Culture

A smiling cake with legs. A bunny clipped to a work tote. A plush avocado looking far more pleased with life than most people on a Monday morning. Spend a few minutes looking at Jellycat and something odd happens: you stop judging stuffed toys and start judging personalities. One bunny looks too serious. Another looks

Online, Chinese cat owners often avoid saying, “I own a cat,” with a straight face. They say they are a cat slave (猫奴, māonú). The more official-sounding job title is poop-scooping official (铲屎官, chǎnshǐguān). Both are jokes. Neither is entirely a joke. Over the last decade, especially in urban China, cats have become increasingly visible

You only realize how complicated a Chinese knot is after you try to tie one. From a distance, it looks like a simple red ornament: a few loops, a tassel, perhaps a jade bead. On the table, those few loops become a small disaster. The cord crosses itself, the pattern slips out of shape, and

There is a scene that turns up again and again in Chinese period dramas. Two people stand beside a river at night. One writes a wish in large brush strokes on a paper lantern. They hold it together for a moment, then let it go and watch it rise into the dark. I know that

Mei got the offer at 8:14 on a Tuesday morning. By 8:40 her mother knew. By lunch her aunt knew. By the time Mei had read the contract properly, someone in the family group chat had sent three apartment listings near a subway station, in a city she had not yet agreed to move to.

It is 5:57 p.m. A message appears in the office group chat: one small revision before tomorrow. The employee born in the 1980s opens the file again. The new graduate asks whether the task is urgent and whether overtime will be paid. Chinese social media turns this scene into a generational joke. The 1980s cohort

A few days ago, while scrolling through Douyin, China’s counterpart to TikTok, I came across a creator’s set of images ranking twelve levels of solitude. I found it interesting, so I started going through the list in my head: By the time I reached level twelve, I realized I had completed the full set. I

I own a 17 cm Labubu called Nuan Nuan. On paper, she is not very useful. She does not hold my keys, tell the time, or organize anything. I do not even hang her on a bag. She sits in my room, all peachy colors and soft fur, and somehow makes the space feel warmer

You bought the doll. Then you saw someone with a Labubu in tiny jeans and a matching sweater, and something in your brain quietly rearranged itself. That is how it starts. One outfit becomes a small wardrobe. Soon, the little monster hanging from your tote has a better sense of occasion than most adults: denim

You have seen it by now. The little fuzzy monster with the pointy ears and the too-many teeth, swinging off someone’s handbag on the train, peeking out of a coworker’s tote. Maybe you thought it was a bit strange. Maybe you also, quietly, kind of wanted one. That is Labubu, and that pull you feel,