New Edition: What Will Young China Be Doing in 2021?

Unlike years past, 2020 was largely overshadowed by one main, unforgettable event. With the pandemic and the resulting economic downturn, many people had to adapt to new ways of working, behaving, and communicating. For some people it strengthened their beliefs, and for others, it forced them to reevaluate their priorities.

As the dust begins to settle, where are young people in China looking in 2021?

To talk about some of these trends, let’s get into the mind of an average Chinese young millennial. Meet Tiantian — a 27-year-old college graduate who lives and works in one of China’s biggest metropolises.

How will apps and social networks determine her spending habits? What films and music will pique her interest? And what will she care most about?

Check out our latest Edition about some of the biggest behavioral trends we can expect young people to adhere to in 2021, from food and drink to shopping and social issues — only on RADII.co.

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Check back weekly for our latest Editions — curated collections of stories designed to prime you on an essential topic or issue that affects young people today — and Short Reads, your radar for bite-sized news and trends.

All images: Sabina Islas

Makeup Wipe Ad Accused of “Demonizing” Sexual Assault Victims

Makeup removal brand PurCotton has come under fire in China multiple times this week — first, for a new video advertisement that netizens say “demonizes” victims of sexual assault, then for the company’s weak apology to the controversy.

The commercial that PurCotton put out on short video platform Douyin, the Chinese version of TikTok, shows a woman walking alone at night while being followed by a masked man. As the man gets closer, the woman is shown using a PurCotton wipe to remove her makeup so that it completely changes her look — to a man’s face. The video ends with vomiting sounds and graphics as the seemingly terrified stalker runs away.

While the company supposedly intended to show the “cleaning function of its wipe products” with this ad, social media users have reacted furiously, with some calling for a boycott of the brand.

“There are 10,000 ways of showing the ‘cleaning function’ but PurCotton chose to discriminate, humiliate and make fun of women over daily threats they’re facing,” reads a popular comment on microblogging platform Weibo. “The brand doesn’t realize the problem, but rather blames female consumers for being troublesome and difficult to serve.”

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As the outcry grew louder, PurCotton finally removed the video and officially apologized on Sunday night.

“We’ve carefully reviewed everyone’s comments and suggestions,” reads the apology. “Thanks for the criticism. This is our fault and we’re sorry.”

But the letter goes on to outline the brand’s mission, patents, quality control, and charity activities. That approach only added fuel to the fire with the hashtag #The apology from PurCotton# accumulating over 500 million views on Weibo. In a poll published by Weibo, over 90% of respondents said they refused to accept the apology.

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“If you want to apologize, do it properly and sincerely. This is just a letter of appreciation for the brand itself,” said another commenter on Weibo.

PurCotton has more than 240 stores in China with an estimated 20 million customers, according to the company’s website. Or rather, it used to have that many customers. The number might decrease dramatically in light of this recent campaign and bungled apology.

Is Kuaishou Still China’s Short Video “Platform for the People?”

Dong Yu has worked for a local piano manufacturer for over 25 years. Living in northeastern China’s Liaoning province, the 44-year-old painter’s day-to-day work consists of manual labor. But in his downtime, he pursues a relaxing and rewarding hobby: playing the piano.

Over the past two decades, Dong has used his spare time to teach himself how to play the instrument. “I had this whole perception that things like pianos were out of my league, growing up in a poor family,” he says. “It was September 13, 1996 — the first day of my job — that I ever really got close to a piano.”

His practice of the instrument has seemingly paid off. Aided by the explosion in popularity of short video platforms in China, Dong is now a star on Douyin — China’s version of TikTok — and its main China-based competitor, Kuaishou.

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His first taste of virality came in May 2019, when a truck driver uploaded a video of him in workwear playing “I Love You China” (我爱你中国). The video, he recalls, racked up 16 million views within hours. His story was then picked up by Tencent News, CCTV and China’s largest newspaper People’s Daily.

In the aftermath of his viral hit, Dong decided to register his own account on Kuaishou and found repeat success, garnering more than 485,000 views on his debut video. Today, the unlikely social media star has over 300,000 fans, while one of his most recent videos notched half a million views.

Dong Yu’s story of overnight fame is one of a number on Kuaishou, adding to the platform’s reputation as a place for people with niche talents outside major Chinese cities to reach huge audiences.

In his videos, Dong Yu is usually dressed in workman’s overalls and sitting in a dusty factory room; the romanticism of his tale as a working class, self-taught pianist has also no doubt added to his appeal. Equally popular videos feature users showcasing their dancing and painting talents against an unlikely backdrop, such as construction sites and corn fields.

kuaishou short video painting rural china

A self-taught artist with 1.9 million followers on Kuaishou (image: Kuaishou)

But while a quarter of China’s rural population are Kuaishou users, the short video app’s reputation as a platform for rural voices and niches seems to be changing.

Kuaishou’s Slow Rise

Kuaishou is the oldest short video platform in China. First founded back in 2011 as a GIF maker, it was only in 2016 that the short video app became popular nationwide, when netizens picked up on the platform’s plethora of videos that focused on Chinese rural life.

Rather than lip-syncing and dancing to music — the kind of videos that TikTok and its Chinese version Douyin was first known for — young people in small cities and remote towns have used Kuaishou as a way to connect to the outside world and, in return, turn the spotlight onto themselves.

The platform was central to the so-called tuwei (土味) style of video, which offered glimpses into life in the countryside and have since taken the internet by storm. Tuwei videos have also spurred viral fads such as the social shake — a dance similar to 2013’s “Harlem Shake” — and hanmai (喊麦, or “shouting wheat”) rap music videos.

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Doubling down on its reputation as a platform for rural users, Kuaishou published in-depth reports about this demographic in 2019 — one specifically on the user behaviors of small-town youth, and another on poverty alleviation in the country’s poorest areas.

Kuaishou has always professed to be a “platform for the people,” traditionally targeting users in lower-tier cities and small towns. It adopted a decentralized algorithm in its early days, thereby leveling the playing field for its would-be-influencers, and promoted users with less followers to its trending page. It has also managed to evade celebrity endorsement for most of its lifetime.

Shedding its Earthy Image?

In recent years, however, Kuaishou has been forced to switch up its priorities in order to welcome a wider user base, and reach users in the country’s larger cities.

For instance, Kuaishou has seemingly eschewed its “everyman” image by adding a number of celebrity endorsements to the platform. In June 2020, Jay Chou, one of the most popular pop stars in China, joined Kuaishou for his first-ever livestream on the platform, attracting 10 million followers in less than three days. Earlier in the year, Chinese pianist Lang Lang livestreamed a public piano class and garnered 3 million views in an hour.

It begs the question as to where the platform is headed.

rural fashion catwalk kuaishou china

A rural fashion blogger and designer with over 4.3 million followers (image: Kuaishou)

As the company angles for an IPO on the Hong Kong Stock Exchange within the first two months of 2021, the heat is on for Kuaishou to open itself up to a wider audience in its home country.

One reason for this may be that Kuaishou was among the Chinese apps banned by the Indian government last year, losing them an important foreign market in their overseas expansion. These developments occurred the same year as TikTok — the international version of Kuaishou’s leading competitor, Douyin — faced increased scrutiny and executive orders to sell its US operations to an American company.

The race to capture a wider audience has been noticeable in both Douyin’s and Kuaishou’s most recent user demographics. While each had largely divergent strategies years ago, they have been finding common ground lately, especially in regard to where their users are based. According to the latest reports on user demographics from each of the two video giants, the percentage of their users in different tiers of China is gradually becoming more similar, augmenting the competition between them and forcing a platform like Kuaishou to find new ways of advertising.

Particularly pressing for Kuaishou is that the gap in number between both platforms’ active users still appears to be quite large. Douyin has 600 million daily active users as of August 2020, while Kuaishou has only 258 million as of February 2020.

While this increased competition and urgency to expand is feeding into the changing face of Kuaishou, another reason for the app’s shifting strategy is the criticism it faced in 2018, when CCTV accused the platform of publishing vulgar content — in particular, videos that spotlighted teenage mothers in China.

Kuaishou’s CEO, Su Hua, apologized at the time of the controversy, agreeing that the videos could have a negative impact on society and vowed a regulatory crackdown on “unhealthy” content. Soon after, videos that the app boosted began to echo the government’s deliberate efforts to promote positivity in the media.

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This seems to be part of the reason why media outlets reported on Dong’s story in the first place. “I believe one of the reasons that people like me,” he says, “is perhaps I have the ‘positive energy’ that society is trying to promote.”

Where Does Kuaishou Stand Now?

Despite struggling to attract users from big cities, Kuaishou hasn’t abandoned its rural demographic altogether.

Poverty alleviation has to date been one of the key pillars of Kuaishou’s publicized mission. After launching its Happy Countryside rural development project in 2018, Kuaishou started a Social Impact Institute to “support the development of sustainable businesses for entrepreneurs hailing from low-income households,” according to a 2019 press release.

Users from impoverished rural backgrounds were said to have made 2.8 billion USD in revenue on Kuaishou in 2018, and among the 25.7 million users that earned income on the platform from June 2018 to 2019, over one-fourth were in rural areas.

A large percent of that revenue has come from livestreamed ecommerce. Zhang Fei, a rural government official from Sichuan province, helped sell apples and matsutake mushrooms grown in his community in 2019, gaining over 1.56 million followers in the process. The same year, he also managed to facilitate a 500 million RMB peppercorn contract for the village.

Though Kuaishou’s official and unofficial poverty alleviation efforts are ongoing, the platform’s image as a hub for portraits of rural life has nonetheless been changing. Zhuo Ma, a female Kuaishou user living in a suburb of northwestern Qinghai province, says she now mainly uses Kuaishou to “watch celebrities livestreaming and selling products, like clothes, makeup and household items.” “I don’t use Douyin,” she adds, “because I don’t know how to use it.”

First introduced in 2016, Kuaishou’s livestream feature has become one of its main revenue streams. According to its prospectus for the IPO that was just submitted, it now makes up over two-thirds of its total revenue, indicating its heavy reliance on streaming services.

Kuaishou’s intention of massive global expansion has left people wondering whether its interest in amplifying voices from all parts of the country will change. “I haven’t seen a lot of videos from rural areas on Kuaishou since I joined half a year ago,” says Zhong Qi, a 28-year-old Kuaishou user living in Shanghai. “I basically just watch food content on it now.”

Yet for people like pianist Dong Yu, uplifting stories such as his own are still a driving force that leads people to Kuaishou. “It provides a stage for ordinary people, whose voices it otherwise would be difficult to hear,” he says.

But who knows for how long this perception will last?

Cover Image: Mayura Jain

The (Very Quiet) Rise of China’s Young Introverts

In a year when people around the world have become overly familiar with “social distancing” — whether they wanted to or not — it feels like it could’ve been a great time to be a natural introvert. But life as an introvert is rarely easy, even when those around you are forced into a state of isolation. Being introverted or social-phobic is often bound up with feelings of loneliness and persistent anxiety.

To raise awareness and appreciation of introverts, psychologist Felicitas Heyne wrote a blog post in 2011 calling for a World Introvert Day on January 2:

“[It’s] exactly the day when the introverts of the world probably draw a deep breath, the day when the horror-holiday-marathon starting with Christmas and lasting until New Year lies behind them, when the annoying relatives have left and no one bothers them with the question: ‘What are your plans for New Year‘s?’ and then acts indignant when you respond ‘Nothing special, why do you ask?’ Could there possibly be a better date for it?”

If the scenario Heyne describes sounds like a nightmare, spare a thought for introverts in China, who having navigated a busy New Year period have to contend with the Lunar New Year being just around the corner. If many young people approach that holiday with a mixture of excitement and dread related to visiting relatives and being interrogated on their marital and economic status, for introverts it comes with added pressures.

Social Fear

Though China has little data on its introvert population, the number of studies on people identified with “social phobia,” a term that has been trending among young people across the country, is on the rise.

A survey published in November by Tinder-like social platform Tantan and China Youth Daily revealed that 40.2% of Chinese youngsters indicated they have issues socializing. According to another recent survey by Guangming Daily, 97% of the participants said they try to avoid or even get terrified by social activities.

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A Chinese meme describing a narrowing social circle (Image: Douban)

“Every time I post something on social media, I hope people just give me likes without comments,” says Jancy Zheng, a 26-year-old social media executive. “I’m posting because I’m happy to do so, rather than trying to communicate with others. I don’t want unnecessary communication and attention.”

Starting from when she was at college, Zheng realized that she didn’t have to like and please everyone around her. She finds most interactions predictable and standardized, and generally feels that socializing is meaningless and awkward.

“I get continually, uncomfortably excited after socialization,” Zheng says. “All the details of the conversation including something I said wrong will linger forever in my head. It’s so tiring.”

Conversations around such anxieties remain rare, but recognition is slowly growing. The issue received some mainstream attention in 2020 when bestselling author Chen Zijin, whose novels have been adapted into successful TV dramas such as The Long Night and The Bad Kids, told media that he has a very strong “social fear.”

“Writing is the best and only career for me as I don’t have to interact with people except once a year when I have to deal with film and television companies,” Chen said, adding that since becoming famous he’s deleted every social media app he had except for messaging service WeChat.

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Yet this kind of “social phobia” is a spectrum, and some experts suggest that what many young people are feeling is more like a negative emotion of avoidance and resistance to social interaction than actual mental illness.

“These young people can chat frantically with people they like but stay away from those they don’t like while saying they have ‘social phobia,’” says Sun Ping, an assistant researcher at the Institute of Journalism and Communication of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences. “Young people seem to be trapped in the current social system. Socializing has invaded all aspects of their life so they need a ‘shield’ to help them escape.”

Zheng echoes these thoughts, saying:

“As personalities get more diverse, the community similar to ourselves is getting smaller and smaller. So we’re more willing to retreat to our comfort zone that is full of self-affirmation and has no need to socialize.”

“Spiritually Finnish”

Such ideas may still be alien to some in China, but the country’s millennials are finding comfort overseas, discovering that they’re no less human than anyone else in the world simply because they don’t want to be surrounded by lots of noisy people all the time. This is reflected in the coining of the Chinese buzzword “jingfen” (精芬), or “spiritually Finnish,” courtesy of a comic from Finland called Finnish Nightmares.

“[He is] a stereotypical Finn who appreciates peace, quiet and personal space,” says the cartoon’s creator Karoliina Korhonen, describing the main character. “Matti tries his best to do unto others as he wishes to be done unto him: to give space, be polite and not bother with unnecessary chit chat.”

That’s exactly what many Chinese youths feel deep inside, with increasing numbers preferring the use of social apps over in-person interactions. Even then, text messages are often more welcome than voice or video chats.

“As long as the issue can be addressed by texting, I’ll never make a call,” says Yuki Deng, a 30-year-old PR strategist at a tech company. “I try not to speak to my leader in person but just stay on the phone.”

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Deng thinks that an inferiority complex is what drives her away from socializing. She’s come up with millions of ways to avoid greetings: from bending down in advance and pretending to tie her shoelaces before meeting a teacher‘s eyes, to quickly turning back as if forgetting something when seeing her boss approaching. Even sharing snacks among colleagues feels like a lot to her.

“Should I share again when everyone’s done? Do I need to give one to the boss? How should I share snacks that are not easily dividable?” Deng recalls as some of her constant worries.

Introverts in the Spotlight

Such awkward workplace interactions and ideas of introversion are gradually nudging their way into China’s mainstream, however.

For example, comedian Wang Mian recently reached the finale of TV stand-up contest Rock & Roast courtesy of a musical, jokey look at uncomfortable social moments at work. His performance struck a chord, with the punchline from his “Song of Social Fear” — “When you run into your colleague in the elevator, you would instantly take out your phone even when there is no signal” — becoming one of the biggest memes among “corporate slaves” in 2020.

After Wang’s appearance, the hashtag #the moment you want to escape the most as a person with social phobia# became a trending topic on the Twitter-like Weibo platform, accumulating over 810 million views.

The topic “The Daily Life of People with Social Anxiety” has also been widely discussed on social media site Douban, which has at least six active groups supporting people identified with social phobia.

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It may seem counterintuitive, but bringing introverts — or rather the idea of introverts and social phobia — into the spotlight ought to be a positive move. If mainstream media can help normalize feelings of not wanting to be constantly social, hopefully the holiday season will be a little less stressful for China’s growing group of introverts.

Cover photo: Leon Li on Unsplash

China’s Supreme Court Sides with Women on Reproductive Rights

China’s Supreme People’s Court is making waves online, having extended unprecedented support for women’s reproductive rights.

It’s not the first time the new Civil Code — which also endorsed a controversial 30-day “cool-down period” for couples seeking a divorce — has drawn attention online.

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In the past, if a woman terminated her pregnancy without permission, her husband was entitled to request compensation for damages. Under the new guidelines, the People’s Court will no longer support such requests, siding firmly with the woman’s right to choose.

The announcement sparked a heated debate online, with the question “does a woman’s termination of pregnancy without the husband’s consent violate men’s reproductive rights” trending on Weibo.

“Men think they have control over the female reproductive system,” read one highly-upvoted comment. “Why don’t they give birth themselves?”

“You can’t get a divorce, you have to beat someone half to death to be convicted of domestic violence, and now all children must be born,” wrote another user sarcastically.

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China’s 2020 has been saturated with discussions of family relations, gender equality, and women’s rights. Stay-at-home quarantine led to a bump in the divorce rate, furthering the millennial generation’s misgivings about marriage and having children.

A landmark sexual harassment lawsuit breathed new life into the country’s ongoing #MeToo movement, and more recently, stand-up comedian Yang Li’s “man-hating” jokes generated backlash and discussion online.

Who Called the Police on Wang Yibo?

Rest assured — Wang Yibo is not cancelled.

On December 27, Yue Hua Entertainment issued a statement explaining that an anonymous source had reported Wang Yibo for a false crime. The actor had been taking a break from filming in the famous Hengdian World Studios when the incident occurred.

The superstar was said to have cooperated fully with the investigation. Finally, officers concluded that someone had filed a false report — a criminal act in its own right.

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Wang Yibo reposted the statement to his Weibo page along with the caption, “good beats evil! People who like me and people who hate me must all abide by the law! Abide by the law!”

Upon further investigation, Dongyang police announced that a 31-year-old woman with a history of mental illness — named only as Ms. Xing — had been identified as the anonymous caller.

Wang Yibo’s management, who are no strangers to public harassment, will be filing a defamation lawsuit against Ms. Xing.

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The false report comes in the lead-up to Yibo’s new single, The Rules of My World (我的世界守则), which he’s been promoting for the past few weeks.

As the star’s popularity grows, so too do the ranks of Yibo anti-fans, who just this month pumped the hashtag nan ting (“sounds bad”) in response to the star’s work.