2021 Chinese Internet Memes

Literally 'won so much it's gone numb,' this phrase captures the absurd joy of winning so overwhelmingly that you're beyond thrilled — you're desensitized. Emerging around 2021, think of it as the Chinese internet's way of humble-bragging with theatrical exaggeration. It's often used sarcastically when something surprisingly good happens, or ironically when things are actually going terribly. The meme thrives on that Gen-Z energy of deadpan overstatement.

Li Jiaqi is China's most famous live-streaming salesman, nicknamed the 'Lipstick King' for his manic, high-energy cosmetics pitches. His catchphrase 'Oh my god, buy it!' became a cultural earworm. In 2021 he became a meme shorthand for irresistible consumer hype, impulse buying, and the surreal power of influencer culture — the guy who could sell out millions of products in minutes while screaming into a camera.

Literally 'injecting the child with chicken blood,' 鸡娃 describes the phenomenon of hyper-competitive Chinese parents who pack their kids' schedules with tutoring, music lessons, sports, and every conceivable extracurricular — all in pursuit of elite school admission. Emerging around 2021, think helicopter parenting cranked up to eleven, fueled by anxiety, college rankings, and the terrifying belief that one missed piano lesson could doom your child's entire future.

A bittersweet self-mocking label for young people who clawed their way out of small-town China by obsessively acing standardized tests, only to arrive at elite universities or big-city jobs and discover that test scores don't come with social polish, family connections, or the soft skills their urban peers absorbed effortlessly. Emerging around 2021, it captures the gap between academic triumph and real-world belonging — winning the race only to find yourself at the wrong party.

Imagine someone who misses their flight, shrugs, and immediately finds a better hotel — that's 松弛感. Emerging around 2021, it describes a quality of effortless calm and emotional ease that makes a person seem unbothered by life's chaos. Not laziness, not indifference — more like an inner poise that never performs stress for an audience. In a culture that glorifies grinding and anxiety as proof of seriousness, having "松弛感" is quietly radical. Think 'main character energy' meets Zen Buddhism, served at room temperature.

Think of 'emotional value' as the vibe tax your relationships either pay or owe you. Emerging around 2021, if someone makes you feel heard, calm, happy, and energized just by being around them, their emotional value is sky-high. If they leave you drained, anxious, or performing emotional labor unpaid — their score tanks. Gen-Z Chinese netizens turned this originally HR-flavored term into a universal relationship KPI, applied to partners, friends, and even celebrities.

Think of '平替' as China's version of 'dupe culture.' It refers to a cheaper product that delivers roughly the same vibe, quality, or clout as a pricey brand-name item. Emerging around 2021, slap any category in front — skincare, clothing, coffee — and you've got yourself a recommendation. It's less about being broke and more about being smart: why pay for the logo when you can pay for the thing itself? Gen-Z shoppers turned this into a full-blown lifestyle philosophy.

Literally 'the ceiling of [category],' this meme crowns someone or something as the absolute peak of a given field — the gold standard nobody can top. Emerging around 2021, think of it as the Chinese internet's way of saying 'this is as good as it gets.' Fans deploy it to hype their idols, foodies use it for legendary dishes, and office workers invoke it for that one impossibly competent colleague. It's hyperbolic praise with a tinge of awe, implying the subject has hit the physical upper limit of excellence.

'Bǎi làn' is what happens when you stop pretending everything is fine and just... Emerging around 2021, let it all fall apart. Think of it as the Chinese cousin of 'quiet quitting' or 'lying flat,' but with a darker, more chaotic edge. Instead of peacefully opting out, you actively embrace the wreckage. Missed a deadline? Might as well miss three. It's equal parts dark humor and genuine exhaustion — a Gen-Z battle cry for when trying hard feels pointless.

Ever had a boss promise you a raise, a promotion, and maybe a company car — and then absolutely nothing happens? Emerging around 2021, that's 画饼. Literally 'drawing a pie,' it means dangling a beautiful but completely intangible reward to motivate (or string along) someone. The drawn pie looks delicious but you can't eat it. In Chinese workplaces and beyond, it's the art of selling dreams instead of delivering reality.

Ever had a boss who constantly tells you you're lucky to have this job, that your work is mediocre, and that you should be grateful for the 'opportunity' to do unpaid overtime? Emerging around 2021, that's 职场PUA — borrowing the seduction-community term 'PUA' (Pick-Up Artist) and applying it to toxic workplace dynamics where managers psychologically manipulate employees into self-doubt and blind obedience. Think gaslighting with a corporate dress code.

Emerging around 2021, think of it as the Chinese equivalent of a deadpan 'oh, wonderful, thanks for that.' Workers slap it on complaints about overtime, students use it after brutal exams, and anyone navigating awkward social obligations deploys it to acknowledge the ridiculousness without fully melting down.

Picture a livestreamer leaning into the camera and addressing their audience as 'fam' — that's 家人们 in a nutshell. Emerging around 2021, originally a term for family members, it was hijacked by Chinese streamers and influencers to greet viewers with manufactured warmth, implying 'we're all one big family here.' It spread beyond livestreams into everyday speech, often used ironically when someone is about to share gossip, a hot take, or a humble brag dressed up as relatable struggle.

When someone says they've totally 'nā niē'd' a situation, they mean they've got it completely figured out and under control — like holding something gently but firmly in both hands so it can't escape. Emerging around 2021, equal parts confidence and cockiness, it's the swagger of knowing exactly what you're doing, whether acing a job interview, managing a difficult client, or reading someone's personality like an open book. Think 'I've got this in the bag' but with more flair.

A Gen-Z intensifier born from Chinese internet culture, '绝绝子' cranks up the already-punchy '绝了' (meaning 'unbelievable' or 'absolutely') with the cutesy suffix '-子'. Emerging around 2021, it works both ways: peak amazement ('this is insanely good!') or peak despair ('this is an absolute disaster'). Context does all the heavy lifting. Think of it as the Chinese equivalent of 'literally dead' — hyperbolic, playful, and deliberately a little extra.

Short for "永远的神" (yǒngyuǎn de shén), literally 'eternal god,' yyds is the Chinese internet's highest compliment — basically the equivalent of calling something the GOAT. Originating from esports commentary, it exploded into everyday speech in 2021 to praise anything from a celebrity performance to a really good lunch. If something is yyds, it transcends mere excellence; it has ascended to a divine plane. Think of it as a superlative that ran out of superlatives.

Literally 'gone numb' — extended from physical numbness to emotional flatlining. Emerging around 2021, when you've encountered so much absurdity, bad news, or overwhelming content that you've lost the capacity to react, you're "麻了". '我看麻了' (I've watched myself numb) means whatever you saw was so much that your reactions stopped working. It captures a specific modern condition: not sadness, not anger, just the gray static of having felt too much.