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China’s Celebrity Weight Craze: Qin Hao’s Viral Diet and Body Anxiety Behind the Weight-Loss Trend

The extreme diet of Chinese actor Qin Hao has sparked a trend of people sharing photos of their corn and egg meals. It’s yet another celebrity weight-loss trend that is more about unrealistic expectations than healthy ways of shedding pounds.

Zilan Qian

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Actor Qin Hao’s remarkable weight loss has sparked waves of online excitement over a potential new diet plan. Qin is not the only Chinese celebrity whose weight loss journey has become an online hype. But behind the relentless pursuit of celebrity weight loss plans lies the issue of body anxiety, particularly among young Chinese women.

Why do we see so many photos with one ear of corn on Weibo these days? It has everything to do with Qin Hao (秦昊). The actor, renowned for his role in the highly acclaimed 2020 Chinese drama series “The Bad Kids” (隐秘的角落), has recently garnered significant attention for his appearance in another compelling series titled “The Long Wait” (漫长的等待).

This time, his surge in popularity is not just because of his exceptional acting abilities or the captivating character he portrayed, but mostly because of the remarkable diet plan he followed to lose weight during the filming of the series.

In his latest role, Qin played a middle-aged man with a chubby physique, round cheeks, and a beer belly. He had put on a lot of weight to play this character. However, later on, the director asked him to quickly lose weight and “sharpen up” (“必须瘦出棱角”).

Qin’s wife, Yi Nengjing (@伊能靜), discovered an online diet menu that helped Qin successfully lose over 20 pounds, resulting in a significant transformation in his appearance. Due to numerous inquiries from fans and followers, Yi decided to share the diet plan on her Weibo account.

The five-day diet plan consists of the following meals:

Day 1: Only unsweetened soy milk is consumed throughout the day.
Day 2: Each meal consists of one ear of corn.
Day 3: Breakfast includes dragon fruit, lunch consists of an apple, and dinner consists of blueberries.
Day 4: Breakfast consists of one boiled egg, while lunch and dinner consist of boiled shrimp.
Day 5: Breakfast includes broccoli, lunch consists of spinach, and dinner consists of lettuce.

Qin before (left) and after (right) following the diet plan. Photos from Yi Nengjing’s Weibo post.

On Weibo, many people trying out this diet are posting photos of their daily meals, resulting in dozens of photos of a single ear of corn being posted on the platform these days.

Many Chinese netizens are posting photos of corn – their entire meal according to day 2 of Qin Hao’s diet (images via Weibo.com).

Despite the supposed effectiveness of the diet, Yi also issued a warning to her followers. “I want to emphasize once again that I do not recommend this menu to anyone,” she wrote on Weibo. “The entire process is incredibly arduous, and Qin experienced weakness in his legs due to hunger for some days.”

Despite the warning, the menu still managed to attract a significant number of netizens willing to give it a try. With titles like “Challenging Qin Hao’s Diet Plan (挑战秦昊饮食法)” and “Losing 8 Pounds in Five Days (五天瘦八斤),” many people took to platforms such as WeChat, Bilibili, and Weibo to share videos, images and texts documenting their experiences with the same diet plan and the amount of weight they lost each day.

Among those who decided to try the diet plan was the renowned screenwriter and producer Yu Zheng (于正), known for his works such as “The Palace” (宫) and “The Story of Yanxi” (延禧攻略). Yu shared on his Weibo account that he successfully lost 10 pounds in just a few days by following Qin’s diet plan. In doing so, he also inspired others to give it a try.

Bilibili users sharing themselves practising Qin’s diet plan.

While some individuals recognize the extreme nature of Qin Hao’s diet plan, they have made modifications by adding carbohydrates and proteins on certain days or incorporating other “diet foods” like cucumbers or healthy snacks.

A user on Bilibili tried out Qin Hao’s diet plan and shared her experience. Although she admitted feeling “extremely hungry,” she said she lost almost 8 pounds and was “very pleased” with the outcome.

However, many choose to strictly adhere to the original plan, expressing sentiments such as “As long as I’m not starving to death, I’ll push myself to the limit” or “Even though I’m so hungry that I could eat a person, I’m still very happy with my progress.”

 

EXTREME CELEBRITY DIETS

“You are truly too fat.”

 

Qin is not the only celebrity whose weight loss journey has captured widespread attention. Earlier this year, another viral trend emerged among netizens, who urged director Guo Jingming (郭敬明) to establish a weight loss camp due to the noticeable weight loss among actresses who had worked on his film sets. On Weibo, this phenomenon was described as “no one can leave Guo Jingming’s film crew without losing weight” (“没有人能够胖着走出郭敬明剧组”).

Guo later disclosed his diet plan for actors and actresses during a television program. According to Guo, they were required to adhere to a diet that excluded oil, salt, and sugar. Additionally, he admitted that he would tell them “you are truly too fat (你真的太胖了)” on a daily basis, as a form of persuasion for those who were reluctant to follow the diet plan. Despite the extreme nature of this diet and his ‘brainwashing’ methods, many individuals continued to express their desire for Guo to realize an actual weight loss camp for them to join.

Weibo users compared photos of actresses Yu Shuxin and Jin Jing before and after joining Guo’s film crew to illustrate the effectiveness of Guo’s diet plan. The post where the above photos come from simply said: “I want to go! (想去!)” after the hashtag “#Guo Jingming film crew diet camp #郭敬明剧组减肥营#.

Guo reveals his way of helping actors lose weight (source).

The trend of following celebrity diets for weight loss remains popular, with an increasing number of individuals adopting the diet plans promoted by celebrities like Yu Shuxin, IU, Zhang Tianai, and others.

These diets come in various forms, ranging from single-food diets like cucumber and egg or boiled broccoli with plain porridge, to more restrictive approaches that eliminate specific ingredients, such as carbohydrates, or advocate for skipping evening meals. The widespread popularity of these diets is evident on social media, where netizens, mostly female, try them out and document their weight-loss journeys, sharing their progress with a wider audience.

Screenshot of the cover photo of one video on Bilibili introducing Yu Shuxin’s diet plan, which has been played over 150,000 times. The title says “Yu Shuxin’s way of losing 20 pounds’ weight. Revealing the diet plan to make your body easy to slim down! Losing 10 pounds in 10 days!”

The majority of posts and short videos revolving around these diet plans often feature attention-grabbing titles like “losing xx pounds in xx days,” accompanied by celebrities showcasing their slimmed body shapes.

 

CONCERNS SURROUNDING CELEBRITY CRASH DIETS

“Let me advise you: never, ever go down this terrible path.”

 

With the increasing popularity of celebrity diets, concerns about their impact on (mental) health have arisen. Doctors have issued warnings against attempting Qin Hao’s diet plan, cautioning that it can cause significant harm to the body and result in weight gain once discontinued.

Diets that severely restrict calorie intake, like this one, can have detrimental effects such as weakened immunity, decreased bone density, impaired memory, hair loss, and an increased risk of depression. Netizens commenting on posts of people trying these diets often warn others against blindly following their lead. One user offered a stern warning, saying: “To my sisters who haven’t started dieting, let me advise you: never, ever go down this terrible path.”

Despite the prevailing health concerns associated with celebrity diets, not everyone places their well-being above achieving a desired body shape. In response to a diet plan video by Kpop singer IU, one user acknowledged the potential harm it could cause but still said losing weight was their primary goal, as being overweight made them feel miserable: “I don’t care if it’s harmful to my body, as long as I can lose weight.”

Other users argue that everyone has the right to do whatever they want with their body: “We are all adults and responsible for our own affairs. If you want to lose weight, eat less. If you don’t want to lose weight, then continue to be overweight.” 

 

PURSUIT OF THE PERFECT BODY

“For female celebrities, being fat destroys everything.”

 

Behind the never-ending new celebrity diet plans is the question of why celebrities losing weight garners such significant attention. It appears that shedding pounds has become a convenient method for celebrities to attract public interest and enhance their overall image. Losing weight is often portrayed as a symbol of willpower and dedication to one’s career.

For instance, Yuan Shanshan, who previously faced criticism for her appearance in certain TV series, received applause and positive attention after slimming down and achieving a V-line figure. Media reports frequently associate female celebrities’ dietary practices with the concept of “self-discipline,” utilizing titles such as “How self-disciplined are female celebrities?” to highlight their various weight-loss approaches.

Articles perpetuating body shaming comments towards female celebrities for weight gain. Headlines employing phrases like “the image of you giving up yourself is ugly” and “being fat destroys everything” depict weight gain negatively. The highlighted sentence emphasizes the damaging impact of being fat on a woman’s self-esteem.

On the other hand, when female celebrities gain weight, they are often accused of “betraying” their professional careers or “giving up” on their ambitions.

A quick online search reveals how numerous news articles and blog titles highlight female celebrities’ self-discipline through their successful weight loss. These pieces often showcase extraordinary diet methods, like relying on single strands of noodle as a carbohydrate source or consuming plain, boiled vegetables without any additional ingredients.

 

SLIM LIKE A CELEBRITY

“Will your boss promote you because you’re as thin as a celebrity?”

 

The public’s scrutiny of celebrities’ weight, often using it as a measure of willpower and success, is a common phenomenon, but celebrities themselves also influence the public’s perception of the ‘perfect’ figure. On various variety shows, female celebrities’ heights and weights are increasingly showcased, which inadvertently contributes to viewers’ anxieties about their own bodies.

Articles on social media treat these measurements as if they represent the standard for the majority, presenting titles such as “After looking at the heights and weights of these female celebrities, I swear I will never eat again,” or “The true heights and weights of female celebrities – a reference for weight loss,” and: “How light is thin? Revealing female celebrities’ heights and weights.” These articles contribute to the idolization of specific body shapes and weights as symbols of beauty and perfection.

‘Am I too fat weighing xx pounds?’ ‘What weight is considered “fat” in today’s society?’ ‘Why do people care about women’s weight so much?’ ‘Why am I so obsessed with my own weight?’ As women track and critique the weight fluctuations of female celebrities, many are grappling with questions about body image on social media. They seek answers to their own concerns, shaped by constant exposure to the seemingly ideal body weights of these celebrities.

Amidst all the celebrity weight craze, more critical voices are emerging in the Chinese social media sphere. Witnessing people blindly following celebrities’ weight loss journeys, one Zhihu user recently wondered: “Why should everyone strive to have the same bodies as the ones displayed by celebrities? Is there any tangible benefit for ordinary individuals to achieve the same level of thinness as these celebrities? Will your boss promote you or increase your salary simply because you’re as slim as a celebrity?”

Many individuals also question the connection between weight loss, self-discipline, and professional success. They assert that celebrities’ ability to maintain a slim figure is predominantly driven by financial incentives rather than exceptional personal qualities.

One Weibo user commented on Qin Hao’s diet plan, highlighting the disparities between celebrity lifestyles and those of everyday individuals: “Most people don’t have jobs that demand such extreme measures, nor do they lead a celebrity lifestyle with chauffeured transportation and dedicated services for nutrition and exercise management. Furthermore, everyday individuals don’t need to rely on weight loss as a means to seek public attention or stay in the spotlight.”

Chinese author Mao Li (毛利), in a Zhihu post, shared her perspective on the issue and acknowledged that she also has wasted valuable time on futile body image anxieties. She suggests breaking free from the media’s “perfect body” hype, embracing self-acceptance, and finding joy in living together with our bodies. She encourages people to “accept it, enjoy it, and praise it.”

By Zilan Qian

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Zilan Qian is a China-born undergraduate student at Barnard College majoring in Anthropology. She is interested in exploring different cultural phenomena, loves people-watching, and likes loitering in supermarkets and museums.

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China Arts & Entertainment

Controversial Wanghong Livestreamers Are Becoming a Weibo Staple in China

‘Wanghong’ was a mark of online fame; now, it’s increasingly tied to controversy and scandal.

Wendy Huang

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As livestreaming continues to gain popularity in China, so do the controversies surrounding the industry. Negative headlines involving high-profile livestreamers, as well as aspiring influencers hoping to make it big, frequently dominate Weibo’s trending topics.

These headlines usually revolve around China’s so-called wǎnghóng (网红) influencers. Wanghong is a shortened form of the phrase “internet celebrity” (wǎngluò hóngrén 网络红人). The term doesn’t just refer to internet personalities but also captures the viral nature of their influence—describing content or trends that gain rapid online attention and spread widely across social media.

Recently, an incident sparked debate over China’s wanghong livestreamers, focusing on Xiaohuxing (@小虎行), a streamer with around 60,000 followers on Douyin, who primarily posts evaluations of civil aviation services in China.

Xiaohuxing (@小虎行)

On October 15, 2024, at Shenzhen Bao’an International Airport, Xiaohuxing confronted a volunteer at the automated check-in counter, insisting she remove her mask while livestreaming the entire encounter. He was heard demanding, “What gives you the right to wear a mask? What gives you the right not to take it off?” and even attempted to forcibly remove her mask, challenging her to call the police.

During the livestream, the livestreamer confronted the woman on the right for wearing a facemask.

He also argued with a male traveler who tried to intervene. In the end, the airport’s security officers detained him. Shortly after the incident, a video of the livestream went viral on Weibo under various hashtags (e.g. #网红小虎行机场强迫志愿者摘口罩#) and attracted millions of views. The following day, Xiaohuxing’s Douyin account was banned, and all his videos were removed. The Shenzhen Public Security Bureau later announced that the account’s owner, identified as Wang, had been placed in administrative detention.

On October 13, just days before, another livestreaming controversy erupted at Guangzhou Baiyun International Airport. Malatang (@麻辣烫), a popular Douyin streamer with over a million followers, secretly filmed a young couple kissing and mocked them, continuing to film while passing through security—an area where filming is prohibited.

Her livestream quickly went viral, sparking discussions about unauthorized filming and misconduct among Chinese wanghong. In response, Malatang’s agent posted an apology video. However, the affected couple hired a lawyer and reported the incident to the police (#被百万粉丝网红偷拍当事人发声#). On October 17, Malatang’s Douyin account was banned, and her videos were removed.

Livestreamer Malatang making fun of the couple in the back at the airport.

In both cases, netizens uncovered additional examples of inappropriate behavior by Xiaohuxing and Malatang in past broadcasts. For example, Xiaohuxing was reportedly aggressive towards a flight attendant, demanding she kneel to serve him, while Malatang was criticized for scolding a delivery person who declined to interact with her on camera.

Comments on Weibo included, “They’ll do anything for traffic. Wanghong are getting a bad reputation because of people like this.” Another added, “It seems as if ‘wanghong’ has become a negative term now.”

 
Rising Scrutiny in China’s Wanghong Economy
 

Xiaohuxing and Malatang are far from isolated cases. Recently, many other wanghong livestreamers have also been caught up in negative news.

One such figure is Dong Yuhui (董宇辉), a former English teacher at New Oriental (新东方) who transitioned to livestreaming for East Buy (东方甄选), where he mixed education with e-commerce (read here). Dong gained significant popularity and boosted East Buy’s brand before leaving to start his own company. Recently, however, Dong faced backlash for inaccurate statements about Marie Curie during an October 9 livestream. He incorrectly claimed that Curie discovered uranium, invented the X-ray machine, and won the Nobel Prize in Literature, among other things.

Considering his public image as a knowledgeable “teacher” livestreamer, this incident sparked skepticism among viewers about his actual expertise. A related hashtag (#董宇辉称居里夫人获得诺贝尔文学奖#) garnered over 81 million views on Weibo. In addition to this criticism, Dong is also being questioned about potential false advertising, which is a major challenge for all livestreamers selling products during their streams.

Dong Yuhui (董宇辉) during one of his livestreams.

Another popular livestreamer, Dongbei Yujie (@东北雨姐), is currently also facing criticism over product quality and false advertising claims. Originally from Northeast China, Dongbei Yujie shares content focused on rural life in the region. Recently, her Douyin account, which boasts an impressive 22 million followers, was muted due to concerns over the quality of products she promoted, such as sweet potato noodles (which reportedly contained no sweet potato). Despite issuing public apologies—which have garnered over 160 million views under the hashtag “Dongbei Yujie Apologizes” (#东北雨姐道歉#)—the controversy has impacted her account and led to a penalty of 1.65 million yuan (approximately 231,900 USD).

From Dongbei Yujie’s apology video

Former top Douyin livestreamer Fengkuang Xiaoyangge (@疯狂小杨哥) is also facing a career downturn. Leading up to the 2024 Mid-Autumn Festival, he promoted Hong Kong Meicheng mooncakes in his livestreams, branding them as a high-end Hong Kong product. However, it was soon revealed that these mooncakes had no retail presence in Hong Kong and were primarily produced in Guangzhou and Foshan, sparking accusations of deceptive marketing. Due to this incident and previous cases of misleading advertising, his company came under investigation and was penalized. In just a few weeks, Fengkuang Xiaoyangge lost over 8.5 million followers (#小杨哥掉粉超850万#).

Fengkuang Xiaoyangge (@疯狂小杨哥) and the mooncake controversy.

It’s not only ecommerce livestreamers who are getting caught up in scandal. Recently, the influencer “Xiaoxiao Nuli Shenghuo” (@小小努力生活) and her mother were arrested for fabricating a tragic story – including abandonment, adoption, and hardships – to gain sympathy from over one million followers and earn money through donations and sales. They, and two others who helped them manage their account, were sentenced to ten days in prison for ‘false advertising.’

 
Wanghong Fame: Opportunity and Risk
 

China’s so-called ‘wanghong economy’ has surged in recent years, with countless content creators emerging across platforms like Douyin, Kuaishou, and Taobao Live. These platforms have transformed interactions between content creators and viewers and changed how products are marketed and sold.

For many aspiring influencers, becoming a livestreamer is the first step to building a presence in the streaming world. It serves as a gateway to attracting traffic and potentially monetizing their online influence.

However, before achieving widespread fame, some livestreamers resort to using outrageous or even offensive content to capture attention, even if it leads to criticism. For example, before his account was banned, Xiaohuxing set his comment section to allow only followers to comment, gaining 3,000 new followers after his controversial livestream at Shenzhen Airport went viral. Many speculated that some followers joined just to leave critical comments, but it nonetheless grew his following.

As livestreamers gain significant fame, they must exercise greater caution, as they often hold substantial influence over their audiences, making accuracy essential. Mistakes, whether intentional or not, can quickly erode trust, as seen in the example of the super popular Dong Yuhui, who faced backlash after his inaccurate comment about Marie Curie sparked public criticism.

China’s top makeup livestreamer, Li Jiaqi (李佳琦), experienced a similar reputational crisis in September last year. Responding dismissively to a viewer who commented on the high price of an eyebrow pencil, Li replied, “Have you received a raise after all these years? Have you worked hard enough?” Commentators pointed out that the pencil’s cost per gram was double that of gold at the time. Accused of “forgetting his roots” as a former humble salesman, Li lost one million Weibo followers in a day (read more here).

This meme shows that many viewers did not feel moved by Li’s apologetic tears after the eyepencil incident.

Despite the challenges and risks, becoming a wanghong remains an attractive career path for many. A mid-2023 Weibo survey on “Contemporary Employment Trends” showed that 61.6% of nearly 10,000 recent graduates were open to emerging professions like livestreaming, while 38.4% preferred more traditional career paths.

 
Taming the Wanghong Economy
 

In response to the increasing number of controversies and scandals brought by some wanghong livestreamers, Chinese authorities are implementing stricter regulations to monitor the livestreaming industry.

In 2021, China’s Propaganda Department and other authorities began emphasizing the societal influence of online influencers as role models. That year, the China Association of Performing Arts introduced the “Management Measures for the Warning and Return of Online Hosts” (网络主播警示与复出管理办法), which makes it challenging, if not impossible, for “canceled” celebrities to stage a comeback as livestreamers (read more).

The Regulation on the Implementation of the Law of the People’s Republic of China on the Protection of Consumer Rights and Interests (中华人民共和国消费者权益保护法实施条例), effective July 1, 2024, imposes stricter rules on livestream sales. It requires livestreams to disclose both the promoter and the product owner and mandates platforms to protect consumer rights. In cases of illegal activity, the platform, livestreaming room, and host are all held accountable. Violations may result in warnings, confiscation of illegal earnings, fines, business suspensions, or even the revocation of business licenses.

These regulations have created a more controlled “wanghong” economy, a marked shift from the earlier, more unregulated era of livestreaming. While some view these measures as restrictive, many commenters support the tighter oversight.

A well-known Kuaishou influencer, who collaborates with a person with dwarfism, recently faced backlash for sharing “vulgar content,” including videos where he kicks his collaborator (see video) or stages sensational scenes just for attention.

Most commenters welcome the recent wave of criticism and actions taken against such influencers, including Xiaohuxing and Dongbei Yujie, for their behavior. “It’s easy to become famous and make money like this,” commenters noted, adding, “It’s good to see the industry getting cleaned up.”

State media outlet People’s Daily echoed this sentiment in an October 21 commentary, stating, “No matter how many fans you have or how high your traffic is, legal lines must not be crossed. Those who cross the red line will ultimately pay the price.”

This article and recent incidents have sparked more online discussions about the kind of influencers needed in the livestreaming era. Many suggest that, beyond adhering to legal boundaries, celebrity livestreamers should demonstrate a higher moral standard and responsibility within this digital landscape. “We need positive energy, we need people who are authentic,” one Weibo user wrote.

Others, however, believe misbehaving “wanghong” livestreamers naturally face consequences: “They rise fast, but their popularity fades just as quickly.”

When asked, “What kind of influencers do we need?” one commenter responded, “We don’t need influencers at all.”

By Wendy Huang

Edited for clarity by Manya Koetse

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China Arts & Entertainment

The Rising Influence of Fandom Culture in Chinese Table Tennis

The match between Sun Yingsha and Chen Meng in Paris highlighted how the fan culture surrounding Chinese table tennis can clash with the Olympic spirit.

Ruixin Zhang

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During the Paris Olympics, not a day went by without table tennis making its way onto Weibo’s trending lists. The Chinese table tennis team achieved great success, winning five gold medals and one silver.

However, the women’s singles final on August 3rd, between Chinese champions Chen Meng (陈梦) and Sun Yingsha (孙颖莎), took viewers by surprise due to the unsettling atmosphere. The crowd overwhelmingly supported Sun Yingsha, with little applause for Chen Meng, and some hurled insults at her. Even the coaching staff had stern expressions after Chen’s win.

This bizarre scene sparked heated discussions on Chinese social media, exposing the broader audience to the chaotic and sometimes absurd dynamics within China’s table tennis fandom.

 

“I welcome fans but reject fandom culture.”

 

When Sun Yingsha and Chen Meng faced off in the women’s singles final, the medal was destined for ‘Team China’ regardless of the outcome; the match should have been a celebration of Chinese table tennis.

However, the match held significant importance for both Sun and Chen individually. Chen Meng, the defending champion from the previous Olympics, was on the verge of making history by retaining her title. Meanwhile, Sun Yingsha, an emerging star who had already claimed singles titles at the World Cup and World Championships, was aiming to complete a career Grand Slam (World Championships, World Cup, and Olympics).

[center] Announcement of the Chen (L) vs Sun (R) match by People’s Daily on social media.[/center]

Sun Yingsha has clearly become a public favorite. On Weibo, the table tennis star ranked among the most beloved athletes in popularity lists.

This favoritism among Chinese table tennis fans was evident at the venue. According to reports from a Chinese audience member, anyone shouting “Go Chen Meng!” (“陈梦加油”) was quickly silenced or booed, while even cheering “Come on China!” (“中国队加油”) was met with ridicule. After Chen Meng’s 4-2 victory, many in the audience expressed their frustration and chanted “refund” during the award ceremony. Meanwhile, social media was flooded with hateful posts cursing Chen for winning the match.

For many who were unfamiliar with the off-court drama, the influence of fandom culture on the Olympics was shocking. However, in the world of Chinese table tennis, such extreme fan behavior has been brewing for some time. Even during the eras of Ma Long (马龙) and Zhang Jike (张继科), there were already fans who would turn against each other and others.

This year’s men’s singles champion, Fan Zhendong (樊振东), had long noticed the growing influence of fandom culture. In recent years, he has repeatedly voiced his discomfort with fan activities like “airport send-offs” and “fan meet-and-greets.” Earlier this year, he took to social media to reveal that he and his loved ones were being harassed by both overzealous fans and haters, and that he was considering legal action. He made it clear: “I welcome fans but reject fandom culture.” His consistent stance against fandom has helped cultivate a relatively rational fan base.

 

“What has happened to Chinese table tennis fans over the years?”

 

On Weibo, a blogger (@3号厅检票员工) posed a question that struck a chord with many, garnering over 30,000 likes: “What has happened to Chinese table tennis fans over the years?”

In the comments, many blamed Liu Guoliang (刘国梁) for fueling the fan culture around table tennis. Liu, the first Chinese male player to achieve the Grand Slam, retired in 2002 and then became a coach for the Chinese table tennis team. His coaching career has been highly successful, leading players like Ma Long and Xu Xin (许昕) to numerous championships.

Beyond coaching, Liu has been dedicated to commercializing table tennis. Compared to international tournaments in sports like tennis or golf, the prize money for Chinese table tennis players is only about one-tenth of those sports. Fan Zhendong has publicly stated on Weibo that the prize money for their competitions is too low compared to badminton. Liu believes table tennis has significant untapped commercial potential that has yet to be fully realized.

Under Liu’s leadership, the commercialization of the Chinese table tennis team began after the Rio Olympics, where China won all four gold medals. Viral internet memes like “Zhang Jike, wake up!” (继科你醒醒啊) and “The chubby guy who doesn’t understand the game” (不懂球的胖子) made both the sport and its athletes wildly popular in China.

Seeing the opportunity, Liu quickly increased the team’s exposure, encouraging players to create Weibo accounts, do live streams, star in films, and participate in variety shows. This approach rapidly turned the Chinese table tennis team into a “super influencer” in the Chinese sports world.

While this move has certainly increased the athletes’ visibility, it has also drawn criticism: is this kind of commercialization and celebrity status the right path for China’s table tennis? Successful commercialization requires a mature system for talent selection, team building, and athlete management. However, the selection process in Chinese table tennis remains opaque, the current team-building system shows little promise, and young athletes struggle to break through.

Additionally, athlete management appears amateurish. After watching an interview with Chinese tennis player Zheng Qinwen (郑钦文), a Douban netizen commented that Liu Guoliang’s plan for commercializing athletes is highly unprofessional—relying mainly on their personal charisma to attract attention. The most common criticism is that Liu and the Table Tennis Association should let professionals handle the professional work. Without a solid foundation for commercialization, the current focus on hype and marketing in Chinese table tennis may temporarily boost ticket sales but could ultimately backfire.

 

“Didn’t you say you want to crack down on fan culture?”

 

In response to the controversy surrounding the Chen vs. Sun match, the Beijing Daily published an article titled “How Can We Allow Fandom Violence to Disturb the World of Table Tennis?” The article addressed the growing problem of “fandom culture” infiltrating table tennis, a trend that originated in the entertainment world. It highlighted how extreme fan behavior, including online abuse and disruptive actions during matches, harms both the sport and the mental well-being of athletes. While fan enthusiasm is important, the article stressed that it must remain within rational limits.

This article foreshadowed actions taken shortly after. On August 7th, China’s Ministry of Public Security announced an online crackdown on chaotic sports-related fan circles. Social media platforms responded swiftly: Weibo deleted over 12,000 posts and banned more than 300 accounts, while Xiaohongshu, Bilibili, and Migu Video removed over 840,000 posts and banned or muted more than 5,300 accounts.

The campaign against fan culture sparked online debate. Some netizens criticized the official stance on “fandom” as overly simplistic. The Chinese term for “fandom,” 饭圈 (fànquān), contains a homophone for “fan,” referring to enthusiastic supporters of celebrities. In contemporary Chinese discourse, the term is often linked to the idol industry and carries negative, gender-biased connotations, particularly towards “irrational female fans chasing male idols.”

One Weibo post argued that commercialized sports, like football, are inherently tied to fan loyalty, belonging, and exclusivity. Disruptions among fans are not solely due to “fandom” but are often influenced by larger forces, such as capital or authorities. In the table tennis final, even the coaching team’s dissatisfaction with Chen Meng’s victory points to underlying problems beyond fan behavior.

While public backlash against “fandom” in sports often stems from concerns over its toxicity and violence, as blogger Yuyu noted, internal conflicts and power struggles have always existed in competitive sports. Framing these issues solely as “fandom problems” risks oversimplifying the situation and overlooks challenges such as commercialization failures, poor youth development, and internal factionalism within sports teams. The simplistic blame on “fandom culture” is seen by some as a distraction from these real issues, further fueling public frustration.

This public frustration is evident in a 2019 Weibo post and hashtag from People’s Daily. The five-year-old post personified China as a young male idol, promoting patriotism through fandom culture with the slogan “We all have an idol named ‘A Zhong’ (#我们都有一个爱豆名字叫阿中#)” [‘A Zhong’ was used as a nickname to refer to a personified China]. This promotion of ‘China’ as an idol with a 1.4 billion ‘fandom’ resurfaced during the Hong Kong protests.

Hashtag: “We all have an idol named Azhong” [nickname for China]

Now, after state media harshly criticized fandom culture, netizens have revisited the post, bringing it back into the spotlight. Recent comments on the post are filled with sarcasm, highlighting how fandom is apparently embraced when convenient and scapegoated when problems arise.

Post by People’s Daily promoting China as an “idol.”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to crack down on fan culture?” one commenter wondered.

Chen Meng, the Olympic table tennis champion, has also addressed the fan culture surrounding the 2024 Paris matches. She expressed her hope that, in the future, fans will focus more on the athletes’ “fighting spirit” on the field. True sports fans, she suggested, should be able to celebrate when their favorite athlete wins and accept it when they lose. “Because that’s precisely what competitive sports are all about,” she said.

By Ruixin Zhang

edited for clarity by Manya Koetse

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