China Brands, Marketing & Consumers
Hot Pot Paradise? This is China’s First 24/7 Digital Self-Service Hot Pot Supermarket
Chinese restaurant chain Wodi Hotpot (卧底火锅) is the new kid on the block in hot pot land. The start-up is China’s first digital self-service hot pot supermarket and restaurant. Combining China’s new digital trends with traditional tasty cuisine, Wodi is the typical post-1985 generation’s place to be.
Published
10 years agoon
WHAT’S ON WEIBO ARCHIVE | PREMIUM CONTENT ARTICLE
Chinese restaurant chain Wodi Hotpot (卧底火锅) is the new kid on the block in hot pot land. The start-up is China’s first digital self-service hot pot supermarket and restaurant. Combining China’s new digital trends with traditional tasty cuisine, Wodi is the typical post-1985 generation’s place to be. What’s on Weibo tried it out for you. [This is a premium content article.]
Hot pot cravings can come at any time. For those who want a tasty and affordable hot pot, whether it is in the wee hours of the morning or in the late hours of the night, there is a new popular Chinese 24-hour hot pot self-service supermarket & restaurant where digital is key.
It is not just its 24/7 opening hours and digital order-and-pay system that make this place special; their online-to-offline business model, supplier dynamics and revenue model all make Wodi Hot Pot (卧底火锅) a pioneering company in the wonderful world of Chinese hot pot.

‘Hot pot’ in Chinese is huǒguō (火锅), literally: ‘fire pot’. It has a history of over 1000 years, and it is generally agreed that the Chinese hotpot tradition must have come from Mongol warriors who camped outside and had dinner together circled around a pot on the fire. The idea is that while the hot pot brew is kept boiling, fresh ingredients are placed into the pot and are cooked at the table. Nowadays, hot pot tastes vary greatly across different regions in China, but what matters most is its enjoyment: sitting with friends and family around the boiling stew, sharing food, eating slowly, and talking.
The founder of Wodi, Qiu Xingxing (邱星星), once had the most delicious hotpots for 30 days straight in Chongqing and Sichuan. He then jokingly told his friend he would one day start his own hotpot restaurant. And it came true. The “digital self-service restaurant” Wodi Hot Pot first opened its doors to hot pot lovers in Beijing in January of 2016. The online platform of Wodi was established in October of 2015, with the offline supermarket/restaurant following a few months later.
Wodi’s Qiu Xingxing (see picture) is a post-1985 Chinese online entrepreneur who also co-founded the successful WOWO (55tuan.com), which is also known as ‘the Groupon of China’. Qiu is no stranger to e-commerce and its extreme potential; WOWO was the first Chinese company of its kind to be listed on the NASDAQ stock exchange in 2015.

In a way, Wodi is a typical Chinese post-1980 or post-1985 generation outlet. The post-1980s is a generation that is known for still valuing tradition but also being creative and innovative and not afraid to try out new things.
Wodi is described as a “Hot Pot Online to Offline Platform” (火锅O2O平台) by Chinese media, as its online business lies at the core of the company. On Weibo, Wodi calls itself “the world’s biggest online hotpot platform” (全球最大的互联网火锅平台), through which customers are driven to visit their offline stores. Wodi is well-known for its online food delivery services. Although ordering in hot pot is popular and convenient, going to the actual Wodi “offline restaurant” (线下门店) for some hot shopping and dining is far more exciting.
“It’s fu*king cheap!”
Dining at this new hot pot chain is not just a nice experience, it is also surprisingly affordable. “It’s fu*king cheap!” allegedly is a catchphrase often used by Wodi’s young customers, founder Qiu Xingxing tells Ebrun magazine.
So much to choose from in the Wodi Hotpot supermarket.
One of the main reasons the Wodi Hotpot supermarket is relatively inexpensive is because Qiu decided to drastically change the supplier/supermarket dynamics in the Wodi outlet. [blendlebutton] Instead of working with the typical distribution system, where supermarket owners purchase from food suppliers and then resell to customers at a (much) higher rate, Wodi lets suppliers directly sell their food to its consumers. Because there is no intermediary profit, the prices at Wodi are exceptionally low.
The supermarket has a wide selection of products, offering all kinds of hotpot ingredients, such as a variety of mushrooms, fish, tofu, thin-sliced beef, etc. Besides the classic hotpot ingredients, they also sell sodas, beer, candy and snacks, and even Wodi’s own hotpots to take home (32¥/±4,8US$), all priced at a much lower rate than other well-known hotpot places such as Haidilao (海底捞).
You’re probably wondering – if Wodi does not make much profit from the food it sells, then how do they make money? Enterpreneur Qiu has thought of a new business model for this to be able to provide customers with low-priced qualitative food while still having a profitable business.
“The world’s 2nd time-based hotpot restaurant.”
Wodi’s success formula lies in the original concept of the outlet, that has a supermarket area and a separate dining area. When you have purchased hotpot ingredients in the supermarket, you sit and eat in the Wodi restaurant at a hotpot table – which you rent for a time-based price.

The time-based costs vary on the size of the table and if it is peak hour or not. For a 2-4 person table during quiet hours, customers pay 5¥ (±0.75$) per 15 minutes or 20¥ (±3$) per hour. During the peak hours (17.30-22.30) this is 32¥ (±4.8$) per hour. For larger groups up to 8 people, quiets hours are rated at 40¥ (±6$) and busy hours at 60¥ (±9$). Private rooms are also available for 60¥ (±9$) and 80¥ (±12$).
By working with rentable hotpot tables, Qiu is a pioneer in his field. If you walk into the Wodi venue, a slogan on the wall reads “the world’s 2nd time-based hotpot restaurant” (“全国第二家按用餐时长收费的火锅”). When a journalist from the 36kr.com business news site asked founder Qiu where the world’s 1st time-based hotpot was based, he told them: “There is none. It is just that China’s advertising laws don’t allow companies to use the term ‘the first’/’number one’ (‘第一’), so we turned it into ‘the second’. Actually, we’re the first.”
The first Wodi restaurant in Beijing’s Chaoyang is over 1000 square meter and offers 206 seatings, with maximum table turnover possibilities since the place is opened 24 hours. The Wodi restaurant became popular and packed right after its opening.
“You just need to bring your mobile phone.”
Stepping into the Wodi near the Worker’s Stadium in Beijing, visitors are immediately directed towards the supermarket that has baskets and trolleys for people to put their hotpot food on. The first stop is the touch-screen ordering system for the kind of hotpot you want, which is where one employer gives us a Wodi card that we need to swipe when ordering.
There are multiple types of hotpot stew to choose from – from extremely spicy to non-spicy, from a tomato-base stew to a garlic-based one, or better: have a half/half one so that you can combine two flavors. Most of the stews are priced around 30-35¥ (±4.5-5US$).
Supermarket entrance.

Customers can select and order their favorite hot pot stews through touch screens.
After the order for the hotpot stew is completed, the shopping can begin. The supermarket offers a variety of fresh foods – some great mushrooms and vegetables, soft and hard tofu kinds, noodles, intestines, fish heads, octopus, shrimps, and more. Meat can be ordered and cut at the center counter.

The supermarket counter where an employee slices the meat for you.
Once you’ve collected all you want to eat (no worries, you can always hop back in and out to get more food and drinks), the food is scanned at the special Wodi check out counter, where again you swipe the card to “pay” for it.


Wodi’s supermarket checkout system.
Wodi has a great selection of different hotpot sauces that are all free. The most common one in Beijing is the plain majiang (sesame paste) dipping sauce, but there are many other options available at Wodi including ways to make your hotpot sauce more exciting by adding cilantro, garlic, chili, etc.


Once at the table, your ordered hotpot is prepared by the Wodi staff and hot potting can start. Except for the hot pot placement, Wodi is completely self-service as there are no employees who will serve you drinks or food. You will have to step back into the supermarket to get your own stuff, and cook your own food in the pot.


Wodi does all it can to make their customers as comfortable as possible to make them stay longer at the rented table. Tables have outlets to recharge mobile phones, there is free wifi, hair bands to keep the hair out of your face, and aprons to protect clothes from hotpot stains. In the meantime, the time for the table is counted by every 15 minutes you use it.
When food is finished and the bellies are full, it is time to pay. In a digital-focused store like Wodi, WeChat pay is the way to go, although there are other payment options available. As long as you have WeChat credit, “you just need to bring your mobile phone”, as my fellow hotpotters say, and you’re done. You give employees the Wodi card which you used for the supermarket and the table-time costs are added to it. For three persons spending multiple hours at Wodi eating and drinking, we spent a total of 240¥ (36US$)

For the true hotpot connoisseurs, Wodi might not be your hotpot heaven for its tastes are classic but not as refined as renowned hot pot restaurants in China. But for its price, quality, cleanliness, comfort, and above all, its no-nonsense, self-service, digital approach, Wodi is the place to go.
According to its founder, this is still the “1.0 phase” of Wodi, with the future “2.0 Wodi” offering customers more digital options and services. Keep an eye on this one – it might just be the hot pot paradise China’s digital-loving hot pot foodies have been waiting for.
– By Manya Koetse
Follow @WhatsOnWeibo
Wodi Hotpot Address:
Beijing, Chaoyang,
East Gongti Road 工体东路20号春平广场
1st Floor Chunping Plaza
Branch in Beijing, Wangjing
悠乐汇C座3楼359室
Youlehui C/Building 3, 359
©2016 Whatsonweibo. All rights reserved. Do not reproduce our content without permission – you can contact us at info@whatsonweibo.com.
[/blendlebutton]
Manya Koetse is a sinologist, writer, and public speaker specializing in China’s social trends, digital culture, and online media ecosystems. She founded What’s on Weibo in 2013 and now runs the Eye on Digital China newsletter. Learn more at manyakoetse.com or follow her on X, Instagram, or LinkedIn.
China Brands, Marketing & Consumers
Quack Like a Goose: Why Beijing Street Vendor “Auntie Goose Legs” Sparked a Nationwide Debate
After the first complaints surfaced, Auntie Goose Legs admitted the truth about her business: she ha been selling duck legs all along.
Published
1 month agoon
June 20, 2026
My premium newsletter covering the stories, memes, debates, and viral moments shaping online conversations in China. Subscribe here to receive future editions.
If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it might still be a goose – or the other way around. That, at least, is the takeaway from two stories that recently went viral on Chinese social media.
The woman at the center of it all is Beijing street-food vendor Chen Xiufeng (陈秀凤), better known as “Auntie Goose Legs” (鹅腿阿姨). Over the years, she became something of a local celebrity in Beijing’s university district. Originally from Jiangsu, the migrant vendor had been selling her famous roasted goose legs to students since 2011.
She skyrocketed to national fame in 2023 , but became the target of widespread criticism last week after it was revealed that her celebrated goose legs – sold for 16 yuan ($2.20) per piece – were actually duck meat all along.
The controversy came up after the vendor ventured beyond the university area into Beijing’s business district. At the universities, she enjoyed a loyal customer base and dedicated WeChat groups. In her new market, however, customers proved more skeptical. Some noticed that the meat looked suspiciously duck-like; others complained that the color seemed off.

In the university district, Auntie Goose Legs she enjoyed a loyal customer base and dedicated WeChat groups.
After the first complaints surfaced, Auntie Goose Legs admitted the truth on WeChat on June 9.
“The ingredients I originally used were goose legs,” she wrote, “but they have been out of stock for more than fifteen years. The current ingredient is duck legs.”
It turned out that she had only sold goose legs, the product that made her famous, for two months back in 2011 before switching to the much cheaper duck. “Did geese become extinct without us knowing?” some netizens joked.
The revelation quickly exploded online. The hashtag “What Auntie Goose Legs is Selling Turns Out to be Duck Legs” (#鹅腿阿姨卖的是鸭腿#) became the top trending on Weibo for an entire day, with millions of people discussing the topic.
Why did millions of people become so outraged over a single Beijing street vendor selling duck instead of goose?
Piggybacking on the debate, Anhui-based commentators pointed out that a beloved regional specialty has the exact opposite ‘problem.’ Wuwei smoked duck (无为板鸭) is branded as duck, but is usually goose. According to local standards, however, goose products may be sold under this name, prompting discussions about “hanging up a goat’s head, while selling dog meat“ (挂羊头卖狗肉): advertising one thing while selling another.
Because geese are more expensive than ducks in China, and generally considered tastier, the Anhui duck-is-goose story, unlike the Auntie Goose Legs controversy, did not provoke online anger. Instead, many people saw it as an example of sellers prioritizing flavor over cost. Auntie Goose Legs is seen as doing the exact opposite.
But why did millions of people actually become so outraged over a single Beijing street vendor selling duck instead of goose, especially when there were no indications that anyone became ill? The answer has little to do with poultry and everything to do with trust.

Auntie Goose Legs during the prime time in Beijing’s University District in late 2023 (image via Lianhe Zaobao 联合早报).
Food fraud and mislabeling have been longstanding concerns in China. Earlier surveys found that food safety worries even outweighed concerns about public security and environmental issues, and while China’s food safety record has improved in recent years, public trust remains fragile.
Part of these concerns are immediate and practical. Major scandals in the past involving melamine-tainted infant formula or recycled “gutter oil” have posed serious risks to public health. But the issue goes beyond health risks alone.
If a goose can be a duck, then what exactly is the duck?
Whereas food safety concerns in many Western countries often focus on contamination, Chinese consumers are frequently just as concerned with economic deception. It is unfair to pay for a more expensive goose and receive a duck. Even if no one gets sick, Chinese consumer law still treats it as fraud.
More important, however, is what such deception does to confidence in the broader food system. If a goose can be a duck, then what exactly is the duck?
As a major 2023 college canteen scandal demonstrated, the build-up of deceit can reach a breaking point among the public. During that somewhat Kafkaesque “rat head or duck neck” (鼠头or鸭脖”事件) controversy, officials insisted a rat head found in a student’s rice was merely a “duck neck,” even though everyone could clearly see the snout and teeth of a rodent.
This kind of gaslighting shatters social trust and reinforces a generalized sense that, as a consumer, you are entirely on your own. When regulators fail to step in honestly, even a seemingly isolated incident comes to symbolize more dangerous forms of systemic food fraud.
And this is where the Auntie Goose Legs story stings the most.
People did not come to her simply because her food was good. Over the years, she had become part of local student life, and she felt safe and authentic. Her pink scooter helmet, which she continued to wear while working, became an iconic symbol of her no-nonsense and humble image. Her success was built on word of mouth and, above all, on the trust her customers placed in her.
That this particular “auntie” deceived her customers by selling a different product than the one she advertised is no longer really about her. If duck is goose, goose is duck, and your local auntie has deceived you for years, then who can you trust anymore?
- Read more about how Auntie Goose Legs rose to fame in 2023 here.
By Manya Koetse
(follow on X, LinkedIn, or Instagram)
Spotted a mistake or want to add something? Please let us know in comments below or email us. First-time commenters, please be patient – we will have to manually approve your comment before it appears.
©2026 Eye on Digital China/Whatsonweibo. All rights reserved. Do not reproduce our content without permission – you can contact us at info@whatsonweibo.com.
Chapter Dive
My Mum Has Two Husbands: The OPPO Mother’s Day Fiasco and 7 Other Gender Marketing Fails in China
Inside OPPO’s Mother’s Day PR fiasco and other failed marketing campaigns in China’s gender minefield
Published
2 months agoon
May 12, 2026
The backlash to OPPO’s Mother’s Day ad came from multiple directions, from grassroots netizens to official organizations. Here’s a closer look at the controversy, along with 7 other cases that show how gender-related marketing has become a recurring minefield for brands in China.
Mother’s Day is over, but OPPO is still recovering. The Chinese smartphone brand went viral over the weekend for a Mother’s Day marketing campaign that failed spectacularly. In the campaign, OPPO used the slogan: “My mom has two ‘husbands.’”
The accompanying text read:
“My mom has two ‘husbands.’ One is my dad, and the other one she sees twice a year. She barely dresses up for dates with my dad, but when she sees the other one, she’d wear a wedding dress if she could.” (“我妈有两个‘老公’,一个是我爸,另一个一年见两回。跟我爸约会基本不打扮,见另一个,她恨不得穿婚纱。”)

The OPPO ad was published online on May 8, 2026.
With this ad, OPPO was likely trying to tap into digital culture and resonate with younger consumers by using online slang.
In Chinese fandom subcultures, female fans sometimes refer to their idols as their “husband” (老公, lǎogōng) to express their devotion. It is part of a broader online joke, with some fans even incorporating life-size cardboard cutouts of their favorite celebrities into their weddings.

The phrase “real husband” (真老公) gained wider mainstream attention in late 2025 after a young Chinese bride unexpectedly ran into rapper and singer Jackson Wang on her wedding day and posted:
💬 “Who understands this? I met my real husband on my wedding day!” (“谁懂啊!婚礼当天遇到了真老公!!”)

The ‘real husband’ post that went viral in late 2025 and early 2026.
Although some commenters found it funny, the bride was heavily criticized for publicly calling a celebrity her “real husband” on her wedding day, using the same word (老公) that refers to her literal spouse, as if she were placing her idol above her actual groom.
💬 “This makes it seem as though she does not truly regard the man she is legally marrying as her husband at all,” one among many commenters wrote.
While OPPO was probably aiming for a tongue-in-cheek campaign featuring an energetic and youthful mother who adores her idol, the company appears to have badly misread the room.
After the ad was posted on Weibo and other social media channels ahead of Mother’s Day, backlash quickly followed.
Many netizens were confused and did not understand the reference to fan culture. Some said they were simply “baffled” by what they saw as an inappropriate message suggesting that mom was cheating—and on Mother’s Day, no less!
💬 “Without reading the comments, I thought the ad was saying the mother was cheating and didn’t love her husband, but had a side lover she was crazy about,” one Xiaohongshu commenter wrote.
Others asked whether the creators would have been willing to run a similar Father’s Day campaign with the line: “My dad has two wives.”
Fan culture remains far removed from the everyday experience of many ordinary Chinese netizens, creating not just a gender divide but also a generational and social one.
Even when people understand that an “idol husband” is purely fictional, the term 老公 (lǎogōng) still carries the literal meaning of “husband” and implies emotional devotion to someone outside the marriage. For some, that feels disrespectful.
Many also questioned the contrast at the heart of the campaign: why does mum barely dress up for dates with her husband, yet would supposedly wear a wedding dress to see a celebrity?
Others believe celebrity fandom in China has already gone too far, and felt that using this language in a mainstream advertising campaign was especially misplaced.
As one marketing commentator on Xiaohongshu Cathy聊品牌热点) put it, OPPO had managed to offend almost every relevant audience: male consumers who saw the ad as disrespectful to husbands, fandom communities who did not want their inside jokes dragged into mainstream advertising, women who support gender equality, and many others who hold strong views about traditional family values.
Emotional Infidelity as a Form of Female Self-Expression
The brand quickly took the campaign offline and apologized. But in their initial apology post, OPPO explained that it had merely intended to challenge gender stereotypes and present a “more diverse and multi-dimensional image of today’s mothers,” women who can enjoy celebrity fandoms and pursue hobbies beyond their roles as wives and mothers.
OPPO’s first apology: “Our original intention was to break stereotypes and present a more diverse and multi-dimensional image of today’s mothers.”
That explanation sparked another wave of criticism, with many arguing that OPPO had completely missed the point. Few people objected to the idea that mothers can have celebrity idols or personal passions. What many found problematic was the suggestion of romantic involvement outside the marriage.
One Weibo commenter (@甲申鬼友), who called the entire episode a “PR disaster”, suggested that the problem was that OPPO framed emotional infidelity as a form of female self-expression.
They wrote:
💬 “The controversial slogan “My mom has two husbands” was not about challenging stereotypes about mothers. Instead, it glorified the tacky behavior of a married woman calling a celebrity “husband” and wanting to wear a wedding dress to see him, presenting it as a form of female self-expression. Implicitly, it suggested that a real husband should unconditionally accept his wife’s “emotional infidelity.” (…). The message conveyed by the campaign was clear enough: it alienated men and mothers who still value loyalty and commitment in relationships.”
It soon became clear that OPPO’s handling of the issue was turning into a bigger problem than the ad itself.
As netizens continued to criticize the campaign, the controversy was amplified by blogs, mainstream media, and state-affiliated organizations.
The China Advertising Association (CAA), the country’s leading advertising body operating under state supervision, weighed in, along with the All-China Women’s Federation (ACWF), China’s main state-linked women’s organization.
Both organizations echoed familiar Party messaging, criticizing marketing that crosses the boundaries of public morality, deviates from core socialist values, violates traditional family ethics, or “misleads the public, especially young people, about social values.”
As the controversy escalated, attention also turned to OPPO’s China region brand strategy director, Yu Siyue (余思月), a graduate of Wuhan University’s School of Chinese Language and Literature.
The university itself then entered the discussion by posting a statement on Weibo saying it was “shocked” by the campaign. It said it “strongly disagrees with the content (..) and the values conveyed,” distancing itself from both the campaign and its alumna. (In a detail I found unintentionally amusing, the statement also noted that Yu had once been praised for helping an elderly passenger on a bus.)
Wuhan University itself was also criticized for inserting itself into a controversy that had little to do with the university. Chinese media outlet Yicai asked: “Who forced Wuhan University into this disastrous move?” Even political commentator Hu Xijin called the statement an overreaction and a sign of “public opinion anxiety syndrome” (舆情焦虑症).
In the end, OPPO apologizedc a second time on Monday, this time stating that both the campaign and its initial response reflected serious shortcomings in the company’s values and judgment. The company said it had lost sight of “upholding the boundaries of China’s core socialist values.”
OPPO said the incident had led to disciplinary measures against those responsible, and the company promised it would ensure that future campaigns better align with “mainstream values.”
Lessons to Be Learned
There are a few things to be learned from OPPO’s PR nightmare:
🔍 1. Marketing fails are often about the response
Once a marketing controversy breaks out, the company’s response often matters more than the original mistake. If the response fails to address the actual criticism, the fallout can become much worse than the initial problem.
🔍 2. In China, PR controversies quickly become political issues
In China, public relations is inherently political. What begins as criticism from netizens can quickly be amplified by state media and official organizations. In the process, a relatively minor marketing controversy can be reframed as a broader debate about morality and family values. Once that happens, the issue is no longer just about a poorly judged advertisement but becomes a tool for boosting official narratives and reinforcing broader Party priorities.
🔍 3. In China’s cancel culture, everyone rushes to distance themselves
Chinese online backlash can be intense and unforgiving. Once a controversy takes off, everyone rushes to distance themselves from it. The fact that OPPO’s brand director became a target, and that even Wuhan University felt compelled to issue a public statement, illustrates this dynamic. At the same time, such overreactions can backfire, especially when an organization emphasizes that it is “not involved” by publicly engaging in the controversy. Sometimes, silence really is golden.
🔍 4. Gender-related marketing in China is a minefield
This episode is another reminder of how difficult it can be for brands to engage with gender-related themes in China. Companies eager to appear youthful and relatable may underestimate just how sensitive these issues are, and how quickly a seemingly playful campaign can turn into a major controversy.
Not Just OPPO: When Gender-Related Marketing Goes Wrong
OPPO is far from alone.
In recent years, language, jokes, and messaging related to gender, feminism, and male-female relationships have become some of the most sensitive issues in Chinese advertising.
In a rapidly changing China, gender roles are evolving, identities are shifting, and ideas about what is considered feminine or masculine are increasingly contested.
Expectations around what female consumers want and what male consumers value are also in flux. Younger and older generations, and especially male and female netizens, often disagree about what is socially acceptable amid women’s growing assertiveness, persistent patriarchal attitudes, and changing global trends.
For advertisers and creative directors, this creates a particularly difficult environment. Brands are trying to tap into consumers’ purchasing power and keep up with shifting social norms, while also staying within the bounds of official values and political priorities. As a result, it is easy to misread the mood and miss the mark.
Campaigns can inadvertently reinforce traditional gender hierarchies, sexualize women, portray men in ways that spark backlash, or rely on outdated stereotypes.
And, as the OPPO case shows, even campaigns that genuinely aim to challenge stereotypes can end up provoking criticism instead.
Below are seven other examples of brand campaigns in China that backfired over the past decade.
💥 #1 Blue Moon: Mother’s Day Marketing Backfires
Marketing campaign (2024): “Let Mom Do the Laundry More Easily”
Main problem: Reinforcing outdated gender stereotypes

China’s household cleaning giant Blue Moon (蓝月亮) also found itself at the center of a marketing controversy after a 2024 Mother’s Day elevator ad campaign promoting its premium laundry detergent with the slogans “Let mom do the laundry more easily” (“让妈妈洗衣更轻松”) and “Mom, you use it first” (“妈妈您先用”).
Many users objected to the message, arguing that it portrayed doing laundry as something that naturally belongs to mothers and reinforced traditional gender stereotypes. As part of a Mother’s Day campaign, critics said the messaging was particularly inappropriate.
As in OPPO’s case, Blue Moon’s crisis management made matters worse. The company’s initial response suggested the controversy was merely a “misunderstanding” and said the campaign was intended to express gratitude to mothers. Many netizens disagreed, arguing that Mother’s Day and mothers doing the laundry had nothing to do with each other.
💥 #2 Fuyanjie: “Too Dark and Stinky”
Marketing campaign (2022): “83% of men are unwilling to go down on their partner because it’s too dark and stinky”
Main problem: Straightforwardly sexist

In 2022, the well-known Chinese feminine hygiene brand Fuyanjie (妇炎洁) promoted a pink-colored intimate wash by claiming that “surveys show that 83% of men from South Korea, Japan, and China are unwilling to go down on their partner because it’s too dark and stinky” (“中日韩三国社会调查显示:83%的男性不愿意给伴侣口爱的原因竟然是太黑太难闻下不去嘴”).
Besides promising to make the genital area pinker, the campaign also suggested that hyperpigmentation could be caused by wearing tight pants and having too much sex.
The brand drew widespread criticism for being vulgar, insulting to women, and completely unscientific. Some netizens suggested that the ad makers should focus on turning their own penises pink instead.
Fuyanjie apologized and took both the campaign and the product offline.
(Remarkably, this was the brand’s second major controversy. In 2016, one of its intimate wash products carried the slogan: “I can’t wash away your past, but I can wash your future clean” (“我不能洗掉你的过去,但我能洗干净你的未来”), a line widely criticized as slut-shaming.)
💥 #3 Coconut Palm: Big Boobs, Short Skirts, and a Marketing Strategy Built on Controversy
Marketing campaign (2022): Busty women in tight tops and shorts dancing on livestream
Main problem: Objectification of women & crossing official lines

During China’s National Day holiday in the 2022 Covid & livestream year, Chinese coconut drink brand Coconut Palm (椰树椰汁) found itself at the center of controversy over a series of promotional streams on Douyin.
The company had already been fined twice by authorities for advertisements and packaging suggesting that drinking Coconut Palm could promote breast enlargement.
The 2022 livestreams featured several attractive, busty women in tight tops and short shorts dancing in front of the camera. The broadcasts drew even more attention when they were repeatedly interrupted and cut off by the platform.
There was little new about the campaign. Coconut Palm’s marketing has revolved around voluptuous women and sexually suggestive slogans for more than 25 years.
One of the company’s most famous slogans was “I’ve been drinking it since I was little” (“我从小喝到大”). While literally meaning “I’ve been drinking it since childhood,” the phrase can also be interpreted as “I grew big [breasts] by drinking it.”
The livestreams reignited debate on Chinese social media about the objectification of women in advertising and online culture. Coconut Palm is the only example on this list where controversy appears to be a core part of the brand’s marketing strategy. And while regulators have repeatedly taken issue with its approach, many consumers seem to appreciate the brand precisely for its refusal to change.
💥 #4 Ubras: “Underwear That Helps Women Win in the Workplace”
Marketing campaign (2021): Underwear so comfortable that it can “help women lie down and win in the workplace”
Main problem: Sexist and offensive

Popular talk show host and comedian Li Dan (李诞) sparked controversy on Chinese social media in 2021 over a promotional slogan for the Chinese women’s underwear brand Ubras. Their slogan (“让女性轻松躺赢职场”) can be loosely translated as “make it easy for women to win in the workplace lying down.”
The phrase was widely interpreted as suggesting that women could use their bodies or sexuality to gain an advantage at work. According to the brand, the intended message was simply that Ubras bras are so comfortable that women could “lie down and win.” The full slogan was: “一个让女性躺赢职场的装备” — “equipment that helps women lie down and win in the workplace.”
Many people felt it was inappropriate not only for a male celebrity to promote women’s underwear, but also for the campaign to draw a connection between lingerie and workplace success.
Ubras and Li Dan both apologized for the “inappropriate wording,” and all related promotional content was removed.
💥 #5 Intel: When a Brand Ambassador Becomes the Controversy
Marketing campaign (2021): “Intel’s standards are even higher than mine when choosing a partner”
Main problem: Caught in China’s gender wars

Tech company Intel sparked controversy in 2021 by appointing Chinese comedian Yang Li (杨笠) as a brand ambassador in China. Yang Li had become a polarizing figure because of her jokes about men, including her famous line: “Men are adorable, but mysterious. After all, they can look so average and yet be so full of confidence.”
In Intel’s campaign, Yang said: “Intel’s standards are so high — even higher than mine when choosing a partner.” (“英特尔的眼光太高了,比我挑对象的眼光都高。”)
The line itself was relatively harmless. What triggered the backlash was Yang’s public persona.
Some male netizens accused Yang of being sexist and argued that Intel, a company selling laptops and computer chips, should not be represented by a comedian known for mocking men — especially when men were seen as a key target audience.
Intel subsequently deleted the advertisement from its social media channels and ended its collaboration with Yang Li.
That decision, however, sparked a second wave of criticism. Many female netizens accused Intel of caving to online pressure and asked what had happened to the company’s commitment to diversity and inclusion. Others mocked Intel for changing its marketing strategy to appease China’s “ordinary yet confident” men.
💥 #6 Juewei Duck Neck: “Tender, Juicy — Want Some?”
Marketing campaign (2017): Sexually suggestive Singles’ Day poster
Main problem: Vulgar and objectifying

Ahead of the 2017 Singles’ Day shopping festival, Chinese snack chain Juewei Duck Neck (绝味鸭脖), one of China’s largest duck neck and marinated meat brands, published a promotional poster on its Tmall store showing a cartoon woman in short shorts lying on a bed with chains around her ankles and her legs spread apart, with one of the company’s products placed in front of her.
The slogan read: “Tender, juicy — want some?” (“鲜嫩多汁,想要吗”). The sexually suggestive image triggered immediate controversy and widespread criticism.
Juewei Duck Neck later issued a nationwide apology, and both the company and the advertising agency responsible for the campaign were fined 600,000 yuan (approximately US$88,000) each.
💥 #7 IKEA: “If You Don’t Bring Back a Boyfriend, Don’t Call Me Mom”
Marketing campaign (2017): Turning parental pressure to marry into a lifestyle ad Main problem: Reinforcing social pressure on unmarried women

A 30-second IKEA commercial sparked controversy in China in 2017 for portraying parental pressure on an unmarried daughter to find a boyfriend.
In the ad, a mother tells her daughter at the dinner table: “If you don’t bring back a boyfriend next time, then don’t call me Mom.” (“再不带男朋友回来,就别叫我妈,”)
The doorbell then rings, and a young man holding flowers appears. The parents immediately brighten, make the living room more welcoming, and set out IKEA tableware for a celebratory meal. The tagline reads: “Celebrate everyday life easily” (“轻松庆祝每一天”).
The ad drew widespread criticism, especially because it aired at a time when many women in China were pushing back against intense social pressure to marry by a certain age. Critics argued that IKEA was trivializing this while reinforcing outdated expectations about marriage and filial duty.
IKEA apologized and removed the commercial.\
Eye on Digital China, by Manya Koetse, is co-published on Substack and What’s on Weibo. Both feature the same new content — so you can read and subscribe wherever you prefer. Substack offers community features, while What’s on Weibo provides full archive access.
Subscribe
Eye on Digital China is a reader-supported publication by
Manya Koetse (@manyapan) and powered by What’s on Weibo.
It offers independent analysis of China’s online culture, media, and social trends.
To receive the newsletter and support this work, consider
becoming a paid subscriber.

Get in touch
Have a tip, story lead, or book recommendation? Interested in contributing? For ideas, suggestions, or just a quick hello, reach out here.
“God Won’t Save Us, but the PLA Will”: Floods, Faith, and Kung Fu Soccer Nostalgia
“Even Pigs Have AC”: The European Heatwave Through Chinese Eyes
China’s CITIC Tower Crash: The Story That Never Trended
Quack Like a Goose: Why Beijing Street Vendor “Auntie Goose Legs” Sparked a Nationwide Debate
Auntie Goose Legs, China’s Shrinking Condom Market, and DeepSeek’s AI Blind Spot
Comrade Trump Returns: The 2026 Trump–Xi Summit on Chinese Social Media
My Mum Has Two Husbands: The OPPO Mother’s Day Fiasco and 7 Other Gender Marketing Fails in China
The AI Actor Debate, Tragedy in China’s “Fireworks Capital,” and the Viral Labubu Fridge
Auntie Goose Legs, China’s Shrinking Condom Market, and DeepSeek’s AI Blind Spot
China’s CITIC Tower Crash: The Story That Never Trended
Popular Reads
-
China Insight12 months ago“Jiangyou Bullying Incident”: From Online Outrage to Offline Protest
-
China Arts & Entertainment10 months agoThe Wong Kar-wai Scandal Explained: The Dark Side of ‘Blossoms Shanghai’
-
Chinese New Year5 months agoInside Chunwan 2026: China’s Spring Festival Gala
-
China Society11 months agoThe Rising Online Movement for Smoke-Free Public Spaces in China
