Mass Abandonment of Shared Bikes in China Subject of ‘Why Public Art’

China’s metropolises are sprawling, densely packed, and unsurprisingly congested. Shared bikes, which have become commonplace in urban parts of China since at least 2017, have served as a smart solution for navigating traffic jams. But an unfortunate spillover effect is a pile-up of abandoned bikes, which has birthed a new urban spectacle: Bike graveyards.


According to Chinese state media CGTN, at least 10 million shared bikes — making for thousands of metric tons of waste — had been scrapped by 2020. The figures have disturbed multiple parties, from government officials and shared-bike companies to environmentalists. Still, few have made quite a statement like an artist collective based in the city of Hangzhou, in East China.


Organized by emerging artist Yique (pseudonym) on April 2, 2022, Why Public Art was a performance art piece and exhibition that shined a light on the ‘shared bike issue’ and served as a “direct reference to the wanton waste and destruction of public resources by citizens.”


The creative undertaking featured 30 Hangzhou-based artists, and the performative aspect involved the creatives riding shared bikes through the city. It was part of a series of exhibitions titled Aura, which aimed “to reconstruct the sublime nature of contemporary art.”


Why Public Art Hangzhou


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Artists planning biking routes for Why Public Art


The participating artists organized via Chinese super-app WeChat to plot customized biking routes ending at the Powerlong Art Center. When they arrived at the art hub, the artists dismounted their metal steeds and stacked them at the exhibition hall’s entrance.


More than a means of getting to their destination, the shared bikes also served as unconventional canvases: The artists expressed their opinions about bike waste by adorning their manually-powered two-wheel vehicles with unique decorations.


Curator Yique, who also participated in the exhibition, chose to decorate his bike by attaching a QR code for his WeChat profile on the handle. But instead of talking up his own work, he waxes lyrical about a fellow artist’s creative approach.


“My favorite artwork is by Jinning Zhang, who affixed a North Korean 1,000 KPW note to a bike basket using scotch tape. Nobody could remove it,” says Yique. “I assumed it was a metaphor for politics and power, but everything needs to be interpreted by the audience. It’s pointless to spell it out.”


According to Yique, quite a few works, including an outspoken piece satirizing Shanghai’s lockdown (which was happing at the same time as the performative bike ride), were also a response to current social conditions.


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A North Korean note worth 1,000 KPW affixed to a shared bike basket


Holding public art events necessitates constant negotiation among different parties, and organizing Why Public Art was no exception.


“The most interesting but toughest part is asking for permission,” opined Yique. “We needed to ask Powerlong Center for special cooperation so that our artists could move their bikes into the shopping mall, go all the way through the crowd, and arrive at the show block. People never see anyone getting into the mall with shared bikes — commonly, it’s not allowed. They were shocked and curious.”


Mass Abandonment of Shared Bikes in China Subject of ‘Why Public Art’

A shared bike with a touch of pink, an art piece at Why Public Art


After learning of the exhibition in the local news, many gravitated toward the event and became deeply engaged with the works.


“Some saw this project and immediately fell in love with it. They attended the remaining Aura exhibitions. A few found the bicycles with my profile’s QR code and added me, and we chatted for a long time,” Yique tells RADII.


One comment particularly struck him: “You are so bold. Aren’t you afraid of being arrested for doing this kind of thing?”


Though practicing public art comes with risks in China, Yique believes it shouldn’t be a “Pandora’s box that nobody should open.”


That said, public art has a long way to go in the country — at least, in Yique’s eyes:


“The public is not even aware of the existence of public art. When people see public sculptures, they don’t interpret or explore the meaning behind them, and they don’t care who made them or how they feel after seeing them.”


This seems a shame, as public art is more politically and ideologically functional in China, says Yique, who also believes art should be down-to-earth and approachable.


In an artist statement for Why Public Art, Yique writes: “We always talk about letting art go to the masses, but in the end, we find that art is always elitist.” In this sense, for him, public art is an effective medium to involve the masses in art and artistic creation.


“The juxtaposition of the ‘publicness’ of the creator, the ‘publicness’ of the art material and the ‘publicness’ of the display space — all allow the work to reconfigure the inherent concept of public art in a ready-made manner,” states Xinghao Liang, another initiator of the exhibition.


Mass Abandonment of Shared Bikes in China Subject of ‘Why Public Art’

A shared bike adorned with a water bottle label, an art piece at Why Public Art


After the event, the bicycles were returned to parking spots in Hangzhou, ready to be used by the city’s citizens again but imprinted with artistic reflections on the waste of public resources.


Cover image designed by Haedi Yue; all image courtesy of Yi Que Studio

FIRST Film Festival is a Mecca for China’s Indie Film Buffs

Alternative Visual Archive is a monthly RADII column that spotlights films or film culture that interrogate otherness and strive for an alternative to the narratives found in the mainstream.


Every July and August, two-thirds of China is subjected to blistering heat, but one region is exempt from the torrid temperatures: The Tibetan Plateau. Virtually heatproof, the ‘Roof of the World’ is usually a comfortable 20 degrees Celsius (68 Fahrenheit) during the summer, making it the ideal place for miscellaneous gatherings.


In a stroke of irony, the reason for the temperate weather is also a hindrance to the region’s development: the high altitude makes it somewhat disconnected from the rest of the country, economically, socioculturally, and geopolitically.


Xining city is known as the eastern gateway to the plateau and as a pilgrimage site for many young filmmakers in China come late July. The oft-overlooked city has gained attention thanks to FIRST International Film Festival, an ad hoc incubator for young, rising names in Sinophone cinema. In addition to hosting a main competition and exhibition segments, FIRST also offers spin-off services such as financing young filmmakers, hosting filmmaking workshops, and connecting amateur filmmakers and established film distributors.


For this reason, the Chinese title of the festival, which translates to ‘FIRST Youth Film Exhibition,’ does the annual event more justice.


FIRST Film Festival

A construction worker nails an LED sign for the festival on a wall in Xining


Cinephiles will note that FIRST shares similarities with Sundance Film Festival in Utah, U.S.: Firstly, both festivals happen off the beaten track, in hilly, frontier regions, away from the geopolitical nuclei of their respective countries. Secondly, they strive to promote young voices in the film industry while spotlighting independent arthouse cinema.


Cofounded in 2006 by Wen Song and Ziwei Li, two graduates of the Communication University of China in Beijing, FIRST was previously known as the Student DV Film Festival, as the festival’s website explains. Its original name was self-explanatory: it positioned itself as a campus event. But more than a decade since its inception, the festival has established a foothold in the landscape of Chinese independent film culture, despite still being very young.


When it comes to a film festival that shies away from the celebration of leitmotif films — usually feted by mainstream events such as Golden Rooster Awards and Hundred Flowers Awards, FIRST is graced by a self-determining and vigorous demographic.


A magnet for diverse interlocutors of cinematic art — filmmakers, scholars, and cinephiles, the cultural institution is socioculturally self-conscious and articulates the urban underground experiences.

An Outpost of Chinese Indie Films

Anglophone cinephiles, fret not if you are utterly clueless about the festival.


“There has indeed been a disparity between FIRST’s reputation within China over the past several years and the lack of attention it has generated from international media,” Chinese cinema professor Michael Berry, also a jury member of the 16th edition of FIRST, tells RADII.


FIRST Film Festival

An outdoor screening in Xining


Geographical disadvantage aside, there are several factors for the festival’s inconspicuousness, explains Berry: First of all, the festival sees a lack of star power compared to China’s more prominent international film festivals (like Shanghai International Film Festival, which has featured such filmmakers as Oliver Stone, Luc Bresson, and Barry Levinson).


Additionally, FIRST doesn’t have a ‘celebrity commissioner’ like Pingyao International Film Festival in Central Chinas Shanxi province. Helming the Pingyao-based festival is Sixth Generation filmmaker Jia Zhangke, whose presence “has allowed Pingyao to gain a lot of international attention in just a short time.”


The festival’s core mission is to “discover the debut and early works of filmmakers,” and the films submitted must be among a director’s first three features to qualify for the main competition.


But FIRST’s ‘youthful’ aspect is more dynamic and nuanced than meets the eye. With its proclivity for low-budget productions, auteurism, and avant-garde aesthetics, the film festival interposes itself into the Chinese independent cinema landscape that emerged in the late ’90s with notable auteur filmmakers such as Jia Zhangke, Wang Xiaoshuai, Zhang Yuan, and Lou Ye, who are internationally known as China’s ‘Sixth Generation’ directors.


While ‘independent filmmaking’ connotes independence from Hollywood’s profit-seeking system in the U.S., it carried a slightly different meaning in China at that time: The term broadly applied to filmmakers who bypassed the state studio system and sought private financial sources for funding. Without state permits, they shot films anyway and pivoted to overseas festivals for screening and distribution.


Films by such mavericks were a response to the reconfiguration of social structures and modes of production in the early 1990s. As such, they meditate on individual, plebeian experiences in the context of fast-paced urbanization and globalization (therefore, the group is described as the ‘urban generation’ by some scholars). More often than not, their cameras traverse the private spaces of nomadic urban subjects, namely, postmen (Beijing Bicycle by Wang Xiaoshuai), thieves (Xiao Wu by Jia Zhangke), immigrants (The World by Jia Zhangke), and bohemians (Bumming in Beijing by Wu Wenguang).


Disavowing the intense visuals, well-crafted mise-en-scene, and outstanding camera movements found in Fifth Generation tour de forces, the Sixth Generation advocates the aesthetics of cinema verite, or jishizhuyi (‘on-the-spot realism’). It often upholds unprofessional actors, candid camera movement, and natural lighting.


While it would be reductive to lump the young filmmakers at FIRST with Sixth Generation filmmakers, both parties have striking parallels and deep connections, especially when it comes to covering outlandish subjects, realistic aesthetics, and avant-garde narratives.


At the same time, some Sixth Generation filmmakers, such as Lou Ye and Wu Wenguang, have been previously invited to be jury members at FIRST.


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Wu Wenguang (left) presents at the closing ceremony of the 15th edition of FIRST


Nonetheless, Berry mentions that the notion of ‘independent Chinese cinema’ has transformed.


“Early on, independent Chinese cinema was basically synonymous with ‘underground’ or even ‘illegal’ film,” Berry explains. “But over the course of the last two decades, that earlier notion of independent cinema has been largely replaced with a version that basically refers to smaller budget productions made outside the main production companies like Bona, Tencent [Pictures], Alibaba [Pictures], Huayi Brothers, etc.”

The Precarity of Indie Film Festivals

The founding of FIRST was contemporaneous with the emergence of cultural institutions that constituted an alternative public space in the early years of the millennium.


Multiple independent film festivals — such as Beijing Independent Film Festival (BIFF, founded in 2006), Yunnan Multiculture Visual Festival (Yunfest, founded in 2003), and China Independent Film Festival (CIFF, founded in 2003) in Nanjing — emerged during an era marked by vast transformation, economic multiplicities, and sociocultural unsettlement following China’s opening-up. They carved out a new visual field and public discourse in China, deterritorializing the mainstream spaces constructed by official media accounts or through leitmotif films.


Be that as it may, most of them were short-lived, as the government pulled the plugs and cracked down on grassroots cultural events that agitated them in one way or another. Yunfest was brought to a close in 2013; one year later, BIFF was suspended by the local authorities, who also confiscated the organizers’ 10-year-old archives.


The most recent termination was CIFF in 2020, with the organizer proclaiming that holding a film festival possessing a genuinely pure spirit of independence is “impossible” on its official WeChat account.


“Many of the ‘independent’ film festivals operating in China today have shifted their focus to global arthouse film and independent cinema in a broader context,” Berry says.


He adds that most, if not all, indie film festivals today are under the clout of local governments, which is “indicative of larger shifts taking place in the Chinese film industry since it came under the umbrella of the Publicity Department of the CCP a few years ago.”

Film Festivals With Clever Monikers

It wasn’t until 2011 that FIRST began to call Xining home. Before it arrived in West China, it was relatively unknown outside of Beijing universities. Proximity to the country’s political heart meant a lack of autonomy in operation, as demonstrated by the interference previously inflicted on BIFF by the local government.


In 2008, FIRST awarded Cao Baoping’s 2006 film Trouble Makers — a film that had been flagged by the State Administration for Radio, Film and Television (SARFT) — with the College Students’ Favorite Film Award, which ruffled some feathers and led to a year-long cancellation of the festival. Following a short stint at a campus in a suburb of Beijing in 2010, it adjourned to Xining the next year and took on the English-language moniker FIRST International Film Festival.


The dissimilarities in the festival’s Chinese and English names — besides the obvious omission of the word ‘youth’ in the English version — hint at more complex dynamics. Therefore, a close reading of the translation unpacks negotiations between the festival organizers and the authorities.


Notably, while the event is labeled a ‘film festival’ in its English title, the Chinese name uses yingzhan (影展), or ‘film exhibition’ in Chinese. This is not the first time a Chinese independent film festival has fobbed off unnecessary burdens by strategic naming: BIFF, Yunfest, and CIFF all had the word zhan (展, ‘exhibition’) instead of jie (节, ‘festival’) in their Chinese titles.


FIRST Film Festival Poster

A poster for this year’s edition of FIRST


Chris Berry, a renowned scholar in Chinese cinema, highlighted that labeling CIFF as an ‘exhibition’ in its Chinese name helped the organizers dodge state scrutiny: to be registered as a ‘festival’ would necessitate being registered with the state’s top film watchdog, SARFT.


But by using the word ‘festival’ in English, FIRST can align itself with its renowned contemporaries, such as Venice, Cannes, or the more independent-film-oriented Rotterdam. In this sense, it’s no surprise that FIRST’s organizers added ‘international’ in their English title, even though its pool of films is not as nationally or linguistically diverse: To compete in the main selection, films must be mostly dialogued in Chinese languages (Mandarin, Cantonese, and dialects) and with a majority of the cast from Greater China.

Going West, Moving High, Being Local

Relocating to a sociopolitically peripheral area has proven a wise choice: FIRST hasn’t experienced any full-scale interruption by the state, except for the sporadic cancellation of particular film screenings.


Having said that, the festival is now co-organized by the Xining government and the China Film Critics Society, and it is neither entirely immune to the ideological state apparatus nor strict censorship. Xining’s sociopolitical extraneousness is in itself a buffer zone where non-mainstream films are celebrated within a niche yet pervasive community.


Xining is the capital city of Northwest China’s Qinghai province, which borders the Tibet Autonomous Region and harbors six Tibetan autonomous prefectures therein. The province is home to a mix of non-Han ethnicities: Tibetan, Hui (a Muslim ethnoreligious group), and Monguor. Its most notable feature is its eponymous body of water, Qinghai Lake, which is not only China’s biggest lake but also one of the largest salt lakes in the world.




embed map in website


While Xining’s geopolitical status has been elevated in recent years thanks to the Belt and Road Initiative, it remains one of China’s least developed, populated regions. Owing to its elevation of 2,275 meters (7,464 feet), summers in Xining are cooler than elsewhere in the country, earning the city the nickname the ‘Capital of Summer’ and attracting tourists looking to beat the heat.


As mentioned early on, there are parallels to be drawn between Qinghai and the state of Utah, when it comes to weather, geography, and cultural diversity. While Utah first hosted Sundance Film Festival to attract filmmakers to the state and promote independent filmmaking, FIRST’s resettlement in Xining was more like a retreat — a chance to flee from geopolitically and sociopolitically dense regions in China and create an art utopia.


FIRST Film Festival

Two viewers sit on the ground while attending a screening at FIRST


And one can easily argue that FIRST’s relocation has been a success: The annual event is simply enthralling for the younger generation in China, regardless of whether or not they are filmmakers.


This year’s edition, which will be held from July 27 to August 4, saw more than 10,000 individuals (primarily college students) apply to volunteer, despite the fact being selected is extremely difficult: the admission rate is as low as 2.68%. The two volunteers from 2021 that RADII spoke with both confirmed the competitive nature of the selection process, which involves three rounds of interviews.


From a film standpoint, the 2022 festival primarily saw submissions from filmmakers born in or after the 1990s — 70%, to be precise.


FIRST Film Festival

The ‘Cinephile Greeting Meeting’ at FIRST


The opportunity that FIRST provides to up-and-coming filmmakers is something that Sixth Generation filmmakers likely envy. When cutting their teeth in the movie industry, they had to ship their works to overseas exhibitions without official permits — risking their films never being licensed in China or, worse yet, being banned from making movies altogether.


But now, FIRST facilitates the opportunity for indie filmmakers to share their labors and be recognized by domestic audiences. As Covid disrupted global film festivals in one way or another and discouraged Chinese filmmakers from traveling abroad, FIRST has maintained offline screenings over the past few years and greeted domestic filmmakers and filmgoers alike.


FIRST Film Festival outdoor screening

An outdoor screening on a rainy night at the 15th edition of the festival


Additionally, it isn’t all about films: While visiting the region, festival-goers often make it a point to attend unaffiliated spinoff events such as indie music performances and tours of the Qinghai Lake — activities that strengthen the festival’s symbiotic relationship with Xining.


Now more than 10 years after being transplanted to the arid city, the festival is thriving and has become one of the world’s most unexpected indie cultural scenes.


“While FIRST may not be generating as many headlines internationally, within China, it has gradually become one of the most respected forums for showcasing independent cinema,” Berry says.


Cover image designed by Haedi Yue, all photos courtesy of the organizer


Cactus Music Festival in Chengdu Under Fire for Overpriced Tickets

Music festivals are, arguably, the most anticipated part of every 20-something’s summer holidays. With a rich landscape of live music events occurring during the warmer months of the year, youth in China are also prone to music-festival-induced excitement.


In recent months, numerous cancellations and postponements have occurred due to Covid-19 outbreaks across the country. However, cancellations aside, Chinese youth are even more bothered by the skyrocketing ticket prices for live music events.


One event, in particular, is under fire: Cactus Music Festival, which will take place in early October in the Southwest China metropolis of Chengdu, has received a wave of heated criticism for its steep increase in ticket prices.

Compared to the festival’s first edition in 2018, this year’s early bird tickets have almost tripled in price, going from 260 to 699 RMB (about 38 to 103 USD). Meanwhile, two-day VIP tickets are currently being sold for the exorbitant cost of 2,999 RMB (about 445 USD).


A Weibo user who compiled the ticket prices of 13 music festivals in China throughout the year 2022 has discovered that the average price for a regular single-day ticket costs a staggering 517 RMB (about 77 USD).


Music festival price hikes


At the time of writing, a hashtag related to the cut-throat prices of festival tickets has amassed more than 74 million views on the microblogging platform Weibo. A new hashtag for ‘Music Festival Assassins’ (#音乐节刺客#) — a reference to the recent controversy over overpriced ice cream that resulted in the neologism ‘Ice Cream Assassins’ — has also gone viral.


“Those in the entertainment world don’t understand the struggles of common people,” reads a popular comment on the Chinese microblogging site.


“Not even house prices increase this fast,” joked another user.


While some netizens have pointed out that the rising prices reflect the country’s economic growth and expansion of its middle class, others have argued that the pandemic, which has taken a toll on incomes, makes the tickets disproportionately expensive, especially in contrast with Chengdu’s cost of living.


Famous for its spicy cuisine and thriving hip hop scene, Chengdu was recently voted the third most livable city by Chinese youth, thanks to its affordable housing and laid-back vibes.


Cover image via Tony Pham/Unsplash

Is Taiwanese Horror Film ‘Incantation’ Truly That Terrifying?

Since hitting local cinemas in Taiwan in March 2022, the Taiwanese blockbuster Incantation has been highly anticipated by Chinese-speaking audiences worldwide. The film, which quickly became the highest-grossing Taiwanese movie of the year and the highest-grossing Taiwanese horror film of all time, was released to a global audience on Netflix on July 8.


Directed by Kevin Ko, the film revolves around a series of curse-caused paranormal events experienced by protagonist Ronan (Tsai Hsuan-yen) and her daughter Dodo (Huang Sin-ting).


The origin of the curse stems from a trip Ronan had made years earlier: While visiting a remote area in Yunnan province, she broke a religious taboo, but was unaware that the spell would affect her loved ones.


Years later, Ronan is reunited with her biological daughter — only then do supernatural and creepy events start to unfold.

Partially inspired by actual events, Incantation might ring familiar to those who remember a bizarre incident that took place in Kaohsiung, Taiwan, in 2005: Claiming to be possessed by deities from Chinese folk religions, a family of six fed on feces and burned one another with incense to ‘expel the demons.’ The incident resulted in the tragic death of the family’s two daughters.


Mere days after Incantation’s Netflix release, almost 70,000 users on the Chinese review platform Douban had marked the film as ‘watched.’ An additional 84,000 individuals have added it to their watchlist.


But is the film really worth the hype?


Chinese netizens wondered the same over the weekend, when a hashtag related to the film went viral on Weibo, accumulating more than 260 million views. A second more specific hashtag asking ‘Is Incantation scary?’ (#咒吓人吗#) had nearly 200 million views at the time of writing.


As it turns out, many spectators were barely spooked by the film.


“I waited for this movie for so long, but it didn’t even scare me,” reads one of the comments.


“It’s not that scary, but the hype is real,” said a more appreciative viewer, whose popular post has resonated with other netizens.


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Li Ronan, the protagonist of Incantation. Image via Weibo


Scary or not, the horror film has succeeded in standing out in a sea of uninteresting Chinese-language horror movies, say many spectators.


The lack of standout horror films in the Chinese mainland can be credited to strict rules implemented by the China Film Administration. Heavily used tropes in horror movies — such as ghosts, religions, and cults — often fall under the label of ‘superstition’ and are heavily targeted by censorship.


More than anything, Douban users have been heavily invested in Incantation’s unique selling point.


Editor’s Note: Spoilers ahead; you’ve been warned!


incantation horror taiwan

The cursed insignia in the film. Whoops, did we just pass on the jinx? Image via Weibo


In Incantation’s opening scene, Ronan breaks the fourth wall and asks the audience to memorize an insignia and recite a spell that will allegedly break the curse and help her daughter survive.


At the movie’s end, however, it’s revealed that the more people who are cursed, the less powerful the spell becomes. While this may sound like a good thing at first, it implies that audience members who have recited the spell will also be cursed. Movie director Ko gleaned the idea from internet culture, specifically ‘cursed’ chain emails and messages.


Netizens have been divided by this unexpected twist in the film: Those who are spooked have discouraged religious types from watching the movie, but unaffected audience members have made fun of the film on Chinese social media.


“It’s shot really well, and the atmosphere is scary enough, but when I found out in the final scene that the director is casting a spell on viewers, I felt like it went too far,” reads a Weibo comment with over 7,000 likes.


Do you dare to take your chances with the curse? If you do, Incantation makes for an interesting watch and is an excellent introduction to the realm of Chinese-language horror movies. And no, we aren’t trying to save our asses or reduce the curse’s effects by looping you in…


Watch the film on Netflix


Cover image via Weibo

Pink Drinks and Pop-up Stages Part of HeyTea and 3CE’s Collab

Chinese milk tea chain HeyTea and Korean cosmetics brand 3CE Stylenanda have teamed up to launch a series of very pink drinks, merchandise, and pop-up spaces in three cities across China — Chengdu, Chongqing, Guangzhou — where they will remain until Wednesday, July 20, 2022.


The pop-ups are outfitted with performance stages, and practice rooms permit customers to bust out their best K-pop moves and imagine what it’d be like to be an idol for a day.


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Exterior and interior of one of HeyTea and 3CE’s pop-up stores


Unfamiliar with these brands? We’ve got you, RADII fam.


The fun and youthful makeup brand 3CE Stylenanda was created by Korean entrepreneur Kim So Hee in 2004 and has become part of the L’Oréal Group since a massive acquisition in 2018.


Meanwhile, milk tea brand HeyTea claims to be the creator of the original ‘Cheezo Tea’ (milk tea with cheese foam). Hailing from Guangdong, the brand has spread to 61 cities across the globe.

The campaign’s ‘Pink Me’ catchphrase is a pun on a single titled ‘Pick Me’ from the Korean idol show Produce 101.


heytea-and-3ce-launches-pop-up-stores-which-offers-the-girl-group-experience-tea

HeyTea and 3CE Stylenanda’s limited-edition thirst-quencher


Comestibles that are part of the collab include a blended beverage, a cake, and a new flavor of ice cream, which are priced between 15-45 RMB (approximately 2-6 USD) each. (The brands seem to have dodged being singled out in China’s overpriced ice cream scandal this summer.)


Observant customers have pointed out that the new products take a page from 3CE’s ‘Energetic Summer’ drop, which encompasses pink-tinted lip glosses.


heytea-and-3ce-launches-pop-up-stores-which-offers-the-girl-group-experience-merch

Beauty products from 3CE’s ‘Energetic Summer’ collection plus HeyTea’s blended beverage


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“I stan for 3CE & HeyTea,” posted a netizen on Weibo


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“Yay, I got the limited swim ring decor!” gushed another customer


Other limited-edition goodies from the collab include reusable cups, earphone cases, gift boxes, and facial masks.


While the campaign is only days old, countless customers have already posted pictures of the seasonal drink and their pink #OOTD (outfit of the day) on the Chinese microblogging platform Weibo.


The craze over the collab can be pinned to idol culture’s ubiquity in East Asia.


Even before the rise of recent K-pop groups like BTS and Blackpink and their massive fandoms across the globe, China has hosted a sometimes fanatical idol culture. The country boasts its own versions of idol survival shows — Idol Producer, Youth With You, and Produce Camp — inspired by Korean series. Some obsessive fans even go as far as illegally tracking their stars.


In September 2021, China’s entertainment watchdog made several propositions to combat toxic fandom in China and to keep the idol entertainment sector in check. Nevertheless, fandom culture is still strong in China, and brands continue to capitalize on the trend.


All images via Weibo

Fan-Favorite LinaBell Arrives at Hong Kong and Tokyo Disney Resorts

Following a monumental debut at Shanghai Disneyland in September 2021, Duffy the Disney Bear’s fox-friend, LinaBell, is arriving at Tokyo Disney Resort and Hong Kong Disneyland in the second half of 2022.

Michael Moriarty, managing director of Hong Kong Disneyland, enthusiastically stated, “Being a park exclusive franchise, Duffy and Friends have always been adored by local fans and by guests across Asia. With LinaBell joining the Duffy and Friends family here at the resort, the immersive journey will be further enhanced.”


LinaBell at Hong Kong Disney

LinaBell is a clever pink fox from the Duffy and Friends universe. Image via Weibo


Both resorts will be rolling out LinaBell-inspired merch and menu specials to welcome the arrival of the lovable character.


At Tokyo DisneySea, guests can collect LinaBell stationary, shoulder bags, headbands, plushies, and a detective costume (that’s somewhat redolent of Dora the Explorer) for their stuffed toy.


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Some of the brand spanking new merch launching in conjunction with LinaBell’s debut at Tokyo DisneySea. Image via Twitter


Two of Tokyo DisneySea’s restaurants will also offer special dishes, such as pink boba and a strawberry Mont Blanc pastry.

Although Hong Kong Disneyland has yet to release specifics, the theme park has also promised LinaBell-inspired specials. For example, the amusement park’s attached hotel will deck out some of its rooms with themed decor and offer unique arts and crafts workshops.


duffyandfriends-disneyland-hongkong-tokyo-shanghai-china

Left to right: Gelatoni, Duffy, CookieAnn, ShellieMay, StellaLou. Image via Twitter


Disney’s Duffy and Friends franchise has performed extraordinarily well in China. Its characters consistently draw massive crowds to Shanghai Disney Resort, especially since LinaBell’s debut. Other beloved characters include ShellieMay, Gelatoni, StellaLou, ‘Olu Mel, CookieAnn, and of course, Duffy.


Devoted fans of LinaBell are delighted to have the little pink fox join the rest of ‘the gang’ outside the Chinese mainland.

“The Tokyo Disney Resort will start to sell LinaBell merch on September 8! I look forward to more limited offers,” posted one excited fan on Weibo.


“I’ve been waiting for a year, and hopefully, this time, I’ll be able to get a LinaBell toy from Tokyo or Hong Kong,” said another, whose comment underscores how hard it is to acquire a genuine LinaBell toy due to the character’s massive popularity.


Cover image via Weibo