SubscribeLog in
Connect with us

Chapter Dive

When an Entertainment Scandal Gets Political: How Wong Kar-wai Survived a Nationalist Storm

The 2025 scandal surrounding Wong Kar-wai shows that public outrage only produces consequences when it aligns with official interests.

Ruixin Zhang

Published

on

In 2025, Wong Kar-wai found himself at the center of one of China’s most explosive entertainment scandals of the year, one that began as a labor dispute and spiraled into a nationalist firestorm. But when this entertainment-industry controversy crossed into political red lines, something unexpected happened.

It’s safe to say that 2025 wasn’t the best year for Wong Kar-wai (王家卫, 1958), one of the most famous Chinese-language film directors in the world. The Hong Kong movie director is known for classic works like Chungking Express and In the Mood for Love. Besides his work, his iconic sunglasses are also famous – he rarely goes without them and is even nicknamed ‘Sunglasses’ (墨镜) or ‘Sunglass King’ (墨镜王) on Chinese social media.

But this year, discussions about Wong Kar-wai have gone well beyond his talent and looks. He became embroiled in what would turn into one of China’s biggest entertainment scandals of the year after a former staff member set out to expose him for exploitation and misconduct. Once the controversy spilled from entertainment into political territory, however, the dynamics of the story changed entirely.

 
A Fight for Credit
 

This story begins with the young Chinese screenwriter Gu Er (古二, real name Cheng Junnian 程骏年). He is the one who publicly accused Wong of exploitation and unethical work standards on social media (a story which we previously covered here).

Gu Er, a New York Film Academy graduate, returned to China after his studies and began building a career. In 2019, he joined the production team of Wong’s popular TV series Blossoms Shanghai, working long hours for meager pay, despite suffering from Kennedy’s disease, a motor neuron illness similar to ALS.

Cheng Junnian 程骏年, better known as Gu Er

In 2023, after the show premiered, Gu posted an article on Chinese social media titled “The Truth Behind the Writing of Blossoms” (《繁花》剧本的创作真相). He argued that he should have been credited as one of the principal writers but was instead listed only as a “preliminary editor,” buried at the end of the credits. The post sparked some discussion, but the controversy quickly faded.

It was not until last September that Gu Er released another essay titled “My Experience as a Screenwriter for Blossoms: A Summary” (我给《繁花》做编剧的经历——小结), which drew widespread attention. In the piece, he accused Wong Kar-wai of exploitation and detailed his creative work on the series, while also claiming that he was required to cook meals and run personal errands for Wong.

At one point, Gu Er describes how lead screenwriter Qin Wen (秦雯) allegedly tried to remove him from the production team after presenting his draft script as her own. According to Gu, Wong Kar-wai responded dismissively: “It’s just a few thousand yuan; he’s an assistant and can also write the script, it’s a bargain!”

Throughout 2025, Gu Er used his WeChat account to document his experiences and to upload audio recordings of conversations with members of the production team, including Wong Kar-wai and Qin Wen. These recordings were presented as evidence supporting his claims of exploitation, verbal abuse, and the denial of screenwriting credit.

In response to the controversy, the official account of the Blossoms Shanghai television series issued multiple statements denying that Gu Er deserved screenwriting credit and accusing him of abusing his position to secretly record private conversations among staff. The production team vowed to take legal action, and Gu Er’s entire WeChat account was soon shut down.

 
Leaked Recordings and Growing Backlash
 

Although his WeChat presence was erased, Gu Er refused to stay silent. In early November of 2025, he opened a new Weibo account (@古二新语) and, seemingly burning all of his bridges, continued releasing recordings involving Wong Kar-wai and members of the Blossoms Shanghai production team, triggering an unexpected shockwave over the past few weeks.

Gu Er released a series of audio recordings featuring Wong Kar-wai and others, including screenwriter Qin Wen and her assistant Xu Siyao (许思窈). In some of these recordings, they are heard mocking Gu Er; Qin appears to struggle to recall plot details she allegedly wrote herself; and Xu Siyao openly admits that an important storyline in Blossoms Shanghai originated from Gu Er’s writing.

Visuals from Blossoms Shanghai.

Wong Kar-wai and Qin Wen also spend a surprising amount of time ridiculing figures across the Chinese film and television industry, from respected senior veterans to obscure streaming-film directors, dismissively labeling them as “fake.”

What stunned the public even more were Wong Kar-wai’s crude remarks about actresses. In one recording, he comments on actress Jin Jing’s breasts and jokes, “I must get her” (“我一定要搞金靖”). Jin is not a major star, and in the final cut of Blossoms Shanghai, all of her scenes were removed. In another clip, Wong addresses screenwriter Qin Wen in a sexually suggestive and harassing tone, saying that if she had a body like Jin’s, she would not have “survived” her early years in the industry as a writer, because “I would definitely have taken you” (“我一定收你”).

Qin Wen

After this wave of leaks, the recordings—together with Gu Er’s earlier accusations—spread widely across major Chinese social media platforms. Many netizens expressed disapproval of the misogyny, gossip, and backbiting revealed in the recordings and began reevaluating Wong Kar-wai as a person, as well as his past works. Others questioned the legitimacy of Gu Er’s methods, particularly the recordings and leaks. Legal experts noted that secretly recording conversations could violate privacy laws, and that selectively edited clips might even constitute defamation.

 
Crossing the Red Line
 

Then, on November 8, Gu Er released a new recording that fundamentally altered the nature of the incident. The audio features a conversation among Wong Kar-wai, Blossoms Shanghai co-director Li Shuang (李爽), and producer Peng Qihua (彭绮华), in which they discuss COVID controls, Japan, and China’s political system.

In the recording, Wong says that the Communist Party only wants “chives” (jiǔcài, 韭菜) to harvest and describes China as a “greedy one-party state.” In Chinese internet slang, jiǔcài refers to ordinary people who are repeatedly exploited, compared to chives that are cut and grow back, only to be harvested again. When Li mentions his collection of Japanese katanas and samurai outfits, Wong jokes that, given China’s current tensions with Japan, if the collection were discovered, Li would be publicly denounced and paraded, much like during the Cultural Revolution.

Wong even suggested: “If they find [the samurai swords], just put a Chinese flag on them and say you really hate those Japanese devils.”

The Weibo post was deleted within minutes, but the recordings spread quickly.

Nationalist netizens flooded Wong’s comment section, calling him a hànjiān (汉奸, traitor to the Chinese nation), and demanding that he “get out of China.” Some conspiracy-minded users even claimed that the title of Wong’s famous TV series Blossoms (繁花 fánhuā) was intentionally chosen because it sounds like “anti-China” (反华 fǎnhuá), alleging that Wong had embedded a subversive message in the title.

Suddenly, many who had previously viewed the scandal as mere entertainment began taking sides—calling for the show to be taken down and for investigations into Wong, Li, and others involved.

 
Unusual Twist in a Familiar Script
 

In China’s public sphere, once criticism touches on the state or the Party, everything becomes more complicated. Many began questioning whether Gu Er had gone too far in leaking these conversations, and whether this was a political terror tactic disguised as personal justice.

Weaponizing nationalism to ruin a public figure is actually nothing new.

Ten years ago, CCTV host Bi Fujian (毕福剑) was recorded at a private dinner mocking Mao Zedong and was immediately fired, vanishing from public life. In 2021, actor Zhang Zhehan (张哲瀚) was canceled after taking photos near the controversial Yasukuni Shrine in Tokyo—a site that honors Japan’s war dead, including convicted war criminals. In 2022, writer Yan Geling (严歌苓) was erased from the Chinese internet almost overnight after calling Xi Jinping a “human trafficker” in commentary about a trafficking case.

Given this history, and the fact that Wong has remained silent since the leaks began, mainland audiences now fear that Wong Kar-wai could join China’s celebrity “blacklist.” Some even worry they might never see In the Mood for Love again, others fear a broadcast ban for Blossoms.

Will Wong Kar-wai become the Next Bi Fujian? All past punishment-for-speech cases have followed a familiar script: a leak emerges, nationalists erupt, official mouthpieces like Xinhua step in to shape the narrative, and punishment follows swiftly. In Bi Fujian’s case, for example, the Central Commission for Discipline Inspection issued a public condemnation within a week.

But this time, although nationalists are already outraged on social media and calling for Wong’s “anti-China” remarks to be punished, not a single major central media outlet has echoed their anger. In fact, shortly after Gu released the new recordings, the Blossoms team issued a statement accusing him of fabrication and malicious slander—and The Paper, a state-affiliated Shanghai outlet, amplified it. That was the first signal of how authorities might lean.

 
Too Valuable to Cancel?
 

Does this all mean China has become more tolerant of political criticism? Is the red line for what can and can’t be said shifting? Some believe the only reason Wong escaped harsher consequences is that he didn’t mention specific leaders by name, which is the quickest way to get into serious trouble. While that’s plausible, another reason may carry more weight: Wong Kar-wai is useful to the state’s cultural agenda.

Despite the comments in the recordings, Wong’s stance toward the authorities is not overtly hostile. In recent years, he has cooperated with state-backed projects. Blossoms, in particular, is part of Shanghai’s cultural branding campaign, with full support from Party-led propaganda departments. It received major state funding and was included as a central project on CCTV’s 2024 slate.

Wong is also a globally recognized auteur with real prestige in the West, making him valuable to China’s propaganda strategy of “telling China’s story well” (讲好中国故事).

Dropping such a cultural asset over a scandal stirred up by a disgruntled writer would be politically and culturally costly. This might explain why the official response has been unusually mild.

Many observers mistakenly assume that in China, once public outrage reaches a certain level, authorities will respond accordingly. But that’s only true when popular opinion and official interests are aligned. When they’re not—when the Party-state sees strategic value in protecting someone—public outcry changes nothing. If the Party believes Wong is worth keeping, then some of his comments will simply be forgiven.

 
The Cost of Speaking Out
 

At the center of this entire story is Gu Er. Was he wrong to weaponize nationalist outrage? Were his methods excessive or dangerous? Reactions are mixed. Some argue that leaking private recordings (especially political ones) is troubling and contributes to a climate of fear and self-censorship. Others sympathize, believing that Gu Er, who has suffered so much both physically and emotionally, shouldn’t be judged too harshly.

In the well-known Fanpai Yingping (反派影评) podcast, film journalist Bomi argued that Gu didn’t intentionally politicize the conflict; rather, he was responding within a system that had already politicized his case. Wong’s team never approached the issue as a civil labor dispute. They had enough opportunities to negotiate or settle, but instead, but chose not to . Perhaps it was arrogance. Or perhaps a confidence that the show, backed as a state-supported “main melody” (主旋律) production tied to enormous interests, would never be abandoned.

There seems to have been a clear mission to silence Gu Er. After shutting down his WeChat account, members of staff allegedly tried to intimidate him by visiting the house of his 90-year-old grandmother to deliver legal letters.

In the November 8 statement by the team, they accused him of “inciting social division” (“煽动社会对立”) and “manipulating negative emotions” (“诱导负面情绪”) and claimed he was “evading domestic legal investigation” (“逃避国内司法调查和认定”) by staying overseas—all language that is reminiscent of official state announcements. Some netizens even suggested it evoked the tone of old-school ideological and political denunciation—strong on rhetoric but lacking in substantive legal action. They frame this entire story into the context of a powerful production crew violating labor law treating a powerless writer like a political criminal.

The repercussions of this controversy are far from over, and to what extent it will have consequences for both Wong Kar-wai and Gu Er remains to be seen. Will Wong ever speak out? Will Gu Er be silenced forever?

Regardless, it is clear that Wong’s reputation has suffered. Long regarded as a “hero” of Chinese cinema, this incident has changed how many in mainland China now perceive the famous “Sunglasses.” Some call him a misogynist; others denounce him for exploiting staff. Still others see him as a hypocrite, suggesting that although he criticizes authoritarianism in the leaked recordings, he operates and thrives within that very system. One Weibo commenter wrote that the “Sunglasses King turned out to be the villain of the story.”

Although Gu Er has also received criticism for his actions, he has encouraged others through his insistence on standing up to those in power who bullied and discredited him. Recently, another screenwriter posted on Xiaohongshu about a similar experience: after independently completing the full script for a Chinese drama, he discovered that the boss had listed themself as Head Screenwriter in the end credits. The post was tagged “Gu Er” and received hundreds of comments, with many users sharing their own stories of being exploited as scriptwriters.

Even turning the dispute into a political issue failed to bring Gu Er any justice or revenge on his exploitative former employer. Still, he has gained something else: recognition from others, for whom his resistance has become a source of inspiration. Even if it was not the kind of recognition he originally sought, Gu Er still gets his credit in the end.

By Ruixin Zhang edited for clarity by Manya Koetse

Independently covering digital China for over a decade. Like what we do? Support us and get the story behind the hashtag by subscribing:

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 Eye on Digital China, powered by Whatsonweibo. All rights reserved. Do not reproduce our content without permission – you can contact us at info@whatsonweibo.com.

Ruixin is a Leiden University graduate, specializing in China and Tibetan Studies. As a cultural researcher familiar with both sides of the 'firewall', she enjoys explaining the complexities of the Chinese internet to others.

Continue Reading
Click to comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

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

Manya Koetse

Published

on

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”

&nbsp

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

&nbsp

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?”

&nbsp

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. 

Continue Reading

Chapter Dive

Beyond the “Ching Chong” Controversy: The “Pocket Asian” in The Devil Wears Prada 2

How a niche online debate was amplified into a global “racism” story, and why the real discussion runs deeper

Manya Koetse

Published

on

Subscribe to support this work. If you aren’t subscribed yet, you can also join our Substack channel (same content) and redeem a single-use unlock for paywalled posts.

The Devil Wears Prada 2 is one of the major blockbusters of China’s popular May Day movie season. However, among Chinese audiences, discussions surrounding the Hollywood film have shifted from “Runway” to “racism”. What’s behind the controversy?

It’s almost the May Day holiday, and seventeen films are lined up for one of the most important box office moments of the year in China. One of them, the only major Hollywood film, is the American movie The Devil Wears Prada 2, the long-awaited sequel to the 2006 blockbuster starring Anne Hathaway and Meryl Streep.

Both actresses visited Shanghai for the film’s China premiere earlier this month, where attendees were shown the first 20 minutes. Early reactions were positive, online fans were enthusiastic, and all signs pointed to a strong box office run.

But that seemed to change this week as the film began facing online backlash. Reports emerged describing it as “racist” and “offensive” in China, focusing on the role played by Chinese American actress Helen J. Shen—namely, the new geeky office assistant, ‘Jin Chao.’

By now, the story of the film drawing “furious reactions” or even “facing a boycott” in China has been picked up by dozens of global media outlets, from The Guardian to the Global Times.

Collection of headlines about the backlash

But how big is the controversy, really?

Let’s first look at the story behind these headlines before diving into the bigger context.

 

From Niche Discussion to Global “Backlash”

 

Media reports about The Devil Wears Prada 2 facing backlash in China began circulating around April 17–18, when a promotional clip of the film was officially released, introducing the Asian or Chinese American assistant to Anne Hathaway’s character Andy.

In the clip, the petite and somewhat socially awkward young woman introduces herself as ‘Jin Chao’ and lists her academic credentials, including graduating from Yale with a high grade point average.

One of the earliest reports claiming there was major backlash came from entertainment blogger Mengshen Mumu (萌神木木), published on QQ News on April 18 under the headline: “The Devil Wears Prada 2 embroiled in anti-China controversy! Asian character portrayed stereotypically, name seen as deliberately offensive.”1

China.com republished the same blog under the title “The Devil Wears Prada 2 Asian controversy: stereotypical portrayal sparks public outrage.”2

The article claimed the movie was sparking backlash and calls for a boycott among “netizens” (网友), focusing on the character’s nerdy portrayal and her name, rendered as “Qin Chao” or “Qin Zhou” (秦舟). According to the author, its English pronunciation closely resembled “Ching Chong,” a historically racist term used to mock Chinese people.

It concludes: “At present, the film’s reputation appears to be on shaky ground, and its box office prospects in China may not be promising.”

Notably, the only evidence cited for this supposedly widespread backlash consists of a few screenshots of comments made by Douban users in a discussion group about the film.

That discussion—now private and inaccessible—appears to have been the basis not only for this article, but also for many of the Chinese, Korean, and international reports that followed, as they all trace back to the same China.com source.

This context matters. It suggests that the “backlash” was less organic than portrayed, and that media amplification played a significant role in turning a niche discussion—one that did not trend on major platforms like Weibo—into a narrative of nationwide outrage. That narrative was then picked up by international media and presented as the mainstream view of Chinese audiences.

Earlier, the same source published another article hyping a separate controversy surrounding The Devil Wears Prada 2, this time involving a pair of embroidered shoes gifted to the cast at the Seoul premiere. The piece suggested the design was traditionally Chinese and should not be labeled as Korean, accusing Korea of cultural appropriation. Although this gift had nothing to do with the movie itself, it was dragged into the film’s potential box-office success, creating a storm in a teacup because controversial topics do well in terms of clicks.

Beyond the media’s role in fueling the current “Ching Chong” storm, there are other factors that help explain why this issue remained relatively limited before being amplified.

 

👉 The name itself is not necessarily offensive.

 

There is considerable confusion over the character’s name, which plays a key role in the controversy due to its alleged discriminatory connotations.

The Chinese subtitles render the name as Qin Zhou (秦舟), while in the scene it sounds more like ‘Jin Zhao,’ and the role is listed on IMDb as ‘Jin Chao.’ Others have suggested it sounds like ‘Chin Chou,’ which could resemble “Ching Chong.”

One of Weibo’s most influential movie-related accounts (@格兰芬多公共休息室) addressed the issue on April 19 by directly contacting the film’s translation team. According to their report, the correct name is ‘Jin Zhao,’ and the rendering as Qin Zhou (秦舟) appears to be a translation error.

In Chinese naming conventions, the family name comes first, meaning ‘Jin Zhao’ would be written as Zhao Jin (赵瑾)—a fairly standard and unremarkable name.

 

👉 Many Chinese would not immediately link this name to an offensive slur.

 

Not only is the character not actually named “ching chong,” the term itself originates as a mocking imitation of Chinese languages within an English-speaking context.

Although in today’s global media environment, many Chinese audiences are aware of the term, it is primarily understood as a form of English-language racism directed at Chinese-speaking people by outsiders, not as something rooted within Chinese linguistic or cultural contexts.

Interestingly, while English-language media reports suggest Chinese audiences are outraged, some Chinese commentators argue that much of the anger is actually coming from Korean and other international internet users. Chinese outlet Guancha even reported—in a now-deleted post—that the controversy itself was largely driven from outside China.

All of this has led to a situation where, despite a week of headlines describing “waves of netizen anger” and “boycotts sweeping the internet,” the “Ching Chong controversy” itself has not, at the time of writing, generated widespread outrage across Chinese social media platforms. Many related posts have received minimal engagement.

Although many viewers agree that the screenwriters might have chosen a more flattering name than Jin Chao or Jin Zhao, there is little to suggest this was deliberately intended as offensive, nor that it was widely interpreted as such by Chinese audiences.

 

The “Pocket Asian” Problem

 

However, this initial controversy has prompted many Chinese commenters to look beyond the name and focus on what they see as the real issue with Jin Zhao’s character. In the run-up to the film’s release, these discussions have been gaining traction online.

One Weibo commenter wrote:

💬 “Even if ‘Jin Chao’ and ‘Ching Chong’ don’t sound exactly the same, this Asian character’s portrayal really couldn’t be more outdated… it feels like the director has never seen what real Asian interns in the fashion industry are actually like.”

Another post asking users how they felt about the controversy received thousands of likes, with many commenters expressing disappointment over how the film’s most visible Asian character is portrayed.

This criticism seems to be widely shared. In a fashion-focused film, Jin Zhao stands out as the least fashionable—wearing a plaid shirt and skirt, hair pinned up, thick glasses—making her appear almost like a caricature among the surrounding “urban sophisticates.” For many viewers, this feels like a familiar stereotype that does not reflect the reality of today’s trendy Gen Z city girls.

A recurring sentiment is that while Hollywood—and companies like Disney, the film’s distributor—relies heavily on the Chinese market, Chinese audiences themselves feel they are not being taken seriously.

On April 22, Weibo author Jokielicious published a post (now with over 9,600 likes, 257 comments, and 773 shares) explaining the concept of the “Pocket Asian” (口袋亚洲人), an online slang term that has circulated for some time.

It refers to a type of physically small, non-threatening Asian character often seen on Western social media, where people jokingly describe Asian friends as “small enough to fit in your pocket.”

According to the author, this “Pocket Asian” is also a recurring figure in Hollywood films: typically subordinate to the white protagonist, often cast as an assistant or sidekick, embodying familiar stereotypes—comically awkward, unobtrusive, and non-threatening.

Although The Devil Wears Prada 2 has not yet been officially released in cinemas at the time of writing, assistant Jin Zhao is already seen by some as a textbook example of this trope: petite, deferential, yet also a hardworking overachiever.

In the promotional clip, she introduces herself by listing her credentials:

If you don’t want me, you can interview someone else. That’s totally fine. I did go to Yale, 3.86 GPA, lead soprano of the Whiffenpoofs, and my ACT score was 36 on the very first time.”


According to Jokielicious, this fits the “Pocket Asian” mold perfectly: depicting Asian women as petite and cute, yet also toy-like or accessory-like, something to be “carried” or “used.” For critics, this goes beyond harmless “cuteness,” reducing a person to a racialized physical symbol: small, agreeable, and easily controlled.

One Weibo commenter (@霄林龙松兆) drew a historical parallel:

💬 “Does everyone remember the standard ‘dwarf’ figure in Elizabethan court dramas? Now this type of role has become a ‘symbolic dwarf,’ but the core function remains the same: obedient, somewhat intelligent and entertaining, small in stature, controllable—summoned at will and dismissed just as easily. The difference is that in the past it was a European dwarf; now it’s a different kind of ‘dwarf.’”

Other commenters pointed out that, with Anne Hathaway herself not being particularly tall (5’8” / 1.73 m), casting an Asian actress significantly smaller than her appeared to be a deliberate choice.

The issue raised by the Weibo blogger is far from new. In academic research, similar patterns have been discussed for decades—and they are not limited to female characters.

One of the most cited examples is the caricatured Japanese neighbor, Mr. Yunioshi, played by Mickey Rooney in Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961), often cited as a quintessential stereotyped Asian comedic “outsider.” Other examples include Long Duk Dong in Sixteen Candles (1984), Data in The Goonies (1985), Yen (played by Shaobo Qin) in Ocean’s Eleven (2001), Ngoc Lan Tran in Downsizing (2017), Jian Yang in Silicon Valley, and Leslie Chow (Ken Jeong) in The Hangover (2009).


Across these roles, a familiar pattern emerges of the Asian sidekick figure, combining various stereotypes within a broader Western representational framework that “others” and exoticizes Asian characters.

 

Why The Devil Wears Prada 2 Hits a Nerve in China

 

Over the past years, there has been significant improvement in Hollywood and beyond when it comes to the representation of Asian characters. From Crazy Rich Asians to the Fresh Off the Boat, Asian and Asian American communities have increasingly been portrayed in more diverse and authentic ways.

Nevertheless, stereotyping and underrepresentation still persist across films, TV series, and commercials.

So why is The Devil Wears Prada 2 in particular igniting these discussions now?

Perhaps it is precisely because of what the film represents: a cosmopolitan, fashion-driven story about ambitious career women navigating elite professional spaces.

Most Chinese millennials did not see the original 2006 film in theaters, but through pirated DVDs bought at corner shops. Later on, Gen Z audiences discovered it via online platforms. Over time, The Devil Wears Prada carved out a special place in the Chinese market, particularly among urban, educated young women navigating career pressures. Its themes of workplace hierarchy, female ambition, and the tension between professional success and personal identity strongly resonated with younger generations.

The film’s fashion element was a key part of its appeal. At the time of its release, China was entering a period of rapid luxury brand expansion, and the film offered a glimpse into a global fashion world that still felt distant for many.


The cultural footprint of The Devil Wears Prada (known in Chinese as “The Queen Wears Prada” 穿普拉达的女王) is also evident in how its sequel is being marketed. China is treated as a primary market: the film is released a day earlier than in North America, the main stars attended the Shanghai premiere, Hathaway wore a Chinese designer, and promotions were tied to Vogue China.

But this is also where it stings.

China is a key market, and Chinese audiences in 2026 are not the same as they were in 2006. Today, Chinese cities are just as—if not more—fashionable, avant-garde, and cosmopolitan as New York or Paris.

So why include a character that the very same audiences you are trying to court may recognize as a stereotype of themselves? This creates a clear disconnect between marketing and content, helping explain why the reaction, whether amplified by media or not, has landed on fertile ground.

One Xiaohongshu user nicknamed ‘Momo’ wrote:

💬 “Despite pouring massive promotional efforts into Asia, the film still reveals outdated thinking in its portrayal. That’s disrespectful to its audience. I’m choosing not to watch it.”

Others echo similar sentiments, with some saying they will skip the film altogether.

Meanwhile, some internet users imagine a reversed scenario: what if Andy, the film’s protagonist, were Chinese or Asian, and her assistant American?

The same scene, reimagined through AI

The same scene, reimagined through AI (source: Xiaohongshu / Reddit).
 
Others have also used AI tools to reimagine the film’s title as “The Racist Wears Prada.”

An AI version of the movie poster, shared on Xiaohongshu

An AI version of the movie poster, shared on the Chinese social media platform Xiaohongshu.
 

At the same time, discussions around the film remain mixed. Many viewers are still eagerly anticipating its release and revisiting the 2006 original, while others are more critical.

There are also commercial dynamics at play. Some entertainment bloggers—particularly Mengshen Mumu, who helped trigger the initial wave of reports—claim that the production side has filed complaints across Chinese social media platforms to remove certain critical posts. Weibo has, in fact, taken down at least one hashtag related to the controversy (#穿普拉达的女王2亚裔争议#).

To what extent these controversies will impact the film’s box office performance in China remains to be seen.

What is clear, however, is that these discussions reflect a broader and increasingly visible friction between Hollywood and Chinese audiences in the social media landscape of 2026. It is not just about whether China is represented, but how Chinese characters and cultural elements are integrated and portrayed. Chinese moviegoers are no longer a passive audience. They are increasingly proud, protective, and sensitive to the ways in which they are represented on screen.

As one commenter put it:

We’re no longer content to be ‘Pocket Asians.’”

🎬 The Devil Wears Prada 2 will be released in Chinese cinemas nationwide on April 30.

-By Manya Koetse

With thanks to Miranda Barnes

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. If you’re already subscribed and want to switch platforms, just get in touch for help. If you no longer wish to receive these newsletters, or are receiving duplicate editions, you can unsubscribe at any time.


  1. 《穿普拉达的女王2》卷入辱华!亚裔角色造型刻板,名字恶意满满 / QQ News / April 18
  2. 穿普拉达的女王2亚裔争议 刻板形象引众怒 / China.com / April 19

Continue Reading

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.

Manya Koetse's Profile Picture

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.

Popular Reads