Introduction

Like most kids my age, I am interested in gossip. I love listening to gossip, talking about gossip, learning about gossip. Because of my nature, my mom constantly calls me a “吃瓜群众“ or the melon-eating masses. This is the Chinese equivalent to the “tea sippers” in American slang. I love this phrase, because it shows that humanity is united by their thirst for drama. In addition, the emotes that are made from these are incredibly funny. Therefore, I wanted to take this post to talk about its origin, usage, and various examples.

Origin

The origin of the phrase is likely stemmed from a forum phrase “selling melon seeds in the front row”. This is similar to how sometimes in American chat rooms when something interesting is happening, people would say “giving out free popcorn” or “popcorn for sale here” to show that people are here to watch a show. Melon seed are much like sunflower seeds, an easy snack that people in China like to eat while talking or watching shows. This phrase was later shortened to “eating melons in the front row”. This caught on with netizens, as they started saying that they were “eating melons” whenever something dramatic would happen.

Usage

The phrase is often used to describe people who are merely there to “watch the drama”, not to make a judgement or to participate in the event unfolding. The melon eaters are not biased, but rather watching it almost like a movie, with an outsider’s perspective. Sometimes, they will take up the proverbial sword and provide thoughts and opinions about the matter or even spread information. However, they do it in a more detached sense, as they generally do not have a personal motive in the fight.

In this increasingly online world, everyone is both a spectacle and a spectator. Almost anything that someone does can be found online in a few clicks. This is especially true for Chinese people, who even pay with their social media accounts via Wechat. The speed at which c-nets go through drama is incredibly fast, especially online. For example, when news about Kim Soo-hyun’s misdeeds came out and he held his infamous interview, the Chinese netizens ripped him apart, from his dramatic crying to his hairline (possibly a toupe) to his water drinking. They dug up dirt about his past and all of his old photos and mannerisms. The information spread quickly in Chinese media and he quickly became a meme that everyone dunked on. While there was a lot of people who disliked him due to his alleged misconducts, a lot of people watched on from the sideline, merely amused by the memes that came out of it, or even adding their own fuel to the fire with more spin off posts or videos.

Chinese People and Watermelons

China is the biggest producer of watermelon by large. In 2018, they produced 79 million tons of it, while 2nd place Turkey produced only 3.9 million. In addition, most of that is eaten domestically, and the supply is often still too that China needs to import them from other countries. Despite the fact that Watermelons are a foreign product, Chinese people have been eating watermelons for centuries. Historians believe that watermelons arrived during the Five Dynasties period. It is commonly found in China and relatively inexpensive to purchase. Chinese people eat every part of the watermelon. Aside from the red flesh, they also cook the rinds like a vegetable and dry the seeds to eat as a snack. That is to say, melons are a highly beloved fruit in China, therefore making perfect sense for people online to adopt it in internet slang.

Watermelons or Watermelon Seeds?

There is some debate about whether the saying relates to watermelons themselves or watermelon seeds. Both are universally loved by Chinese people and often eaten when people meet up or watch shows. Some argue for one, others argue for the other, but there is no definitive proof about which one is right. The forum saying seems to relate to watermelon seeds. However, the imagery tends to depict watermelons themselves.

Children of the Melon-Eating Era

There is a popular book called “Children of the Melon-Eating Era” by Liu Zhenyun , which focuses on three different characters who are down on their luck for various reasons. One of them, a road official in charge of construction, was criticized by the “melon-eating masses” after a photo came out of him smiling while watching a bridge that he was in charge of collapse. They also dug up photos of him wearing expensive watches, which later came out as evidence that he was being bribed to save money on these projects, which resulted in death from the mismanagement of funds. In this scenario, the melon-eating masses are good people who revealed a corrupt official’s plot by being internet detectives. However, later in the book, when everything regarding the corrupt politicians in China has come to light, no one online is talking about it because new headlines about a celebrity having an affair with a Thai ladyboy was now taking their attention. In this case, the masses have now swung on the other end of political correctness, showing how these netizens do not actually care about the topics they are talking about, more so just moving from one entertaining topic to the next.

Conclusion

In the end, the melon eating masses is a byproduct of ever increasing usage of social media and the online world. Everyone has become more detached from the community, seeking shallow excitement from online strangers’ dramas. While they can be a bringer of good, they can also be a harbinger of evil. Everything is a the whim of the people, who are safe stuck behind the comfort of their screens.

Browsing short-form video platforms like Youtube Shorts, Instagram Reels, or Tiktok in 2024, you might have stumbled upon the strange sight of Chinese young adults perched on their bed frames, calling out hoarse-voiced bird songs.

This trend, called 当鸟 (dāngniǎo) involves gripping a bed frame or other support with your fingers while your legs are tucked in front of you underneath an oversized shirt. This gives the appearance of your hands being bird feet and your legs ceasing to exist.

Accompanied by silly songs and off-key bird calls, the absurdist nature of this trend belies its true cultural relevance. Clues as to the meaning behind this meme can be found in one of the earlier and most popular renditions of this meme, posted on Douyin on May 15, 2024 by user 无所事事的π先生 (Mr. Do Nothing Pi).

The caption in Chinese reads: “I’m not studying anymore, I’ve become a bird,” while the English alternative caption reads “Screw it, I’m just gonna go with the flow.”

Mr. Do Nothing expresses his frustration with his studies, and ironically broadcasts his intention to seek a simpler life “going with the flow” as a bird.

当鸟 memes found its audience not only at home in China, but also abroad, where this strange manifestation of youth angst was reported in outlets such as the NYT and the Guardian as part of a larger trend of frustration with Chinese work culture among the nation’s youth.

The New York Times cited Dr. Xiang Bao of the Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology, who says that as the Chinese economy slows, its youth are seeing their future fade away and the promised fruits of meritocracy slip from their grasp. The resulting disillusionment has fueled a number of cultural moments which share a resemblance with 当鸟.

当鸟 in Context: Burnout and Disillusionment in Chinese Work Culture

One can’t discuss Chinese work culture without discussing the “996” schedule, used to describe working from 9 AM to 9 PM, 6 days a week. This is a practice especially prevalent at big companies that fuel China’s growing technology and financial services sector.

This grueling work schedule has combined with diminishing youth prospects to fan the flames of disillusionment.
Chinese young adults today face higher home prices and lower homeownership rates, especially in large expensive metro areas like Shenzhen, where the average home costs 43 times median annual income.

The employment situation provides little comfort, with an economic slowdown and increasing competition in the job market leaving many college graduates unemployed. In fact, when the 16-24 youth unemployment figure reached a high of 21.3% in June 2023, western onlookers noted that the Chinese statistics bureau had ceased publishing the figure (it has since resumed, with an updated formula.)

There is a growing perception that regardless of how hard you work to earn an education or find a job, you’re going to be fighting an uphill battle through your whole life.
It is against this backdrop that movements like “Laying Flat” 躺平(tǎngpíng), and “Display Rottenness” 摆烂(bǎilàn) have their roots.

Comparing with “Laying Flat” 躺平(tǎngpíng), and “Display Rottenness” 摆烂(bǎilàn):

躺平 speaks of relaxation and inaction as a means of rebelling against a society which valorizes sweat and hard work, but doesn’t seem to be giving much in return.
摆烂 actively endorses apathy, advocating for letting things degrade when you see issues, rather than expending your own energy to intervene.

Although the 躺平(tǎngpíng) and 摆烂(bǎilàn) movements mentioned previously share an end goal with 当鸟 of removing oneself from the endless grind of Chinese work culture, they have a distinctly nihilistic flavor. They advocate for rejecting that which society deems valuable such as hard work and material wealth, and even rejecting your perceived duty to perform your best in work and school contexts.

On the other hand, 当鸟 has a more aspirational air to it, with students embracing a moment of light-hearted, absurd joy as a means of combating the troubles of their life and imagining a simpler yet more meaningful existence.

The New York Times quotes an interviewed student Wang Weihan, who states that “Birds can fly free and aimlessly in the sky,” and that they portray “the innate desire within every person for freedom.”

Conclusion

Although this meme of “Becoming a Bird” 当鸟 has spread beyond its original purpose as an outlet for student anxieties, such as this child on Douyin presumably not besieged by the anxieties of Chinese work life, it is impossible to remove it from its original context.

Already, we’re seeing Chinese society tackling the issue of youth and labor disillusionment. Some large companies, motivated by the already toxic “996” culture mutating into “007” culture (in which you are are on call 24/7) have implemented mandatory time off and other policies that would have their employees work less.

As the Chinese government and Chinese society continue to navigate the 21st century, memes like 当鸟 and 躺平 serve as cogent and timely reminders to re-evaluate exactly how much should be sacrificed in pursuit of increased productivity and global competition.

牛马 (niúmǎ) literally translates to “cow and horse”, two traditional beasts of burden which many young Chinese workers in modern times can relate to. It has become a popular internet slang term, used in a self-deprecating way by young netizens to describe themselves as overworked and undervalued in the workforce. This term reflects the feelings of helplessness and unimportance common among the young working class, where many have resigned themselves to a life of mundane labor with no real opportunity for change.

Origins and Evolution

Despite its recent rise to popularity in Chinese social media platforms, 牛马 has been used a metaphor for hard laborers since ancient times. One of the earliest recorded uses of 牛马 is in Shiji by Sima Qian all the way back in 91 B.C. In this historical text, he uses it to refer to farm workers who start their work days early and return home late. The term originally had a positive connotation, used to describe the hardworking nature of these laborers as well as illicit sympathy for these conditions. Over time, it came to encompass not just farmers but any kind of worker working long hours for inadequate compensation.

In recent years, 牛马 has gained traction on Chinese social media platforms such as Douyin, Weibo, and Zhihu. It is used by netizens in a satirical way to both joke about their unfavorable situation as well as criticize the system that forces them to work long hours. The slang is particularly common among people working in tech and e-commerce, and many memes focus on office workers rather than traditional blue collar laborers. These workers feel as though they are nothing more than cattle and horse, with large corporations working them from morning to night with little rest or pay.

牛马 spread very quickly due to the large number of users posting and sharing it through short videos, live broadcasts, and comments. The feelings of anxiety and fatigue from overwork were so prevalent among netizens that 牛马 was able to gain a large amount of traction in a short amount of time.

Cultural Significance and Online Uses

The impact of 牛马 lies in its duality as a symbol of both resignation and resistance. It captures the feeling of young Chinese workers who are stuck between wanting to escape this kind of lifestyle and wanting to climb the social and financial ladder.

Resistance

Many netizens use the term 牛马 as a form of resistance and criticism towards the hypercompetitive, unbalanced work culture prevalent in China. 996 culture is very common in tech companies in China, requiring employees to work from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. 6 days a week. In order to get to the 72 hour work week without violating Chinese labor policies, employees must work voluntary overtime, which is basically forced through peer pressure and risk of being laid off.

By calling themselves 牛马, workers perform a sort of soft resistance where they acknowledge that they are being exploited and can put a name on what these corporations are using them as. Further, by making jokes about their situation and comparing themselves to working animals, they can bring to light the absurdity of these working conditions.

In this viral Douyin, the creator lists all the work benefits cattle and horses have over modern workers such as getting work off on rainy days, getting off work when the sun goes down, and having food accommodated. He then satirically asks, “How can you say you are 牛马?”.

Resignation

Many netizens have resigned to the fact that in order to achieve the quality of life they desire, working as a 牛马 is necessary. Thus, posting about it online is a sort of coping mechanism, where young 牛马 can find solidarity with other 牛马 on social media platforms by sharing memes and satirical jokes of their bleak situation.
One Zhihu user jokingly posted:

“When a cow is tired, it knows to rest. When a 牛马 is tired, it will order coffee.”

Another netizen posted the following video on Douyin:

Workers see themselves as mere working animals to their employers, and their ID tags are akin to the yokes that cattle carry. Just like these cattle who are forced to work by their masters, young workers also see no reasonable escape from this lifestyle. One alternative to this lifestyle is the 躺平 (tǎngpíng) movement, which means “lying flat” and is characterized by young, burnt-out workers refusing the grind and pressure of long working hours. These people will work just enough to survive, rejecting overtime and accepting their place in the social ladder. However, factors such as job insecurity, social pressures, and disapproval of relatives make 躺平 undesirable for many young workers, leaving 牛马 as the best choice for them.

Conclusion

牛马 is very significant as a tool for young workers to band together and face the exploitation that they face from employers. It reveals a large problem of overwork and societal pressure that many young adults face in modern Chinese society. Perhaps these issues are rooted in ancient cultural values such as hard work, hierarchy, and duty. Beyond just the workforce, children in China are taught to exert themselves to the max and try to climb the social ladder from the moment they enter school. Exam scores and rankings are made public to students to enforce a sense of social standing, cram school culture forces many students to focus all their time on their studies, and the Gaokao enforces academic filtering to an extreme degree. These are all symptoms of the deeply ingrained belief that personal worth is tied to status and achievement, a belief that is enforced by both the government and long-standing cultural values. In this context, perhaps embracing the label of 牛马 is an act of silent rebellion among the youth against the system that made them into 牛马.

Introduction and Meaning

鸡汤, known in English as chicken soup, is a Chinese slang for advice that does not solve a person’s problems but makes them feel better. It also references bite size content that tells the user that everything will be okay, and the problems will be solved, even if we don’t do anything. Simply put, it’s useless encouragement or comfort. Another meaning it has is sentences or phrases that makes people more optimistic.

“只要你努力，一切皆有可能。”
(“As long as you work hard, anything is possible.”)

Origins

It originates from the 1993 book series, Chicken Soup for the Soul, that was filled with feel good and cheesy essays. The series was compiled by Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen. It gained traction in the early 2000s, as Chicken Soup for the Soul was translated and widely read. The books were great ways for people to get anecdotes that comforted the reader. As more social platforms like Weibo, WeChat, or Douyin became commonly used, 鸡汤, developed into having a more negative connotation as it was the response to positive messages. Netizens used it more as a mocking phrase, suggesting positive statements were unrealistic and manipulative.

Usage and Further Interpretations

鸡汤 originally was used to express warmth, nourishment and healing, as that was what chicken soup felt like. On the internet, it became a metaphor first for messages that promoted positivity. Motivational messages felt like chicken soup, helping alleviate stress. Overtime it developed its now new meaning of “toxic positivity”. 鸡汤 is a used within online discussions and answers to statements that only give encouragement. Example: Person A: Hey, as long you are trying your best you can make it. Person B: Thanks for the chicken soup. Another way that it is used is 毒鸡汤, or poisonous chicken soup. It is used as a two-sentence combination where the first part is positive then leads to a negative sentence. 毒鸡汤 is also used as responses when someone gives a brutally honest advice that counters the frequently given motivational messages.

“阳光总在风雨后” (“The sun always shines after the storm”)
“只要你坚持，没有什么是不可能的” (“As long as you persevere, nothing is impossible”)

These would at first be examples of possible 鸡汤 for netizens to obtain hope or emotional help in tough times, but 鸡汤 ending up being the response to these. Netizens became more skeptical of such idealistic sentiments. Rather than seeing these messages as helpful, people began to view them as shallow, manipulative, or even exploitative.

Cultural Significance and Social Context

The main cultural significance of “鸡汤” is deeply tied to the social and economic conditions during the time period facing contemporary Chinese youth. During the 1990s and early 2000s, these the working class or youth that have reached working age are experiencing the periods of rapid growth, urbanization, and intense competition. Despite growing up in a relatively prosperous society, they face surmounting pressure from family, employers, and the educational system. Many jobs have a developed a “996” work culture. Forced to work from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. 6 days a week builds stress. This mostly likely lead to the first literal definition of the term. The working group found joy within the “鸡汤” messages. As the years go by, as jobs become scarcer, and obtaining a chance for a better school is limited, the future looked bleak to netizens. As the youth culture shifted from a positive view on the future towards a more skeptic and ironic view, the meaning of the words “鸡汤” flipped. A boss who tells employees, “Success comes to those who work the hardest,” while denying raises and pushing unpaid overtime, might be accused of feeding them “老板的鸡汤” (“the boss’s chicken soup”). It also acts as a meaning for emotional manipulation, demanding more while giving less. It fits into a larger ecosystem of slang and memes that reflect the lives of young Chinese citizens. Other terms like “内卷” (involution) describe the exhausting, unproductive competition in school and work, while “躺平” (lying flat) expresses a passive refusal to engage with unrealistic societal expectations. Together with “鸡汤,” these terms represent a quiet form of rebellion—language that exposes the gap between the realities of school and work in China with the social ideals implanted into them.

Appropriation, Commercialization, and Resistance

Commercialization of “鸡汤” was the development of the many emotional languages or slogans within companies and some that promote the unhealthy “996” work culture. Schools and workplaces often have posters or signs that emphasized hard work, self-sacrifice, and loyalty. Adverting campaigns and media would often use “鸡汤” to promote social harmony and downplay the inequality or collective struggle.

Resistance in this case, takes the form of parody and irony by turning the definition on its head. By using “鸡汤” quotes and mixing them with dark humor or absurd logic, “鸡汤” developed more of a negative meaning. This ironic distance matters. It suggests that young people today are no longer satisfied with shallow positivity. They desire authenticity, solidarity, and alternative narratives that answers to their pain, skepticism, and frustration. It also acts like a device that allows the youth to express and find comfort in others that are in a similar situation. That they aren’t the only ones faced with pressure that they will not achieve what they wish. In criticizing “鸡汤,” they are not abandoning hope itself, but demanding realistic answers and responses to the bleak future that they see.

“Nobody would call an ox at midnight asking it to plow the field again in a different direction, but corporate livestock have to redo their assignments again and again.” -Weibo user, 2024

Meet Zhang Fei. She’s 22 years old and works at Pinduoduo, a tech company in Shanghai. She hasn’t seen daylight in months. Fei often jokes to her friends: “I’m not human anymore. I’m 牛马.” They laugh, not because it’s funny, but because it’s true.

Why Beasts of Burden?

A direct translation of 牛马 (niúmǎ) is “cattle and horses.” But in today’s digital slang, it means something far more complex: an identity worn by millions of overworked, undervalued young Chinese workers. The term “Beasts of Burden” captures the exhaustion of a generation that feels less like people and more like laboring animals. But why “cattle and horses”? Why not robots or drones? There’s a poetic cruelty in the choice. Cattle and horses are traditional work animals. They are respected, even cherished, but ultimately just something functional and practical. They are never asked if they want to work; they simply do. And yet, unlike the modern Chinese worker, animals are often given rest, food, and protection.

As one viral post on Weibo said, “High-quality livestock get a one-day break for every day worked, while high-quality workers push themselves to work 24 hours a day, seven days a week.”

Origins of 牛马

The term 牛马 first surfaced online around 2019, a reaction to the infamous 996 work culture in China, which is working from 9am to 9pm, six days a week. Popularized by tech tycoons like Jack Ma, this schedule was initially framed as a badge of honor. But over time, what was once seen as ambition turned into a symbol of exploitation. Workers began reclaiming the narrative, using sarcasm and online slang to push back. And so, “I am just a 牛马” became the digital sigh of a discouraged workforce. Although the tech sector has been known for its grueling 996 culture, 牛马 is spreading across industries, turning into a rallying cry for anyone caught in the machinery of modern labor: overworked, underpaid, and unseen. 

Who was Cao Liping?

In February 2024, a 25-year-old resident physician named Cao Liping was found dead in her hospital’s duty room in Hunan. Hours before, she had taken her own life. Her story rippled through Chinese social media – not just because of the tragedy itself, but because it revealed the systemic cruelty lurking in the shadows of professional training. Cao had spent nearly seven years in a demanding residency program, one designed to train over a million doctors since 2014. She was only six months away from completing her training. But the pressure had taken its toll. According to messages shared by her family, Cao had begged her supervisors for medical leave. She was experiencing high blood pressure and palpitations, and yet, her requests were repeatedly denied. Her final act became a symbol, and social media lit up with posts from other young doctors.

“I thought the main purpose of residency training was to learn how to apply theory into clinical practice,” one wrote. “Turns out, it’s to be a free workhorse for the department.”

Suddenly, 牛马 was no longer just an inside joke for tech workers. It became a metaphor for something deeply embedded in how institutions, regardless of industry, treat youth and ambition as infinite resources. Online, the backlash was immediate. Hashtags mourning Cao’s death trended for days. Users posted their own experiences. Memes flooded the internet, not to amuse, but to validate. They were digital therapy sessions for a population that felt disposable. 牛马 is what happens when a whole generation grows up being told to dream big, only to end up being worked tirelessly, with their goals twisted into fuel for someone else’s success. It’s not about political theory or big speeches. This is a new kind of class awareness that lives in memes, viral videos, and that sharp, tired humor people use to cope.

牛马 in Chinese Society

Yet there’s something deeper here. The 牛马 archetype isn’t just about labor, it also speaks to one’s identity. To call yourself 牛马 is to admit that your humanity has been sidelined so that you can be a tool for someone else to profit off of. In a culture that’s always emphasized being obedient, working hard, and staying humble, calling yourself a beast of burden is quite rebellious. It’s flipping the script on what it means to be a “good worker,” and quietly calling out a system that values nonstop hustle more than people’s well-being. This isn’t a loud protest, though. It’s happening under comment sections, inside memes, in short sarcastic videos. Still, it says a lot about the bigger picture in China. It’s a country charging forward with innovation, yet tethered to ancient ideas of hierarchy and sacrifice. Its youth are educated, tech-savvy, and globally aware, but still trapped in systems that treat exhaustion as a badge of honor.

And yet, the moment they turn that system into a joke and laugh about it together online, they’re taking some of that power back.

Remember Zhang Fei? Our 22 year old tech-savvy friend who worked at Pinduoduo, in Shanghai? In December 2021, Zhang Fei collapsed after another exhausting shift. She died six hours later. No official cause of death was ever confirmed, but the writing was on the wall. Zhang Fei had worked herself to death. For market share. For a future she would never see.

And now, it’s a legacy. Because for every Fei, there are millions more. And they’re done laughing.

At first glance, this seems just to be a quirky blend of English and Chinese—and that is exactly what it is!

Meaning
“City不city” (pronounced city bù city) literally translates to “Is it city or not? Here, the word ‘city’ does not directly mean a large town, but is a stand-in word for stylish, urban, or of a modern aesthetic.

For example, one might ask, “这个城市city不city?” (Zhège chéngshì city bù city?), translating to “Is this city city or not?” to determine if a place feels cosmopolitan. Similarly, commenting on an outfit, “这样穿搭city不city?” (Zhèyàng chuān dā city bù city?), means “Is this outfit city or not?”

The term reflects a desire among Chinese youth to identify and associate with contemporary, stylish experiences.

Origin
A British blogger named “Baobao Xiong” (Paul Mike Ashton) took his sister to visit the Great Wall of China and recorded a video, where the following conversation took place:

“Sister, is the Great Wall beautiful?”

“Yes, it is.”

“City or city?”

“City, I guess.”

While at its core, this was just a random comment, the moment stuck with Chinese citizens. The quirky mix of English and Mandarin had a nice poetic rhythm that made it memorable and fun to say. The tinge of playful Western pop-culture sound mixed with the cross-cultural identity made it an instant hit and ripe for reinterpretation.

Rise in Pop-Culture
Initially, the phrase started spreading in late 2023 on Xiaohongshu (小红书), being used ironically to mock over-the-top attempts to appear urban and trendy, often referencing influencers from “lower-tier cities” trying to mimic Shanghai-style luxury aesthetics.

This originally snarky judgment of others soon evolved into a self-aware, humorous tool. Now, many young people use it as a lighthearted tool to poke fun at life around them.

The phrase gained so much popularity that Ashton began being interviewed by the media and posting about the phrase on his TikTok account. In one interview, he comments that:

“‘city uncity’ is actually a philosophical question, and its meaning cannot be expressed in words. A city is something that gives people a lot of stimulation and excitement, and has a beauty that will never be forgotten. That’s what a city is to me.”
– Paul Mike Ashton

How To Use Examples
Lifestyle/Behavior
Chinese:
在星巴克里拍照打卡，这种行为到底city不city？
English:
Taking photos in Starbucks — is that even city anymore?

Chinese:
每天健身+喝美式+逛宜家，现在不这样都不city了？
English:
If you’re not working out, drinking Americanos, and shopping at IKEA daily, are you even city?

Places
Chinese:
重庆夜景太炸了，简直city到不行！
English:
The Chongqing night view is insane — totally city vibes!

Chinese:
这家餐厅装潢挺精致的，就是位置在五环外，不太city。
English:
This restaurant’s decor is classy, but it’s outside the Fifth Ring Road… not very city.

Ironic/Self-deprecating Use
Chinese:
我今天穿了个地摊T恤配洞洞鞋，不city但很舒服。
English:
Today I wore a street-market tee with Crocs — not city, but very comfy.

Chinese:
坐高铁吃泡面，瞬间city感消失😂
English:
Eating instant noodles on the bullet train — instant loss of city energy

Used as Commentary (Online Comments)
Comment on influencer’s photo:
city感拉满！
Translation:
City vibes maxed out!

Comment on someone doing a rural vlog:
不city但好真实，我喜欢。
Translation:
Not city, but so real. I like it.

Cultural Significance
At the core of the trend, we can see the core value of sophistication. This is not necessarily about pure wealth, but reflects the widespread desire in China to be part of higher-class city environments that are lifted up.

This slightly hints at some of the underlying class tension in China, specifically playing off the urban-rural divide. In one way, one might use the phrase to try to seem sophisticated while commenting on something that is seen as stylish. In another way, one might say it to mock those who care so much about the arbitrary standards of style we see in the modern day. In this way, city不city both highlights and resists urban aesthetic.

We can also see how city不city represents the growing globalization of Chinese youth with the mix of English and Mandarin. This highlights a China that is increasingly more welcome to Western influence, serving as an indicator of the change.

This all culminates in a generation of Chinese youth that is defining itself in a way that is fundamentally different from generations past. Ultimately, the trend sits at an intersection of two ideas: globalization and class tension. The technological transformation has exposed them to more ideas than their predecessors, leading to a new awareness of complex social issues and class divides.

While at first glance, city不city does not seem like a deeply philosophical trend, the more you look, you can actually see it represent a much greater theme. Whether he intended to or not, Ashton may have been right when he said, “city uncity is actually a philosophical question.” It subtly challenges how we define modernity, identity, and belonging in a rapidly changing China.

Conclusion
City不city started off as just a playful random remark from a travel blog, but has since been catapulted into a widespread cultural catchphrase that speaks to the creativity of modern language internet. Blending English and Mandarin, humor and social commentary, it captures how younger generations in China are navigating identity, taste, and the influence of global trends. Whether used to describe a fun event spot or to rag on a recent test, like many other pop-culture phenomena, the true power of the word lies in its flexibility and ability to transform over time.

Conclusion
City不city started off as just a playful random remark from a travel blog, but has since been catapulted into a widespread cultural catchphrase that speaks to the creativity of modern language internet. Blending English and Mandarin, humor and social commentary, it captures how younger generations in China are navigating identity, taste, and the influence of global trends. Whether used to describe a fun event spot or to rag on a recent test, like many other pop-culture phenomena, the true power of the word lies in its flexibility and ability to transform over time.

班味 directly translates to “work smell” or “office stench”. It’s a metaphor used to describe the sense of exhaustion, monotony, and mental and emotional fatigue that comes with an office job. The longer you work, the more potent the smell, and it haunts you outside of work. It originated from a viral post on Weibo that read, “只要上过一天班你就脏了， ‘班味儿’ 这辈子都洗不掉” or:

“Once you have worked a day, you are already dirty. You can never wash off that ‘smell of work’ in this lifetime”. 

Interpretations and Usage

At first, it was a very literal term, with people associating certain smells with the workplace atmosphere, such as bitter black coffee, sweat, cigarette smoke, and office air. Now, its interpretation has been extended to include a variety of aspects of office life: the visible exhaustion on a person’s face, repetitive and boring tasks, the stress of workplace hierarchies, etc. The term is reflective of the frustrations the younger generations have with modern office life and their struggles to adapt to it, wanting to find ways to “wash off” the work smell. It’s not that it is a new phenomenon, but newer generations, with a greater sense of individuality and freedom, are the ones willing to critique it and seek to strengthen the barrier between work and personal time.

Online, it has been turned into a variety of memes. It’s something office workers can relate to and even laugh at because of its accuracy, complaining about commuting, long work hours, difficult colleagues, etc. However, it is more than that because bringing light to the negative aspects of corporate work is inherently a cultural critique of it. It’s giving a voice to the common worker low on the corporate ladder. Making light of it helps connect these people together, making them feel understood and, in a way, giving them back some of the agency they had lost. It also goes against traditional cultural norms that prioritize the satisfaction of hard work and sacrifice over mental health. For example, the idiom “吃苦”, literally “eating bitterness”, means to suffer without complaint. Its American equivalent would be “no pain, no gain”. With this ideology, “work smell” is not something to fix; it is something to embrace; it’s proof of your dedication. Wanting a balance between work and personal life and bringing things like burnout and mental health into the conversation is progressive.

Other internet keywords and trends have risen alongside 班味. One example is “gross work outfits” or 上班恶心穿搭. The term originated from a post on Douyin, where a user told the story of how her boss scolded her for her “gross” outfits that she had worn because of cold weather. That post went viral, and other people began sharing the “gross” attire they wore to work. It almost became a competition to create the worst outfit. It reflects another criticism of office culture by looking at formal dress codes. Some even justify it by arguing that they want to wear more casual clothes to work so their favorite clothes do not get the “work smell” on them.

Socioeconomic Issues and Reform

The rising dissatisfaction with the workplace is tied to the economic hardships rampant in contemporary China. The rapid urbanization and economic development since the 80s have culminated into a high youth unemployment rate as opportunities are limited and the number of college graduates continues to rise. Underemployment is now a problem; many might be in monotonous office jobs that don’t even fully take advantage of their skillsets. The stress of navigating an increasingly competitive job market and landing a stable job adds to the sense of exhaustion. Jobs are less fulfilling and more a means of living. As these problems persist, ideologies like 躺平, “lying flat”, have arisen among the youth. It’s a little more extreme than just bringing awareness to and pushing against corporate culture, it’s flat out rejecting it. Those participating in “lying flat” minimize their professional commitments and prioritize their mental health. It has an American derivative called “quiet quitting”, which is doing the bare minimum required at work.

While 班味 is a Chinese internet keyword, it’s clear that it’s reflective of a broader global societal trend. Historically speaking, caring about mental health is a very recent thing, and older generations alive today are even resistant to it. It took until 2019 for the World Health Organization (WHO) to recognize burnout as an occupational phenomenon. There have been some initiatives to improve the well-being of employees, like the implementation of four-day workweeks, which has become more popular as of late. However, the traditional “996” (9 a.m. to 9 p.m., 6 days a week) work schedule remains prevalent in China. There is only the hope that as younger generations become aware and point out these societal problems, they will be the ones to implement changes to fix them. The internet has played a crucial role regarding awareness, making people aware that they are not alone and that there is a larger issue at hand. In this sense, 班味 calls for a future with work balanced with individuality, well-being, and freedom, where you can wash off the work smell at the end of the day.

丧 (sang), pronounced “sahng” in English, is a slang term popular in Chinese internet spaces used to comically represent a feeling of hopelessness or a nihilistic worldview. The term is often used ironically to satirize the sadness present in the population as a form of dark humor. It reflects the sense of burnout and pessimism towards the increasingly unfavorable circumstances for China’s youth due to higher levels of competition in the workforce and the increasing demands being put on young people.

Origins

The term “sang” was popularized by an online subculture of people who felt hopeless about the future and looked for ways to express their frustrations as a form of dark humor. The first notable instance of the sang type of humor in China was the Ge You slouching meme. The meme comes from a scene in the Chinese sitcom “I Love My Family” where actor Ge You’s character hopelessly slouches on a couch after losing his job. Ironically, the scene was meant to demonstrate how not to respond to difficult circumstances, but instead, many in the soon-to-be sang subculture used the image of Ge You as a way to express their feelings of pessimism due to increased competition in academia and the job market as well as the lowered standard of living for many Chinese youths. The image was reposted on the internet, often accompanied by text that said things like “Why work when I can just lie around all day”, “No dreams, no pain”, and other dark but entertaining statements.

Above is the infamous image of actor Ge You slouching

The sang mindset spread quickly thereafter and was captured in several popular songs such as 我的滑板鞋 (My Skate Shoes) by Hua Chenyu, which featured an upbeat tune juxtaposed by depressing, sad lyrics. In late 2019, China became the first country to experience an outbreak of the Coronavirus, which only further fueled the growth of the sang subculture as the lockdowns and loss of social interaction led to increased feelings of sadness and depression. “Sang” was popularized as a slang word for those looking to express their frustrations surrounding their circumstances in a cynical but humorous manner, and was often used in memes similar to the one of Ge You slouching.

Below is the aforementioned song:

What Does Sang Culture Tell Us About China?

The sadness and hopelessness seen in sang culture reveal a lot about how China’s youth population views their ability to be successful and live a fulfilling life.

According to the 2023 study “The Influence of the Development of Sang Culture on Chinese Youth” by researcher Xinyi Huang, a significant catalyst for the growth of the sang subculture is the increased competition in job markets and academic environments. The increase in the number of people in China and the increased cost of living that have come with the change of the millennium have made it so that better opportunities are available to a much smaller number of people. The result of this is that many people find upward social mobility very difficult, if not impossible. Sang humor is a way for many of these people to vent and express their frustrations with the world. This is very interesting as it shows that rather than outright rebelling, much of China’s disgruntled youth population is finding a way to accept their circumstances through ironic dark humor.

Above is an example of what a sang meme may look like

The rise of the sang subculture also reveals a lot about how the younger generation in China is using the internet in new, unseen ways in China. The rise of sang humor as a form of coping with the difficult circumstances present for China’s youth shows an increasing interest in the use of the internet as a coping mechanism for difficult emotional experiences. It is not always easy for youth to be able to make their dissatisfaction with society known in China, as there is no guarantee of free speech, and criticism of the leadership in the country could lead to repercussions. The Chinese authorities have taken note of the pessimistic attitude many of the youth have on the internet, but it’s unlikely that memes of the sang variety will lead to persecution. The youth can use the internet and sang humor as a way to find emotional support with their peers without the risk of punishment for speaking out, which is something that has rarely been seen when it comes to internet use in China.

How Sang Culture Reflects Traditional Chinese Philosophy

Perhaps the most intriguing aspect of the sang subculture is how it relates to the traditional Chinese guiding philosophies of Daoism and Confucianism.

As scholars Tan and Cheng argue in their 2020 study “Sang Subculture in Post-Reform China” sang humor is not a rebellion by the youth in that they are actively fighting against the way society is progressing, it’s more of a large-scale disillusionment with the ideas and expectations that have historically been present within Chinese society. This can be seen in how sang humor is very contradictory to the ideas of Confucianism. The people who participate in sang humor reject the heavy emphasis on 君子 (junzi), the drive for self-cultivation, and the acceptance of responsibility asked by Confucianism. Instead, they accept that merely surviving is enough, and that trying to have anything more is unattainable. Rather than fighting for their dreams and aspirations, they survive through apathy.

On the other hand, sang culture and humor are aligned well with some of the ideas of Daoism. Notably, the Daoist idea of 无为 (wu wei) fits in very well with sang culture as it emphasizes the ideas of non-action as well as a detachment from ambition and material gains. Sang culture aligns with this idea because it largely rejects ambition and action in the face of adversity, instead embracing circumstance and accepting reality.

Conclusion

Ultimately, sang culture marks a new shifting attitude in China’s youth population. It is odd in that the attitudes Chinese youths are expressing reject many teachings present in traditional Chinese philosophy. It is a trend that likely will continue to gain traction if economic circumstances in China do not improve. If this large-scale apathy continues to manifest in more of the population, it may pose a serious threat to the future of China’s workforce. It speaks volumes to the resilience of the youths of China that they have found a way to cope with the difficult circumstances they’ve found themselves in.

Works Cited

Tan, K Cohen, and Shuxin Cheng. “Sang Subculture in Post-Reform China.” Global Media and China, vol. 5, no. 1, 20 Feb. 2020, pp. 86–99, https://doi.org/10.1177/2059436420904459. Accessed 13 Apr. 2025.

Huang, Xinyi, et al. “The Influence of the Development of Sang Culture on Chinese Youth.” Communications in Humanities Research, vol. 6, no. 1, 14 Sept. 2023, pp. 130–142, https://doi.org/10.54254/2753-7064/6/20230162. Accessed 13 Apr. 2025.

Zhu, Ying, and Junqi Peng. “From Diaosi to Sang to Tangping: The Chinese DST Youth Subculture Online.” Global Storytelling, vol. 3, no. 2, 26 Feb. 2024, https://doi.org/10.3998/gs.5304. Accessed 13 Apr. 2025.