Innovation gets the headlines; consequences rarely do. The MIRROR is where we look at both. Here, we examine the industry as it truly is, not as it prefers to market itself, its wins, its blind spots, its discipline and its denial. There are no filters, no strategic ambiguity, and no fear of addressing what needs to be addressed. We answer first and foremost to riders and readers alike, because an industry that refuses to examine itself honestly will never evolve intelligently.
Raising the Ceiling in a Structural Downturn
The current debate around 32-inch wheels is being framed in binary terms: will it save the industry, or won’t it? The question itself is inflated, but the framing is revealing. It assumes that the sector’s structural strain is mechanical in nature and that more hardware can fix what is fundamentally systemic.
The strain is not mechanical. It’s architectural and architecture doesn’t shift with an extra inch of rim diameter.
Whether 32-inch wheels deliver marginal gains in rollover characteristics, stability or momentum retention is not the core issue. From a physics perspective, the arguments are defensible. Larger diameters alter impact dynamics. They can stabilise high-speed riding. They may make proportional sense for very tall riders. There are contexts in which experimentation is reasonable.
The deeper issue is strategic allocation of focus.
The industry is navigating margin compression, overcapacity, SKU proliferation and retailer liquidity pressure in the wake of an unprecedented demand surge followed by a painful inventory reset. Product development was disrupted during the pandemic, and in the correction phase innovation has been selective rather than expansive.
These pressures are not primarily technical deficiencies. They are structural imbalances – rooted in portfolio discipline, pricing logic, participation growth and channel architecture. Against that backdrop, positioning a new wheel size as a growth narrative reveals something telling: a lingering belief that technical differentiation is still the primary engine of recovery.
That belief once had merit. When performance ceilings were lower, mechanical progress expanded capability in visible ways. Geometry revolutions changed how bikes handled. Suspension breakthroughs unlocked terrain. Braking improvements reshaped control. Innovation widened the sport.
We are no longer in that phase.
Today, modern platforms are already highly refined. For the vast majority of riders, the mechanical ceiling sits well above their skill ceiling. Equipment is not the limiting factor.
Participation is.
The rate at which we introduce complexity has outpaced the rate at which we bring new people into the sport. SKU matrices expand while the entry ramp does not widen proportionally. That asymmetry carries consequences.
Layering Without Subtraction
The distinction between replacement and layering clarifies why.
If 32 inches replaced 29 at scale, the ecosystem would endure transition pain but eventually reconsolidate. Volume would concentrate. Supply chains would stabilise around fewer standards. Economies of scale would rebalance.
But 32 doesn’t replace 29. It builds on it, adding another layer rather than wiping the slate clean..
Layering without subtraction makes the system heavier. It spreads attention thinner, dilutes volume and makes planning harder. Every new variation adds uncertainty and stretches the ecosystem further. What feels like innovation at launch often translates into complexity down the line.
These effects cascade downstream.
Distributors commit capital across additional references. Retailers allocate scarce floor space and liquidity to slower-velocity inventory. Workshops absorb additional training complexity. None of this collapses a system overnight. It accumulates weight gradually.
Optionality is often celebrated in product development conversations. In balance sheet reality, optionality consumes resilience.
The Real Constraint
The central constraint facing the industry is not insufficient mechanical innovation. It’s insufficient participation expansion and insufficient structural simplification.
Recruiting new riders requires different levers than escalating performance. It depends on accessible and coherent pricing architecture. It depends on simplified product hierarchies that reduce decision fatigue. It depends on longer and more stable product cycles that protect value perception. It depends on retail environments that welcome rather than intimidate. It depends on disciplined portfolio management.
These measures are less glamorous. They don’t generate immediate headlines. They require restraint and cross-functional alignment.
Increasing diameter requires none of those adjustments.
A larger wheel can be engineered and launched without confronting SKU sprawl. It can be marketed without redefining channel relationships. It creates visible movement without forcing systemic recalibration.
That’s precisely why the debate cannot stop at “will this save us?”
The more relevant question is why we still instinctively search for salvation in incremental hardware escalation rather than in foundational recalibration.
If growth depends primarily on persuading the same enthusiast cohort to upgrade within an already saturated ecosystem, expansion becomes circular. Revenue circulates within a fixed population instead of expanding through new participation.
No wheel size addresses that imbalance.
32-inch wheels may prove functional. They may carve out a niche. They may satisfy engineering curiosity and excite segments of the market.
That’s not the point though.
If our instinct, in a moment of structural strain, is to reach for a new technical variable instead of confronting recruitment stagnation, portfolio overload and channel fragility, then the problem is not diameter.
It is denial.
Who exactly believes 32-inch wheels will bring new riders into the sport?
New riders don’t hesitate because of wheel size. Many don’t even know what 29 inches means. They are not waiting for another standard.
What 32 inches actually brings is more SKUs, more inventory, more standards. It doesn’t replace 29, it adds to it. New forks, new wheels, new tires, new frames. More tooling, more cost, more complexity — for gains that matter to a niche, not to the masses.
The MTB industry keeps asking how to make bikes more accessible. Accessibility does not come from adding technology. It comes from reducing friction.
We are complicating something that is meant to be simple.
Conclusions
If we keep lifting the ceiling without widening the floor, the sport won’t suddenly collapse. It will slowly narrow. Fewer new riders. More complexity. More distance between product ambition and everyday reality. The problem isn’t the wheel. It’s losing sight of the people who are meant to ride it.
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Words: Juansi Vivo Photos: Diverse