Editor's note: Yuan Jiayi is a special commentator on current affairs for CGTN. The article reflects the author's views and not necessarily those of CGTN.

What began as a niche curiosity has erupted into a global phenomenon: the hashtag #BecomingChinese is trending on TikTok and beyond. Young people across the world are adopting routines such as drinking warm water, eating boiled apple, wearing thermal leggings, and steeping goji berries—actively subscribing to, as it were, a "China Manual" for wellness. This represents a shift beyond mere exotic fascination; it signals a growing global emulation of a lifestyle perceived to offer greater stability, security, and care.

This cultural moment might expose a stark irony for some Western media. Recently, publications like The Economist and The New York Times have dismissed Chinese online discourse on issues like America's "kill line" as "obsession with American poverty" or "Schadenfreude." Yet, they now confront an inconvenient truth: a growing number of Westerners are voluntarily subscribing to and becoming obsessed with elements of a Chinese way of life. When narratives filtered through an ideological lens collide with the willing choices of the public, the foundation of those narratives begins to crack.

This raises thought-provoking questions: Why does "Becoming Chinese" resonate globally? How to interpret the epithet if it's not about literally changing one's nationality? And, last but not least, what's the takeaway for both Chinese and non-Chinese societies?

The primary driver is the unprecedented collapse of long-standing information barriers. Global users now have direct access to the rhythms of everyday Chinese life: a compulsory education system which guarantees tuition-free schooling from grades one through nine, targeted poverty alleviation lifting millions of people out of destitution, high-speed rail that renders distance trivial, and a cohesive digital ecosystem where a single QR code facilitates everything from payments to public transit. What is utterly mundane in China can appear revelatory abroad—a raw glimpse of daily reality that bypasses institutional narrative filters.

A critical precursor to this moment was the spontaneous "cyber reconciliation" of early 2025. The looming threat of a TikTok ban triggered an unexpected wave of American users, self-dubbed "TikTok refugees," to migrate to the Chinese lifestyle platform Xiaohongshu (RedNote). This policy-driven digital exodus created a rare space for direct, grassroots dialogue. Conversations moved past geopolitics to exchanges about the cost of living, healthcare, and education. These peer-to-peer discussions, fueled not at all by the alleged "state propaganda", dismantled entrenched stereotypes. American users were astonished by the accessibility of services in China, while their counterparts gained an understanding of many Americans' economic precarity.

The "Becoming Chinese" trend is more than a meme or fleeting exotic fascination. Beyond its cultural appeal as a wellness trend, it represents a crowdsourced reflection of the daily sense of security, embodied in something as simple as easy and affordable access to basic necessities. When a European jokes about having to choose between heating or eating, or an American marvels at not having to fear ambulance bills, they are conducting a pragmatic recalibration of their own social contract. The implicit audit reveals systems under structural strain: social safety nets with benefit cliffs, financially punitive healthcare, and education systems trading opportunity for lifelong debt—even minor disruptions risk pushing people over the "kill line."

That said, subscribing to the "China Manual" is not about ideological side-choosing, but a desire for competent governance. This is not to say that China is without its own challenges, but China has been decades-long dedicated to building a society through infrastructure, supply chains, and digital governance that lowers the cost of living and raises the floor of dignity. The trend represents, at its core, a search for alternative ways of living—one that prioritizes humane resilience, risk mitigation, and sustainable development. 

True reflection requires avoiding new binaries. It's not about replacing "the West is best" with "China is best" or "whatever is best." The point is to recognize that, empowered by digital access, the interconnected global public is shifting from passive consumers of geopolitical narratives to active seekers of viable blueprints for the future. The assumed monopoly on the "manual" for a good life is being reasonably challenged.

In an age of uncertainty, the paramount question for policymakers everywhere is: What are the essential components of a secure, dignified, and resilient life, and how do we build systems that deliver them? The global subscription to the "China Manual" suggests that the search for answers is now actively underway, and they are writing the reading list themselves. Encouragingly, the "China Manual," now more accessible both online and offline with the expansion and popularity of visa-free policies for firsthand experience, offers a welcomed start.

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