobic carpenter Norm Abram of The New Yankee Workshop. Love stories, melodramas and family films have taken over Hollywood. Home Alone, Ghost and Pretty Woman, for example, collectively reaped more than $500 million in total revenues last year. Get set for an onslaught of films about people waking up and smelling the coffee.

For many Americans the most startling realization is how much they have given up for their careers. In her new book Down-Shifting, author Amy Saltzman maintains that baby boomers have grown increasingly skeptical about the payoff for devoting so much time to the fast track. As their huge generation crowds toward the top of the corporate pyramid, many are getting stalled. At the same time, companies have been slashing the ranks of middle managers.

For Karen Glance, 36, it came down to all those little packets of shampoo. She remembers the morning she opened her bathroom cabinet in St. Paul and counted 150 that had followed her home from hotels in dozens of cities. Says the former apparel executive: ''I was a workaholic, a crazy, crazy woman. I was on a plane four times a week. I just wanted to get to the top. All of a sudden, I realized that I was reaching that goal but I wasn't happy. A year would go by and I wouldn't know what had happened.''

A few months ago, Glance was shopping in a neighborhood grocery store when she learned that its owner was about to retire. Something fell into place. She looked around the old-fashioned shop, where clerks still climb ladders to retrieve goods from the upper shelves, and she decided on the spot to buy the place. The new proprietor of the Crocus Hill market may never come anywhere near to matching her old $100,000-plus yearly income, but she couldn't care less. Says Glance: ''It really comes down to saying, 'Slow down. The value of life might not be in making money.' ''

Mostly, though, what people want now is more time around home and hearth. Most parents of small children work outside the home. More than 7 million Americans hold down two or even three jobs to make ends meet. ''Nobody seems to have any damn time anymore,'' says Winby, the Hewlett-Packard executive. ''People can't manage their home, work and personal life.'' As a result, many working mothers (and some fathers) are giving up full-time careers to devote more time to homelife. ''There is a sense of an enormous trade-off between a fast-track career and family well-being,'' says economist Sylvia Ann Hewlett, author of the forthcoming When the Bough Breaks: The Cost of Neglecting Our Children. ''Women can see the damage all around them and are making different choices than they did a few years ago.''