Alexander Wang Forms Unexpected Alliance With Chinese ‘TikTokers’

To promote his pre-fall 2022 collection, fashion powerhouse and Chinese American designer Alexander Wang has teamed up with the four qipao influencers behind @Simeizi, a viral account on Douyin, China’s version of TikTok.

Wang, whose designs are coveted by high-profile celebrities such as Rihanna, Lucy Liu, Kylie Jenner, and Julia Fox, created his eponymous label in 2005 when he was just 21 years old.


A controversial figure, Wang has been accused of sexual misconduct more than once in the past few years. However, he has made a roaring comeback to the fashion scene, and April 2022 saw his first fashion show in three years.


The Alexander Wang brand, which is synonymous with androgynous fashion, elevated streetwear, and the color black, blends traditional Chinese style with contemporary American fashion for its latest collection, which includes qipaos with Wang’s signature minimalistic touch.

As mentioned earlier, a famous foursome from China starred in three campaign videos for Wang’s pre-fall 2022 collection.


The influencers, who have over 4.4 million followers on Douyin, are known for their short videos in which they carry out highly staged activities, from playing mahjong to dancing to traditional Chinese songs, all while wearing figure-hugging qipaos and high heels.

Despite their popularity in China, the fashion campaign has received mixed reactions. While amassing more than 200,000 likes on Instagram and TikTok, the three videos have scored a dismal 200 likes in total on Douyin. That said, it is fair to note that Wang has a larger following on Western social media.


Traditional Chinese fashion and beauty have experienced a surge of popularity in the West, where hanfu influencers like Mochihanfu and makeup brand Florasis have gained millions of views for their content.


While some netizens have praised the Simeizi ladies for their beauty and for promoting traditional Chinese aesthetics, others find the campaign cheesy and have labeled them tu (土) or tuwei (土味), meaning ‘uncool’ or ‘unfashionable.’


Online comments across different platforms range from “You spend too much time on Douyin, Wang,” to “Alexander Wang keeps doing tuwei stuff!”


It is true that Wang is not new to ‘memefication’ or featuring ‘uncool’ influencers in his fashion campaigns. Only a few months ago, the brand featured Liang Xiaoqing, known in China as the ‘auntie model.’

Though Liang is only 29 years old, she has spent a decade modeling for brands that target middle-aged or older women. She recently made waves again on the Chinese internet thanks to a bizarre video in which she strikes 40 poses in 10 seconds (see above).


“The legitimization of tuwei killed me!” reads a comment on the video of Liang.


History has a way of repeating itself, and Wang’s campaign featuring the Simeizi girls has also gone viral. Despite being roasted on the Chinese web, the campaign proves that short video platforms like TikTok and Douyin are increasingly influential in the world of high fashion.


Whether more designers will embrace the short video format and infuse tuwei in their campaigns remains to be seen.


Additional reporting by Beatrice Tamagno; cover image compilation via Instagram

Pinduoduo to Compete With Shein by Launching Cross-Border Retail in US

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A version of this article previously appeared on TechNode.


Pinduoduo reportedly plans to launch a cross-border ecommerce platform in the U.S. next month, with the aim to connect Chinese suppliers with global customers.


According to Chinese tech media outlet LatePost, Pinduoduo is currently seeking sellers for its new cross-border shopping app by offering fee waivers for small and medium-sized merchants to register on the platform.


To differentiate itself from Shein, which primarily focuses on fast fashion, beauty, and lifestyle products, Pinduoduo’s new platform will be a general marketplace for low-priced household products and other daily necessities; after all, the company has experience and a competitive advantage in these areas.


Pinduoduo has set up a team of 80 employees in Guangzhou, which is also where Shein is headquartered, and COO Gu Pingping is leading the project.


The move highlights a growing trend of Chinese technology companies considering going global, a trend partly accelerated by China’s regulatory crackdowns on the tech sector, as well as intense competition and weakening consumption in the domestic market.


According to a Bloomberg report, the number of Pinduoduo’s active buyers increased by only 10% to 868.7 million last year — lower than analysts’ expectations of 883.3 million. The company’s cross-border ecommerce launch in the U.S. can be seen as part of the company’s overall growth strategy.


Shein’s success in selling clothing products at super-cheap prices has prompted many Chinese tech firms to follow in its footsteps. Meanwhile, existing major players are making more of an effort to maintain their lead in the market.


Driven by the peak of summer sales, Shein surpassed Amazon as the most downloaded (6.8 million) ecommerce app in the U.S. in the second quarter of 2022.

Pinduoduo aside, other Chinese ecommerce platforms and tech giants have also launched, or started to build, similar international branches.


At the end of 2021, TikTok parent company ByteDance launched a standalone shopping app called Fanno in several European countries, including France, Italy, Germany, Spain, and Britain.


In January this year, JD.com partnered with Canadian ecommerce company Shopify to grow its cross-border business.


Three months later, Alibaba reportedly planned to extend its Southeast Asian marketplace Lazada to the European market to boost overseas growth.


Cover image by Haedi Yue

Cyberpunk Video Game ‘Stray’ Is the Cat’s Meow, Say Chinese Netizens

Dystopian third-person adventure game Stray, which allows gamers to experience the world through the eyes of a stray tabby cat, has captivated the hearts of youth in China.


Released to a worldwide audience on July 19, 2022, the French video game was developed by BlueTwelve Studio and published by Annapurna Interactive; the latter is also behind the award-winning game What Remains of Edith Finch.

In Stray’s opening scene, players discover how the whiskered protagonist was separated from its kin. As the makers of ‘Three Robots: Exit Strategies’ in Netflix’s Love Death & Robots predicted, cats are Earth’s sole survivors.


After befriending a little drone by the name of B12, the stray cat is tasked with untangling a mystery, which requires navigating neon-lit alleyways in a post-apocalyptic cyber city.


Inspiration for the cyperpunk world came from Hong Kong’s Kowloon Walled City, one of densest places on earth before it was torn down in 1993. Known for being dark, cramped, and rather dodgy, the ungoverned enclave was colloquially known as Hak Nam or the City of Darkness.


In this sense, the video game might be the only way to explore a city that currently only exists in the memories of veteran Hong Kongers and our imaginations.

Meanwhile, the video game’s protagonist was based on not one or two, but three real-life cats: Murtaugh, who was rescued from the streets of France; Oscar, a Sphynx cat who spends a lot of time at the animators’ studio; and Jun, a black cat who is “way-too-joyful-for-his-own-good,” said Swann Martin-Raget, producer of BlueTwelve Studio.


The developers have proudly stated that their team is “mostly made up of cats and a handful of humans.” It’s no wonder the video game’s lead character looks so realistic.


Stray’s popularity has birthed a new Twitter account @CatsWatchingStray exclusively for pictures and videos of cats reacting to the video game. On Chinese streaming platform Bilibili, one netizen said, “Halfway through the game, my cat came over and punched the screen to pieces.”


Other Bilibili users have posted thousands of gameplay videos and comments about the game’s storyline and puzzles, and have even shared stories of their own cats. “Cat owners have a special feeling playing this game… I nearly cried through every step of the gameplay,” expressed one player.


In a review of Stray, Chinese gaming forum GameCores succinctly called it, “a love letter to all cats.”


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In RADII’s office, some members of staff can’t think of a more purr-fect way to spend an evening than by playing Stray. Associate editor Sammi Sowerby is particularly tickled by the fact that there is a dedicated button for ‘meowing,’ while graphic designer Haedi Yue is highly moved by the storyline.


“Since playing Stray, I have been reflecting upon the relationship between me and my cat. These little felines are so physically vulnerable, but can also be brave and independent,” said Yue, whose own tom cat is six years old.

China’s gaming industry, which is one of the biggest in the world (665 million players as of last year), only seems to be growing stronger, and more tech-savvy youth are considering esports as a career path. And visually-arresting video games such as Stray will always be hot on their radar.


‘Stray’ is currently available for purchase on Steam and the PlayStation store.


Additional reporting by Sammi Sowerby; all images via Instagram

Why Do Chinese Time Travel Stories Follow a Certain Recipe?


Towards the end of 2019, the Chinese television series Joy of Life took audiences by storm. The series’ popularity earned it a green light for a second season, which is still in production.


The TV program was an adaptation of writer Mao Ni’s online novel of the same name, initially serialized on qidian.com, a hub for Chinese web novels, beginning in 2007. The book comprises seven volumes and follows the life of Fan Xian, who travels back in time and finds himself in the body of a newborn.


A fiction genre imported from the West, the concept of time travel has become a wildly popular genre of storytelling in China, especially in recent years.


However, two unique traits distinguish Chinese narratives from their Western counterparts.


This is in stark contrast to classic Western films like Back to the Future (1985) and literature such as H. G. Wells’ The Time Machine, where the protagonists are transported through time in their natural form with the aid of a device.

The first and most crucial difference is that in China, a character’s physical body stays put; only their consciousness moves through space and time.


In Joy of Life, only Fan’s consciousness moves through time, which allows him to live a different life in a different — and younger — body while having the mental maturity of a full-grown adult.


In other Chinese stories, this supplanting of consciousness through time allows for interesting plot twists. For example, a man’s consciousness might end up in the body of a woman, or vice versa.


It is interesting to note that despite switching sexes, the affected character almost always finds him- or herself in an advantageous position, and is blessed with good looks.


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A pivotal scene in Joy of Life whereby the protagonist discovers himself in the body of a newborn. Image via YouTube


The second defining trait of Chinese time travel stories revolves around timescale: characters rarely find themselves in the future. Instead, they only ever travel backward in time, which makes portrayals of Chinese history and cultural identity possible.


That being said, there are exceptions to both trends. Two landmark examples deviating from these molds have made significant contributions to Chinese time travel novels.


The popularity of Chinese time travel stories can be traced back to the late Hong Kong writer Wong Yee or Huang Yi’s novel Xunqin Ji (寻秦记) aka The Search for Qin. The book was published in 1994, followed by a television adaptation released in 2001, which boosted the work’s popularity across the Sinophone world.


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Promotional poster for A Step into the Past. Image via IMDb


Produced by Hong Kong broadcasting company TVB, A Step into the Past is a ‘sanitized’ and truncated version of The Search for Qin. The TV series was infused with comedy and action and was one of TVB’s most popular programs in the early 2000s. Actor Louis Koo, the show’s star, even produced a cinematic sequel to the series that has yet to be released.


In the original novel, readers are introduced to Xiang Shaolong, the male protagonist and a member of the military’s special forces. However, his whereabouts are sort of vague.


Xiang is chosen to participate in an experiment that will take him 2,000 years into the past. He is tasked with recording the coronation of the First Emperor on a digital camera, and the plan is for him to send a signal to headquarters upon completing his mission.


After boarding the time machine, however, he finds himself dropped in the wrong place and time.


The novel develops into an adventurous, pseudo-historical tale of survival and intrigue during the closing years of the Warring States period (481-221 BCE), an era of Chinese history characterized by violence and warfare.


Xiang, who understands the importance of not tampering with the chain of historical events, becomes integral in shaping significant moments throughout history. In an unexpected plot twist, he ends up fathering the warlord Xiang Yu, the hegemon of the Western Chu.


Ultimately, Xiang senior does not return home but lives out the rest of his life in ancient times.


Despite the considerable time gap between Xiang’s world and that of the Warring States, never once does he experience any difficulties communicating with the locals in speech or writing. Though convenient, this is inconceivable, seeing as the Chinese script had yet to be standardized by the First Emperor.


While eliminating the element of ‘culture shock’ helps move the story along quicker, it also trivially treats Chinese culture and identity as an uninterrupted continuum that does not undergo significant changes across time and space.


The Search for Qin is one of the few examples of a Chinese time travel story whose lead character keeps their own body. In the novel, the protagonist suspects that time travel has hampered his ability to father any biological children, so he instead adopts a son (the future warlord Xiang Yu).


Seeing as the story isn’t technically a sci-fi novel, the time machine only appears for a brief time; nothing science or technology-related crops up again.


As for characters who time travel only through their consciousness, rarely do their inventors provide a good reason for inexplicable events. A prime example of this: In Joy of Life, the protagonist, Fan, is whisked in an instant from a hospital bed to the body of an infant lying in a reed basket. No explanations are given in the novel — readers must accept the writer’s choice to leave it a mystery.


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Scene from My Isekai Life: I Gained a Second Character Class and Became the Strongest Sage in the World! Image via Landscape Insight


While Joy of Life is widely marketed as a fictional time travel series, it more closely resembles an isekai, a genre of Japanese fiction that primarily applies to anime.


In most isekai, characters find themselves in another world — from familiar parallel universes to realms dominated by magic or swordsmen with very different mores — after experiencing death, an accident, or some other catastrophe.


Isekai’s popularity has had a spillover effect on other cultures and countries in recent years and has crossed paths with time travel narratives in Chinese media.


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Promotional poster for Joy of Life. Image via IMDb


Joy of Life’s diegesis also mirrors Cao Xueqin’s landmark novel The Dream of the Red Chamber. Like Jia Baoyu, Fan grows up (again) in a world where he does not belong and struggles against patriarchal institutions. Even Fan’s wife is a younger cousin whose surname is Lin.


Additionally, the Chinese classic makes a special appearance in Joy of Life; the novel, which is ‘written’ by Fan, takes the capital city by storm.


Joy of Life is filled with wuxia themes, from numerous references to characters created by famed Hong Kong writer Jin Yong to Fan being a skilled martial artist himself.


When addressing the concept of time travel, the protagonist in Joy of Life occasionally pokes fun at the lead character in The Search for Qin.


In this sense, Joy of Life is a work of intertextual madness, a tapestry woven out of numerous classical and contemporary Chinese works, and a cultural quilt catering to a specific generation of Chinese writers and their readers’ interpretation of Chinese cultural identity.


Creativity aside, Chinese time travel stories, which tend to prioritize classical references, have a glaring lack of modern references. Writers responsible for shaping modern Chinese thought and literature, like Lu Xun and Mao Dun, are never mentioned. It is as if Chinese history and culture developed from premodern times and went straight to the contemporary era — the early modern and Mao eras have been completely written out.


While The Search for Qin stands out as one of the first time travel tales written in Chinese, Joy of Life shattered a stereotype in the genre: Readers eventually discover that Fan didn’t travel back in time but into the future.


The world he is ‘born’ into is a post-apocalyptic world that had to rebuild from scratch. After millions of years, civilization has finally reached a level of sophistication comparable to that of medieval China. Any technological advancements in glassmaking, weaponry, and artificial intelligence are the remnants of a bygone civilization.


Even ‘The Temple,’ a mysterious edifice in a remote location in Joy of Life, turns out to be a military museum that has successfully preserved aspects of past technology. Every now and then, the AI-controlled museum dispatches representatives to lend humankind a hand at making technological progress — but at a controlled pace.


In the end, Fan (like Xiang in The Search for Qin) does not return to his own time but lives out the rest of his life in a future that closely resembles the past.


Watch ‘Joy of Life’ with English subtitles here


Cover image designed by Haedi Yue

Indie Musician Eñaut Zinkunegi’s Funky Exploration of Love

Addressing the universal theme of love, and doing so through pop songs, might seem like the obvious route for many musicians dropping their first solo album. But for Eñaut Martí Zinkunegi, whose musical activity has largely taken place in the ‘punk and edgy underground,’ doing so took a lot of courage.


“A couple of years ago, I would not have been brave enough to release this album,” confessed the artist to RADII.


Basque by birth, the musician chose to release his debut studio album Love, love, love under the pseudonym San Lou (meaning ‘third floor’ in Mandarin) — no prizes for guessing what floor his studio apartment is on.

The 10-track album was released by Shanghai-based label Eating Music, a self-described “label with taste.” Admirers call them one of “the best incubators for China’s bedroom musicians.”


A brew of songs in English, Basque, and Spanish, the album flows organically, and explores a variety of sounds and emotions while being a very fun and easy listen. Synthesizers, piano, drums, guitars and powerful vocals capture the plurality of meanings behind the concept of love — or its absence.


“It’s not just the romantic side of it: love comes in many different aspects and shapes,” said Zinkunegi, who looked inwards for inspiration instead of borrowing influences from other bands — hence the album’s highly personal feel. “A month before starting the writing process, I deliberately stopped listening to music,” he added.


No newbie to China’s indie scene, Zinkunegi moved to Shanghai in 2016, and became a guitarist for the band Shanghai Qiutian, which has toured China and Europe.


The artist lamented having to cancel his solo tour due to ongoing Covid-19 outbreaks across the country: “It’s pretty sad because I was extremely excited, but now I can focus on my band’s new album and world tour.”


Watch the music video for Love, love, love’s first single ‘Just Dance’:

Cover image courtesy of Eating Music

Crime Drama ‘The Fallen Bridge’ Lacks Suspense, Say Chinese Viewers

On August 13, director Yu Li’s The Fallen Bridge dropped in the Chinese mainland and proved one thing: That mediocre films are still capable of making big bucks at the box office. In this case, Li’s film earned 100 million RMB in just two days.

The new crime drama begins with the sudden collapse of a city’s bridge, hence the film’s title. The accident unearths a human skeleton, which bears matching DNA with a murder victim from decades ago. Assisted by a boy, the daughter of the deceased strives to discover the true cause of her father’s death.


Actress Ma Sichun, who also starred in the film adaptation of Chinese American writer Eileen Chang’s novel Love After Love (第一炉香), plays the daughter, while Wang Junkai aka Karry Wang, a member of Chinese boy band TFBOYS, stars as her sidekick.


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Karry Wang and Ma Sichun in The Fallen Bridge. Image via Weibo


Chinese netizens, especially fans of Wang, were initially excited for The Fallen Bridge, as evidenced by the film’s pre-release box office sales of 40 million RMB. On Weibo, a hashtag related to Wang’s appearance in the movie has been viewed more than 7 billion times at the time of writing.


“Can’t wait to watch this! Especially looking forward to Wang’s role!!” enthused one user.


“OMG, I can’t wait anymore, looking forward to his acting!” gushed another.


Promotional poster for The Fallen Bridge. Image via IMDB


Since being released, however, the film has only earned an average score of 6.3/10 from coolheaded reviewers on Douban, a Chinese media review platform. Many users have grumbled about the movie’s apparent lack of suspense.


Comments range from, “To be honest, I felt a little bored at first,” to “[The film] is okay. There are no big surprises and the plot is a little weak. It was not a suspense film […] more like a crime documentary exploring human nature.”


Others have been quick to point out the film’s plot holes: “Why didn’t [she] call the police when there was clear evidence in the end?” said one audience member, while another echoed, “Call the police, end of the show!”

Despite being skewered by audience members, the movie is said to have a strong end credits theme song.


‘Poem of the Night’ (黑夜的献诗) spins Hai Zi’s namesake poem into lyrics, and was sung by Wang and Chunlin Mo in both Mandarin and their respective mother tongues, namely Sichuanese and Nuosu.


Cover photo via Weibo