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Chapter Dive

Inside the Labubu Craze and the Globalization of Chinese Designer Toys

Labubu is not ‘Chinese’ at all—and at the same time, it is very much a product of present-day China.

Manya Koetse

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Labubu – the hottest toy of 2025 – is making headlines everywhere these days. The little creature is all over TikTok, and from New York to Bangkok and Dubai, people are lining up for hours to get their hands on the popular keyring doll.

In the UK, the Labubu hype has gone so far that its maker temporarily pulled the toys from all of its stores for “safety reasons,” following reports of customers fighting over them. In the Netherlands, the sole store where fans can buy the toys also had to hire extra security to manage the crowds, and Chinese customs authorities have intensified their efforts to prevent the dolls from being smuggled out of the country.

While the Labubu craze had slightly cooled in China compared to its initial peak, the character remains hugely popular and surged back into the top trending charts with the launch of POP MART’s Labubu 3.0 series in late April 2025 (which instantly sold out).

Following the global popularity of the Chinese game Black Myth: Wukong, state media are citing Labubu as another example of a successful Chinese cultural export—calling it ‘a benchmark for China’s pop culture’ and viewing its success as a sign of the globalization of Chinese designer toys.

But how ‘Chinese’ is Labubu, really? Here’s a closer look at its cultural identity and the story behind the trend.

 

The Journey to Labubu

 

In the perhaps unlikely case you have never heard of Labubu, I’ll explain: it’s a keyring toy with a naughty and, frankly, somewhat bizarre face and gremlin-like appearance that comes in various colors and variations. It’s mainly loved by young (Gen Z) women, who like to hang the toys on their bags or just keep them as collectibles.

The figurine is based on a character created by renowned Hong Kong-born artist Kasing Lung (龍家昇/龙家升, born 1972), whose work is inspired by Nordic legends of elves.

Kasung Lung, image via Bangkok Post.

Lung’s story is quite inspirational, and very international.

As a child, Lung immigrated to the Netherlands with his parents. Struggling to learn Dutch, young Kasing was given plenty of picture books. The picture books weren’t just a way to connect with his new environment, it also sparked a lifelong love for illustration.

Among Kasing’s favorite books were Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak and those by Edward Gorey — all full of fantasy, with some scary elements and artistic quality.

Later, as his Dutch improved, Kasing became an avid reader and turned into a true bookworm. The many fantasy novels and legendary tales he devoured planted the seed for creating his own world of elves and mythical creatures.

Kasing as a young boy on the right, and one of his children’s illustration books on the left.

After initially returning to Hong Kong in the 1990s, Lung later moved back to the Netherlands and eventually settled in Belgium.

Following a journey of many rejections and persistence, he began publishing his own illustrations and picture books for the European market.

Image via Sina.

In 2010, Hong Kong toy brand How2work’s Howard Lee reached out to Lung. One of How2work’s missions is cultivating creative talent and supporting the Hong Kong art scene. Lee invited Kasung to turn his illustrations into 3D, collectible figurines. Kasung, a collector of Playmobil figures since childhood, agreed to the collaboration for the sake of curiosity and creativity.

Lung’s partnership with How2work marked a transition to toy designer, although Lung also continued to stay active as an illustrator. Besides his own “Max is moe” (Max is tired) picture book, he also did illustrations for a series by renowned Belgian author Brigitte Minne (Lizzy leert zwemmen, Lizzy leert dansen).

A few years later, Lung introduced what would become known as The Monsters Trilogy: a fantasy universe populated by elf-like creatures. Much like The Smurfs, the Monsters formed a tribe of distinct characters, each with their own personalities and traits, led by a tribal leader named Zimomo.

With its quirky appearance, sharp teeth, and mischievous grin, Labubu stood out as one of the long-eared elves.

 

When Labubu Met POPMART

 

Although the Labubu character has been around since 2015, it took some time to gain fame. It wasn’t until Labubu became part of POP MART’s (泡泡玛特) toy lineup in 2019 that it began reaching a mass audience.

POP MART is a Chinese company specializing in artsy toys, figurines, and trendy, pop culture-inspired goods. Founded in 2010 by a then college student, the brand launched with a mission to “light up passion and bring joy,” with a particular focus on young female consumers (15-30 age group) (Wang 2023).

One of POP MART’s most iconic art toy characters—and its first major commercial success—is Molly, designed by Hong Kong artist Kenny Wong in collaboration with How2work.

Prices vary depending on the toy, but small figurines start as low as 34 RMB (about US$5), while collectibles can go as high as 5,999 yuan (US$835). Resellers often charge significantly more.

Pop Mart and its first major commercial success: Molly (source).

POP MART is more than just a store, it’s an operational platform that covers the entire chain of trendy toys, from product development to retail and marketing (Liu 2025).

Within a decade of opening it first store in Beijing, POP MART experienced explosive growth, expanded globally, and was listed on the Hong Kong Stock Exchange.

The enormous success of POP MART has been the subject of countless marketing studies, drawing various conclusions about how the company managed to hit such a cultural and commercial sweet spot beyond its mere focus on female Gen Z consumers.

🎁 Gamifying consumption | One common conclusion about the success of POP MART, is that it offers more than just products—it offers an experience. At the heart of the brand is its signature blind box model, where customers purchase mystery boxes from specific product lines without knowing which item is inside. Those who are lucky enough will unpack a special ‘hidden edition.’ Originating in Japanese capsule toy culture, this element of surprise gamifies the shopping experience, makes it more shareable on social media, and fuels the desire to complete collections or hunt for rare figures through repeat purchases.

🌍 Creating a POP MART universe | Although POP MART has partnerships with major international brands such as Disney, Marvel, and Snoopy, it places a strong focus on developing its own intellectual property (IP) toys and figurines. In doing so, POP MART has created a universe of original characters, giving them a life beyond the store through things like collaborations, art shows and exhibitions, and even its own theme park in Beijing.

💖 Emotional consumption | What makes POP MART particularly irresistible to so many consumers is the emotional appeal of its toys and collectibles. It taps into nostalgia, cuteness, and aesthetic charm. The toys become companions, either as a desktop buddy or travel buddy. Much of the toys’ value lies in their role as social currency, driven by hype, emotional gratification, and a sense of social bonding and identity (Ge 2024).

The man behind POP MART and its strategy is founder and CEO Wang Ning (王宁), a former street dance champion (!) and passionate entrepreneur with a clear vision for the company. He consistently aims to discover the next iconic design, something that could actually rival Mickey Mouse or Hello Kitty.

In past interviews, Wang has discussed how consumer values are gradually shifting. The rise of niche toys into the mainstream, he says, reflects this transformation. Platforms like Douyin, China’s strong e-commerce infrastructure, and the digital era more broadly have all contributed to changing attitudes, where people are increasingly buying not for utility, but for the sake of happy moments.

While Wang Ning dreams of a more joyful world, he also knows how to make money (with a net worth of $20.3 billion USD, it was actually just announced that he’s Henan’s richest person now)—every new artist and toy design under POP MART is carefully researched and strategically evaluated before being signed.

Labubu’s journey before its POP MART partnership had already shown its appeal: Kasing Lung and How2Work had built a small but loyal fanbase pre-2019. But it was through the power of POP MART that Labubu really reached global fame.

 

Labubu: Most Wanted

 

Riding the wave of POP MART’s global expansion, Labubu became a breakout success, eventually evolving into a global phenomenon and cultural icon.

Now, celebrities around the world are flaunting their Labubus, further fueling the hype—from K-pop star Lisa Manobal to Thai Princess Sirivannavari and Barbadian singer Rihanna.

In China, one of the most-discussed topics on social media recently is the staggering resale price of the Labubu dolls.

Third edition of the beloved Labubu series titled “Big into energy” (Image via Pop Mart Hong Kong).

“The 99 yuan [$13.75] Labubu blind box is being hyped up to 2,600 yuan [$360]” (#99元Labubu隐藏款被炒至2600元#), Fengmian News recently reported.

Labubu collaborations and limited editions are even more expensive. Some, like the Labubu x Vans edition, originally retailed for 599 yuan ($83) and are now listed for as much as 14,800 yuan ($2,055).

Recently, Taiwanese singer and actor Jiro Wang (汪东城) posted a video venting his frustration over scalpers buying up all the Labubus and reselling them at outrageous prices. “It’s infuriating!” he said. “I can’t even buy one myself!” (#汪东城批Labubu黄牛是恶人#).

One Weibo hashtag asks: “Who is actually buying these expensive Labubus?” (#几千块的Labubu到底谁在买#).

Turns out—many people are.

Not only is Labubu adored and collected by millions, an entire subculture has emerged around the toy. Especially in China, where Labubu was famous before, the monster is now entering a new phase: playful customization. Fans are using the toy as a canvas to tell new stories and deepen their emotional connection, transforming Labubu from a collectible into a DIY project.

Labubu getting braces and net outfits – evolving from collectible to DIY project.

There’s a growing trend of dressing Labubu in designer couture or dynastic costumes (Taobao offers a wide array of outfits), but fans are going further—customizing flower headbands, adorning their dolls with tooth gems, or even giving them orthodontic braces for their famously crooked teeth (#labubu牙套#).

In online communities, some fans have gone as far as creating dedicated generative AI agents for Labubu, allowing others to generate images of the character in various outfits, environments, and scenarios.

Labubu AI by Mewpie.

It’s no longer just the POP MART universe—it’s the Labubu universe now.

 

“Culturally Odorless”

 

So, how ‘Chinese’ is Labubu really? Actually, Labubu is not ‘Chinese’ at all—and at the same time, it is very much a product of present-day China.

🌍 Not Chinese at all

Like other famous IP characters, from the Dutch Miffy to Japan’s Pikachu and Hello Kitty, Labubu is “culturally odorless,” a term used to refer to how cultural features of the country of invention are absent from the product itself.

The term was coined by Japanese scholar Koichi Iwabuchi to describe how Japanese media products—particularly in animation—are designed or marketed to minimize identifiable Japanese cultural traits. This erasure of “Japaneseness” helped anime (from Astro Boy to Super Mario and Pokémon) become a globally appealing and commercially successful cultural export, especially in post-WWII America and beyond.

Moreover, by avoiding culturally or nationally specific traits, these creations are placed in a kind of fantasy realm, detached from real-world identities. Somewhat ironically, it is precisely this neutrality that has made Japanese IPs so distinctively recognizable as “Japanese” (Du 2019, 15).

Many Labubu fans probably also don’t see the toy as “Chinese” at all—there are no obvious cultural references in its design. Its style and fantasy feel are arguably closer to Japanese anime than anything tied to Chinese identity.

When a Weibo blogger recently argued that Labubu’s international rise represents a more powerful example of soft power than DeepSeek, one popular reply asked: “But what’s Chinese about it?”

🇨🇳 Actually very Chinese

Yet, Labubu is undeniably a product of today’s China—not necessarily because of Kasing Lung (Hong Kong/Dutch/Belgian) or How2work (Hong Kong), but because of the Beijing-based POP MART.

Wang Ning’s POP MART is a true product of its time, inspired by and aligned with China’s new wave of digital startups. From Bytedance to Xiaohongshu and Bilibili, many of China’s most innovative companies move beyond horizontal product offerings or traditional service goals. Instead, they think vertically and break out of the box—evolving into entire ecosystems of their own. (Fun fact: the entrepreneurs behind these companies were all born in the 1980s, between 1983 and 1989).

In that sense, state media like People’s Daily calling Labubu “a benchmark of China’s pop culture” isn’t off the mark.

Still, some marketing critics argue there’s room for more ‘Chineseness’ in Labubu and POP MART’s brand-building strategies—particularly through collections inspired by Chinese heritage, which could further promote national culture on the global stage (Wang 2023).

Meanwhile, Chinese official channels have already begun positioning Labubu as a cultural ambassador. In the summer of 2024, a life-sized Labubu doll embarked on a four-day tour of Thailand to celebrate the 50th anniversary of China–Thailand diplomatic relations.

The life-sized mascot of a popular Chinese toy character, Labubu, visited Bangkok landmarks and was named “Amazing Thailand Experience Explorer” to boost Chinese tourism. Photo Credit: Facebook/Pop Mart, via TrvelWeekly Asia.

In the future, Labubu, just like Hello Kitty in Japan, is likely to become the face of more campaigns promoting tourism and cross-cultural exchange.

Whatever happens next, it’s undeniable that Labubu stands at the forefront of a breakthrough moment for Chinese designer toys in the global market, and, from that position, serves as a unique ambassador for a new wave of Chinese creative exports that resonate with international audiences.

For now, most Labubu fans, however, don’t care about all of that – they are still on the hunt for the next little monster, and that’s enough to keep the Labubu hype burning.🔥

By Manya Koetse

(follow on X, LinkedIn, or Instagram)

 

References (other sources included in hyperlinks)

• Du, Daisy Yan. 2019. Animated Encounters: Transnational Movements of Chinese Animation, 1940-1970s. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press.

• Ge, Tongyu. 2024. “The Role of Emotional Value of Goods in Guiding Consumer Behaviour: A Case Study Based on Pop Mart.” Proceedings of the 5th International Conference on Education Innovation and Philosophical Inquiries. DOI: 10.54254/2753-7048/54/20241623.

• Liu, Enyong. 2025. “Analysis of Marketing Strategies of POP MART,” Proceedings of the 3rd International Conference on Financial Technology and Business Analysis DOI: 10.54254/2754-1169/149/2024.19257.

• Wang, Zitao. 2023. “A Case Study of POP MART Marketing Strategy.” Proceedings of the 2023 International Conference on Management Research and Economic Development. DOI: 10.54254/2754-1169/20/20230168.

 

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.

©2025 Whatsonweibo. All rights reserved. Do not reproduce our content without permission – you can contact us at info@whatsonweibo.com.

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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.

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1 Comment

1 Comment

  1. fred dijs

    June 15, 2025 at 6:31 am

    het wordt een beetje flauw… maar laat ik het zo zeggen… ik heb aan dit stuk, denk ik, ik vergat de tijd, een uur of zo besteed… doorklikken, en weer doorklikken, het een en ander opzoeken, en ja, dan kom je toch in hong kong, vlaanderenland, chicago, utrecht, sidney, macao, het verenigd koninkrijk, de olieslagersteeg, japan, thailand, korea, leidschendam, ben ik iets vergeten? ik weet niet, hoor, maar dat maak ik niet alle dagen mee, enkel op goede dagen… echt een groot plezier op de vroege zondagochtend…

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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.

Manya Koetse

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🔥 Originally published in Eye on Digital China.
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.

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Chapter Dive

“Going to Town to Handle Business”: How Adidas Went from Hated in China to a Chinamaxxing Brand

Why has Adidas regained cultural relevance in China while Nike is struggling despite its global strength?

Manya Koetse

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🔥 Originally published in Eye on Digital China.
My premium newsletter covering the stories, memes, debates, and viral moments shaping online conversations in China. Subscribe here to receive future editions.

A viral meme about “going to town to handle business” helped Adidas pull off one of the most successful brand turnarounds in China—and highlights why Nike is struggling to keep up.

Just five years ago, Adidas was one of the most criticized foreign brands in China. Now, it seems to have become one of the most celebrated. Ironically, the brand’s biggest success in China yet started with a mistake it made last month.

In 2021, Adidas – along with Nike and other foreign brands – faced severe backlash and boycotts in China for participating in the Better Cotton Initiative (BCI) move to stop sourcing cotton from the Xinjiang region, which Chinese consumers viewed as a hostile anti-Chinese political stance (and was framed that way by state media and official channels).

Chinese livestreamers for the brands were scolded online, Adidas employees were brought to tears, and stores across the country saw their sales drop. People began posting videos of themselves burning their Nike Air Jordans on Weibo. For the brands involved, it became a marketing nightmare.

Screenshot of SCMP report about the Nike sneakers being burnt, Adidas employees facing backlash back in 2021.

But now, Adidas has managed to completely turn its image around in mainland China, where it is being praised for its top-of-game PR skills.

 

Adidas: Heading to Town to Take Care of Business

 

Over the past few years, Adidas has increasingly embraced “New Chinese Style” (新中式), a design direction that blends Chinese aesthetics with contemporary fashion. The October 2025 launch of its “Chinese New Year Jacket”—combining tang suit-inspired elements with classic Adidas sportswear—became a huge hit, not just in China but globally.

The Adidas Chinese New Year collection became a huge hit in 2025. On the left: American influencer Hasan Piker wearing the jacket while visiting Tiananmen Square in Beijing.

 

But that was only the beginning of Adidas’s social media success in China.

In late May, some netizens spotted a machine-translated text on the Adidas website that immediately went viral for its unintentional humor.

A jacket promoted in English with the unremarkable phrase “pair it with jeans for errands around town“ appeared on the Chinese website as the clunky “pair it with jeans to handle business in the city“ (搭配牛仔裤,在城里办事 zài chénglǐ bàn shì).

The original English text and the clunky machine translation on the right.

More than a simple mistake, it was a cultural mistranslation. Running some errands is not the same as 办事 bàn shì in Chinese, which is more formal, bureaucratic language for handling affairs, such as going to the bank, notary, or police station—not a quick run to buy some eggs and milk.

For many Chinese netizens, the phrase evoked an image of an old villager cycling into the county town for official business, all while wearing an Adidas jacket.

Although the website was quickly adjusted, the meme was already snowballing and evolved into the more playful “off to town to take care of business” (进城办事 jìn chéng bàn shì).

One popular comment played on the rural-to-city associations of the phrase:

💬 “While you’re back in the village talking trash about me, I’m already wearing Adidas and heading into town to take care of business.”

Adidas responded with surprising speed and wit.

Instead of apologizing for the mistake, they posted a video showing their own “off to town to do business” T-shirt, which quickly became available for sale online and at flagship stores in Beijing, Shanghai, and Chengdu.

Chinese actor and Adidas ambassador Li Xian (李现) was later spotted wearing a “handling business” T-shirt, and the comment sections exploded.

 

Adidas read the room and went on to launch a marketing campaign featuring China’s popular possum meme wearing one of its jackets alongside slogans such as “Wear Adidas, Handle Serious Affairs” and “Wear Adi, Handle Big Things“—a nod to the original mistranslation and a series of viral wordplays built around the brand’s Chinese name (including “穿Adi办大事” and “穿Adi, 办das”, with das meaning dàshì 大事, “important business” here).

They also put up signs labeling some of their stores as “Adidas Errands Office” (阿迪办事处).

Rather than distancing itself from the joke, Adidas amplified it, becoming even funnier than the netizens themselves.

Other brands in China, from Lays to Alipay, saw the hype surrounding the meme and also started incorporating the “handle business” phrase into their online campaigns, referencing Adidas.

Various Chinese brands incorporated the Adidas meme into their own campaigns.

Because Adidas’s response felt effortless, authentic, and on-brand, it greatly boosted the brand’s popularity and appeal among young Chinese consumers.

 

Nike’s Grass is No Longer Greener

 

Sportswear giant Nike also became a major trending topic in China over the past week, but for entirely different reasons. Nike hasn’t been doing all that well recently, and the brand’s decline went viral in the same week that Adidas’s success was evident.

Nike became a top trending topic under the hashtag “Chinese consumers are abandoning Nike faster than anyone expected” (中国消费者抛弃耐克比想象中更快) after reports that a pair of sneakers originally sold for 899 yuan (US$132) are now selling for 429 yuan ($63) and still failing to attract buyers.

Nike’s decline is noteworthy because the brand was once booming in China. As with many other Western brands, it symbolized quality, prestige, and a cosmopolitan future for much of the 1990s and 2000s.

In a 2011 study of Chinese consumer aspirations, one respondent imagined a future in which she would drive a Mercedes-Benz, wear Nike, and eat KFC—a vision of modernity built around foreign brands. Another person dreamt of wearing “Nike clothes and Nike shoes (…) on the green grass, swinging golf clubs under the golden sunshine.”[1]

But Nike’s grass is no longer greener. Chinese commenters largely agree that much of the trust and desire surrounding the brand has eroded.

Many former Nike consumers now prefer Chinese brands such as Anta, Li-Ning or ERKE. Multiple posts on Chinese social media cite the Xinjiang cotton controversy as a turning point from which Nike never fully recovered.

 

The Localization Dilemma: A Strategic Catch-22?

 

The contrasting fortunes of Nike and Adidas reveal something important about the position of foreign brands in China today.

As domestic brands improved and narratives of national rejuvenation and the “Chinese Dream” gained prominence under Xi Jinping, consumer sentiment toward Western brands shifted dramatically, especially amid a growing number of controversies involving them.

From a Dolce & Gabbana campaign deemed racist to a witch hunt for Western brands listing Hong Kong and Taiwan as separate countries, international brands increasingly started struggling to find their place between politics, patriotism, and consumers who are choosing “Made in China” over global consumer culture.

As Zhihong Gao[2] observed as early as 2012, the rise of cultural confidence and renewed appreciation for Chinese traditions created a dilemma for foreign brands.

They find themselves caught in a strategic catch-22: if they localize too much, they risk losing the distinctiveness that made their brands attractive in the first place, while also reinforcing consumer preference for local cultural elements; yet if they remain too foreign, they risk appearing culturally tone-deaf and disconnected from Chinese consumers.

This is where Adidas appears to have found a sweet spot.

Unlike Nike, which seems to be living off its past success while showing little urgency in adapting to the Chinese market, Adidas has fully embraced Chinese digital culture, local humor, wordplay, and youth trends without abandoning its own identity.

Rather than pretending to be Chinese, Adidas is participating in Chinese culture as a distinctly foreign brand. By celebrating the unique elements of Chinese culture, both in tradition and modernity, it is boosting both its own image and the cultural pride it is tapping into. That is Chinamaxxing in a nutshell.

 

  • Read more about Chinamaxxing here.
  • Read more about the rise of ‘proudly made in China’ here.
  • Read more about Nike vs ERKE here

 

[1] Kelly Tian and Lily Dong, Consumer-Citizens of China: The Role of Foreign Brands in the Imagined Future China (London: Routledge, 2011), 70–71.

[2] Zhihong Gao, “Chinese Grassroots Nationalism and Its Impact on Foreign Brands,” Journal of Macromarketing 32, no. 2 (2012): 184–185.

 

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.

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