On 17 September 2026, the price of a barrel of Brent crude is still hovering around $105, having surpassed the $100 mark due to tensions and supply disruptions in the Middle East. The market has eased slightly in recent hours, largely thanks to alternative solutions put in place by Saudi Arabia, but prices remain very high and, above all, extremely dependent on geopolitical events.
In France, the impact is becoming very real. SP95-E10 now costs over two euros a litre at many petrol stations, and diesel is following the same trend. At this level, the price of fuel ceases to be merely an economic statistic. It is beginning to change people’s behaviour.
A return journey that we used to make without a second thought now requires careful consideration. A lunch thirty kilometres away becomes optional. A visit to the family may have to wait until the following week. An impromptu weekend away is off the cards. We group our shopping trips together. We work from home whenever we can. We use the car less often. We give up certain outings.
No one is stopping us from getting about. But the price is keeping us put. That is the whole difference between a health-related lockdown and this potential economic lockdown. In 2020, the authorities said: ‘You must not go out.’ ’ In 2026, the economy might simply whisper: ‘You can go out, but can you still afford to?’
And, of course, oil doesn’t stop at the car’s fuel tank. It’s used in road transport, agriculture, aviation, logistics, certain industrial processes, plastics and a considerable quantity of goods, some of which are transported thousands of kilometres before reaching us. When energy prices rise sustainably, the impact gradually spreads throughout the economy.
Hauliers are particularly vulnerable, as fuel can account for a significant proportion of their operating costs. And when it costs more to run a lorry, it is not just the haulier who pays. The cost ends up somewhere: in the price of the product, in the delivery charge, in a retailer’s profit margin, or in the consumer’s pocket.
For an economy that relies heavily on energy imports, such as ours, a sharp rise in prices acts as a direct drain on real income. The lowest-income households are the first to be affected, as they spend a proportionally larger share of their income on essential expenditure and have fewer savings to cushion the blow.
This is precisely where self-imposed lockdown begins. We don’t close the restaurant: the customer simply stops going there. We don’t ban the cinema: the family decides that a fifty-euro night out can wait. We don’t restrict travel: the motorist limits their own mileage. We don’t close the shops: we put off the purchase. We don’t cancel the weekend by the sea: we look at the cost of a full tank of petrol and stay at home.
When added up across millions of people, these tiny individual decisions can bring about a powerful collective slowdown. And a paradox then emerges: the rise in oil prices ends up destroying part of the demand for oil itself. When energy becomes too expensive, the world naturally begins to slow down.
But there is nothing romantic about this kind of restraint. It is not necessarily environmentally friendly. It may simply be a financial necessity.
The risk, then, is that two societies will emerge. One that can continue to travel, fly, fill up its car, go to restaurants and absorb a few hundred euros extra each month. And one that gradually stays at home. Not out of fear of a virus. Not out of obligation. But because every journey becomes an expense that must be justified.
This crisis could therefore bring about something quieter than a traditional recession: a gradual contraction of everyday life. Fewer kilometres. Fewer leisure activities. Less consumption. Less spontaneity. Fewer social encounters, at times.
The health lockdown had emptied the streets in a matter of days. An economic lockdown would empty them much more slowly.
And no one would be able to officially declare its end.
Because it would never have officially begun.
