Luo Yonghao 罗永浩 wears many hats.

He is a teacher, a content creator, and the founder of a hardware company. Most importantly, he has also developed a distinctive identity — a critic of brands and product experiences in China.

From Siemens and Starbucks to Xibei, Apple, and now Yeah Gelato, Luo has consistently approached products and services from the consumer’s perspective.

As a major online influencer, his impact is enormous. On the one hand, his commentary can promote greater transparency; on the other, it can be powerful enough to seriously damage a brand.

This time, following his controversy over pre-made dishes, his criticism was directed at an gelato brand.

What happened?

On September 12, 2026, Luo Yonghao posted on Weibo about his experience tasting Yeah Gelato, an brand with more than 1,300 stores nationwide now, at an airport. He described it as “very average” and, given its high price, bluntly remarked that it could “even be called bad-tasting.”

He even compared Yeah Gelato with Zhong Xuegao 钟薛高, an ice cream brand that has been widely rejected by consumers, saying that “Yeah Gelato was nowhere near as good as Zhong Xuegao.”

PS - Zhong Xuegao is a brand that was boycotted by Chinese consumers over controversies surrounding its ingredients and its high prices. Although its intangible assets were recently acquired by a new buyer seeking to revive the brand, Zhong Xuegao has yet to restore its reputation.

Needless to say, brands targeted by Luo often often find themselves under considerable pressure. Xibei 西贝, for example, was previously drawn into a controversy over pre-made dishes. After losing the public debate with Luo, the consequences were severe enough to damage both the brand’s credibility and the founder’s reputation.

Yeah Gelato, however, has handled the latest controversy with considerable restraint. It chose a way of “complete non-response”, a deliberate “cold treatment” stratrgy. This approach appears to reflect the lessons of the Xibei controversy: when the law offers no clear-cut answer, a brand should avoid turning a subjective dispute over product quality into a public confrontation or a moral battle.

Although public opinion was polarized at the beginning, it soon began to shift in Yeah Gelato’s favor.

Why?

Because — Luo’s criticism not only sparked online discussion; it also prompted many consumers to visit Yeah Gelato stores and try the products for themselves. After the grounded test, public sentiment has gradually shifted in the brand’s favor. More and more people have come out in support of Yeah Gelato, with many consumers saying that its products are generally good and that certain flavors—especially rice and pistachio—are particularly impressive.

Of course—a deeper analysis suggests that this shift toward publicly supporting the brand cannot be attributed solely to the brand’s “hands-off” response. Maintaining silence may have prevented the controversy from escalating or being misinterpreted, but it could not, by itself, have turned public opinion around.

That shift must also be understood in light of some other factors.

First, Luo chose an unreasonable basis — Zhongxuegao — for comparison. Quite apart from whether it is fair to compare ice cream with gelato directly, Zhong Xuegao is a brand that many consumers have, at least for the time being, rejected. Thus, Luo’s attempt to portray Yeah Gelato as inferior by comparing it with Zhong Xuegao failed to generate widespread resonation.

P.S. — to be clear, I have always supported Zhong Xuegao. Regardless of the difficult period the brand has gone through, I see its products are highly innovative, ambitious, and consistently excellent in quality.

Second, the broad argument about whether the Yeah Gelato was “good” or “bad” in general was arguably too one-sided, and Luo seems not to have conducted sufficient market research.

Within the whole gelato sector, Yeah Gelato may not be the best-tasting brand, but among chains of such large-scale, I’d say it is extremely competitive. Moreover, Yeah Gelato was among the early brands to bring down the price of gelato. Value for money is actually their core advantage.

All in all, Yeah Gelato’s overall performance is quite ok - Luo’s criticism this time have failed to resonate with the public and came across as more of a personal opinion.

Clearly - when a brand’s products and services remain highly competitive within their category, Luo’s personal exacting standards are unlikely to cause any substantial harm to the brand.

So far, the controversy is still unfolding, and it remains unclear whether Luo will respond or launch a counterattack to defend his position. But my guess is that he probably won’t — His Weibo posts give me the impression that — he may not want to fight back as he already raised a broader question in order to defend his right to express his views—rather than fixating on Yeah Gelato anymore.

In the end,

From a more inclusive perspective, this kind of debate can ultimately benefit both Chinese brands and consumers eventually.

This episode highlights the constructive side of the role played by a major influencer. By helping consumers overcome the “prisoner’s dilemma,” Luo can encourage people to voice their experiences and promote greater transparency.

At the same time, brands that genuinely deliver strong products and experiences do not need to worry excessively about public criticism. Unreasonable accusations will ultimately be judged fairly.

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For many, Chinese factories are cold and closed-off places—associated with intense labor, rigid production systems, and the oppression and exploitation that may exist within them. But for Ya Shu, a contemporary dancer and the founder of “Zhouxin 宙心”, the factory is neither a cold, impersonal space nor separate from artistic life.

Ya is not an outside observer of the factory. She grew up in Foshan 佛山, a city shaped by a highly developed manufacturing culture. In her work, the factory and the workers whose labor sustains it are not pushed to the margins. Instead, they gradually become central to her creative practice.

She does not want to turn the factory into a visual symbol or an aesthetic backdrop. She wants workers to participate in the making of a poetic work of art—to become, at times, its co-authors and even performers.

This relationship with the factory is also connected to another central idea in Ya’s practice: the willingness to work with randomness and uncertainty.

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Randomness

Ya is drawn to a certain kind of randomness. This sense of uncertainty is closely tied to the name of her cultural brand, “Zhouxin,” and is also an important part of her creative process.

Does “Zhouxin” mean “the center of the universe”? How did you come up with the name?

Ya:

The name actually came from a completely random moment.

One day, I was reading the Chinese translation of Plato’s The Republic. I opened the book at random and picked one character from that page: “心,” meaning “heart” or “mind.” Then I flipped to another random page and saw the character “宙,” meaning “universe” or “time.” I put the two characters together, and that became “宙心.”

I think you’re right that it can mean “the center of the universe,” but in reality, it can mean anything. To me, “Zhouxin” represents a random world that keeps growing and embraces diversity.

So you really like randomness and uncertainty?

Ya:

Yes. This “random” approach is a very important part of my creative practice.

I’m fascinated by Merce Cunningham’s way of working, especially his experiments with chance choreography and the methods he developed with John Cage, including using the I Ching to make random decisions. They made me realize that randomness doesn’t mean losing control. It can be a more open form of order.

You let different things come together first, and then see what they grow into. I don’t really like working backward from a fixed goal. Randomness without a specific purpose can be a way of breaking established patterns.

When I was studying contemporary dance in the London, my teachers also encouraged this way of thinking: anything was possible. You could work randomly, be abstract, and even challenge the consensus.

I actually started out studying Latin dance. Later, my partner suddenly stopped dancing, and that pushed me to consider contemporary dance instead — my life itself is always shaped by such impermanence and chance.

In practice, creativity doesn’t mean carrying out a plan that has already been carefully designed. It can also mean starting with a question and allowing the work to grow as you go.

What was the original question you want to solve, then? Or, to put it another way, what does “Zhouxin” want to achieve—or move away from?

Ya:

I want more audiences to experience a form of contemporary dance that is more open and inclusive—one that engages a broader range of participants and responds to wider social issues.

I believe that art should be accessible and inclusive. The issues my work responds to come from everyday life. Art should not be disconnected from ordinary experience, nor should it exist only for a particular group. It should be there for more people.

I also want my work to help audiences see Chinese factories in a different way—the workers, craftspeople, and cultures connected to them. These people are highly skilled, but they don’t always have the opportunity to express their creativity.

The People, Crafts, and Materials Behind the Work

To date, Zhouxin’s works have included “Canvas of Onerism”, “Doom Box”, “Doxa”, “ 途经- In Passing 1&2”, and “ 理想躯 - Ideal Body”. The team will soon present “
织 - Weave” at the opening ceremony of Beijing Science Week, followed by ”In Passing 3” at the Nanhai Earth Art Festival in Foshan.

For Ya, each performance is a new act of creation, deeply connected to the factory and to the processes of making. No work is ever simply repeated.

What does the factory mean to Zhouxin?

Ya

The factory raised me and supported me. I grew up there, and it helped shape who I am today. Many artists encounter factories from the position of observers, sometimes without having lived within that environment.

But the factory is not just a place I happened to pass through. It is my home, and the source of my creative work.

Our rehearsals, installations, costumes, and production all take place in the factory. As I lived there, I understand where its real strength lies. It is not in the seemingly all-powerful automated machines. It is in people’s hands. It is in their experience and their deep understanding of materials.This knowledge carries history. It has weight, substance, and beauty.

I want to bring it into the stage.

How does factory influence your creative process?

Ya,

In my earlier work, I usually started from personal feelings. But the factory operates according to a completely different way of thinking. It is a world built on experience.

Materials have their own personalities. Techniques have their limits. Some workers have stood on the production line for more than twenty years. Their judgment has grown out of their hands.

If you want to make something, you can’t solve the problem through imagination alone. Experience forces your ideas to become practical. The things created through that experience eventually appear in the visual language of the finished work.

There is another, subtler influence: the way we rehearse.

A production line has its own rhythm, and that rhythm can create a subtle connection with dance.

During the creative process, I invite dancers from different countries to spend extended periods of time living in the factory. They spend time alongside the machines and workers, allowing the rhythms of factory labor to enter their physical awareness and creative process.

This is not simply a symbolic exercise in “experiencing life.” It is another way of creating. The dancers find a physical state that is different from what they would develop through standard dance training. In that sense, it is a form of resident creation: the work grows out of some speical experience.

You seem especially fascinated by materials.

Ya

Perhaps people who work in factories are naturally sensitive to materials.

Materials carry their own histories. Bamboo and xuan paper, for example, can become structures, bodies, or parts of a space within a contemporary art context.

Recently, I’ve also been experimenting with other materials. I’ve been grinding Chinese medicinal herbs such as indigo root and honeysuckle into pulp, and studying their water resistance and strength to see whether they could be used in installations.

We also incorporate elements of traditional Chinese culture, such as Wing Chun Cantonese opera face painting and music instrument. But the important thing is not simply to attach the label “Chinese elements” to the work. What matters is whether these materials or forms can actually change the audience’s experience.

That’s why I don’t usually emphasize them deliberately. I leave it to the audience and the live performance.

What role do the workers and craftsmen play in your work?

Ya

Have you seen our headless body? Its bones are made of bamboo strips, its skin is made of xuan paper, and the factory’s woven ribbons form its veins.

No matter how interesting my ideas are - but bringing it to life would have been impossible without the skill and care of the craftspeople and workers. My godmother does most of the pattern-making and sewing for the costumes. My cousin installs and welds the structures, while the workers on the production line operate the machinery.

To be honest, I’m constantly amazed by the precision of our craftsmenships. The accuracy they have developed through repetitive work is extraordinary. Their focus is exactly what gives them creative power.

Once, I wanted to create a curve with bamboo in a space. A worker who had spent more than ten years weaving bamboo looked at my sketch and immediately said, “That won’t work. It will crack after a few days.” He explained the direction of the bamboo grain and where the stress points would be, then suggested a completely different approach. It was much better than my initial idea.

Since then, they are not simply viewers but already the creators.

Doesn’t the standardized order of a factory conflict with the freedom of art?

Ya

No. I think the two can actually work together very closely.

I view order not as a restraint, but as a pillar for creativity. Here, I embrace the Japanese concept of Shu-Ha-Ri—a journey of mastery.

Shu (守) is about grounding my practice in the weight and history of 'factory knowledge.' Ha (破) allows us to challenge the limitations of that tradition. Ultimately, I strive for Ri (离): the creative freedom to transcend these labels and forge a unique, authentic language that integrates the past and present.

Q: What are your current works, such as “In Passing” and “Ideal Body”, trying to express?

Ya

“In Passing” is about the act of passing through. It explores encounters, near-misses, and goodbyes between people. Many things cannot be planned. They simply happen, and then they pass.

That is also how I create. I don’t work for a fixed goal. I let different elements come together and see what they grow into.

“Ideal Body” is concerned less with the body itself than with the act of looking—or gazing. How do we see something? From what position, and at what angle? The work explores the relationship between the gazing subject and the body being gazed upon.

The installation features a headless, expressionless body standing in the space while the audience moves around it. As viewers look at the body, they become aware that they, too, are being looked at.

All these works share the same underlying quality: uncertainty.

Remarkably, our performances have no dialogue and no fixed script. They may not even have a fixed cast. You don’t know what will happen next. You don’t know how a material will respond to you, or where the audience will appear.

But I’m increasingly convinced that this is not a problem. It is simply the most honest reflection of life itself.

What has troubled or occupied you most during the creative process?

Ya

What often makes me think deeply is how to define the subjects of my practice within different contexts. The artistic environments in China and abroad are very different, so the issues I focus on and engage with naturally shift as well.

When I am abroad, I often think about how to move beyond racial identity so that I can create with greater freedom. In China, my attention turns instead to things that are frequently overlooked by the mainstream—factories, as well as the emotions, everyday lives, and personal experiences of ordinary people.

Perhaps, on a deeper level, these seemingly different interests are connected by the same desire: to use art to help others, while also helping myself find a sense of recognition and belonging.

At the same time, the specific experiences and social realities behind them are different. This leads me to continually ask myself: Should I emphasize these differences? Should I search for the common ground more between them? Or should I work within a kind of ambiguous space between the two?

I have not yet found a clear answer. This tension, and the uncertainty it creates, have already become an ongoing part of my practice.

When the Work Leaves the Factory

The work moves from the factory to the stage, and from Foshan to places farther away. It begins to encounter different audiences and different interpretations. It also faces a more fundamental question: In a culture accustomed to the mainstream and the standardized, how far can a path of your own making go?

Which artists or thinkers have influenced your work?

Ya

Alberto Giacometti, the sculptor, is a major influence on me. He would work on his sculptures during the day and destroy them at night. Some pieces took him years to revise. When people asked what he was searching for, he would simply answer, “I don’t know.”

I also admire John Galliano. He has always pursued unconventional paths. After being rejected by the fashion world and dismissed from his position, no one was willing to hire him for two full years. Yet he eventually found a way to prove himself on his own terms. That kind of vitality and resilience is deeply inspiring to me.

In a sense, contemporary dance itself was born out of a rebellion against ballet, so a spirit of resistance has been present in the form from the very beginning.

We are trying to challenge certain boundaries—to avoid being confined by established rules or the noise surrounding them, and to find its own path.

Rebellion may sound exciting, but when performing in China, do you face cultural conflicts?

Ya

I am really open for the criticism. I listen to it seriously. But respecting the audience’s cultural preferences does not mean giving up my own judgment.

For example, there can be negative associations with certain colors like white and death. Large amounts of white can easily make Chinese audiences think of funerals or bad luck. But I believe people should not avoid death. We need spaces where we can face it directly.

On a broader level, respecting the audience and staying true to ourselves have never been contradictory in our work.

Our performances blur the boundary between the audience and the performers. The audience can take part, and even move freely through the space.

This is not simply an invitation that says, “Please come here and watch the show.” It is more like saying: “If you want to, we can create the story together. We can influence the direction of the work and see how it changes through our efforts.“

When our relationship is grounded in such equality, differences of opinion are more likely to be accepted and understood. At the very least, they can coexist.

How do you see the relationship between art and commerce?

Ya

Commerce is not the enemy of art, but it should not merely reproduce the surface of art.

For me, the important thing is not to keep art and commerce in some kind of perfect balance. It is to find a relationship in which they support each other.

Fortunately, art and factory production are already connected. Art can enter production and commerce without losing its creativity. In fact, it can bring uniqueness, continuity, and vitality to business.

To be honest, factories close down all the time. I don’t think simply selling products online or passing the business on to the next generation can solve the deeper problem.

We need to pay attention to the hands of the craftspeople, the unique knowledge held by the factory, and the deeper cultural exploration behind it all. That is where the real energy lies.

I encourage everyone in my family to learn design. I hope art and creativity can help extend the life of the factory.

In the end, the real question may not be how to balance art and commerce, but whether we can create a model that does not drain art of its energy, while also preventing commerce from remaining superficial.

Growth with uncertainty

Growth is not always about following a fixed path or reaching a predetermined destination. Sometimes, it means remaining open to what emerges along the way.

This openness is at the heart of Zhouxin’s growth. With every encounter, the work changes—and so does everyone involved. It continues to grow not toward a fixed conclusion, but through the endless possibilities of the next moment.

What would you like to do next?

Ya

I want to invite amateur ladies over the age of fifty to take part. They carry so much experience—of the body, family, labor, and time.

They may not think of themselves as artists, but I want to see what happens when they enter the creative process.

I also want to transform my factory itself into the real stage.

In this setting, “workers” should be presented as real, specific individuals—not merely as craftspeople behind or normal audience, but as the central performers at the heart of the art world.

If you could describe Zhouxin in one word, what would it be?

Ya

Growth—but a kind of purposeless growth.

It is not a fixed model that has been designed in advance. It slowly takes shape through each encounter with bodies, materials, workers, spaces, and audiences.

In Zhouxin’s world, no one is the “main character,” and nothing is merely the “background.” The work does not assign value according to a fixed hierarchy.

Dance and installation are equal. Bamboo strips and the body are equal. The workers sitting below the stage and the performers standing on it are equal. Every material, every person, and every sound is given the possibility of shaping the work.

What I fear most is that the work might stop growing and stop changing.

In the end — Zhouxin is still taking shape.

At the moment, its value cannot be measured solely through commercial success. What matters more is the process: the relationships it creates and the encounters between people, materials, and spaces. Through Zhouxin, art returns to the world of labor — not to aestheticize it, but to listen to it and make it part of the creaitve work.

Perhaps this is what purposeless growth means: remaining open and creative to what each encounter makes possible.

A dancer meets a worker.

A factory becomes a stage.

Something unexpected begins to grow.

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DASH LAND 大师兰德 was born in 2024, founded by Wang Pudi—the same entrepreneur who, back in 2020, founded BLUE DASH, a "de-alcoholized" low-proof spirit brand that took China's nightclub channels by storm.

But Wang saw the ground shifting beneath the industry.

Young people were no longer willing to pay for the inflated premiums of traditional nightclubs — right now, a common cocktail costs at least 100 yuan + / cup in Shanghai while 60 + in small cities — They wanted something lighter, cheaper, and closer to daily life.

Wang recognized a gap in demand: there are not enough chilled venues for getting tipsy, especially with a more accessible price. So he created DASH LAND — the place to sell cocktails at around 30 rmb — just like selling milk tea —to turn alcohol from a "expensive indulgence" into an "everyday grab-and-go drink." 👇

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The Angle — Borrowing the Language of Milk Tea

Walk into any traditional cocktail bar and the menu reads like a password: Martini, Negroni, Old Fashioned, Sazerac. When it comes to cocktails, it gets even more complicated and abstract.

For most young consumers, these names are not easy to understand. They hesitate. They ask the bartender for a "recommendation."

Good interaction — but for a brand that's supposed to scale, this seems entirely unnecessary.

DASH LAND just throws that menu away.

Flavor notes here are translated directly into universally understood descriptions: "sweet and sour," "fruity," "tea-scented." — just like shopping in a milk tea or coffee store.

Also, it takes familiar and trendy milk tea formulas—lychee, guava, Thai milk tea—and uses them as the core structural foundation and the name for its cocktails, so customers can imagine the taste the moment they read the menu, and it is generally all tasted good as the formula has already been tested by milk tea brands.

Wang Pudi：

Young people drink cocktails not because they understand spirits, but cuz the traditional alcohol is too harsh and too bitter. What they want is a tasty, easy-to-drink beverage with alcohol. So we borrow the logic of tea drinks. The tea-drink industry is far more competitive than us—it has already validated many flavors for us. When Thai milk tea goes viral, we make an alcoholic version of it; when guava goes viral, we make a guava flavor. In short, our R&D logic is to never blindly innovate—prioritize reinventing classics, and turn flavors that have already been market-validated into alcoholic drinks.

It doesn't just solve flavor adaptation—it lowers the barrier to drinking alcohol. Consumers don't need to convince themselves, "Tonight I'm having a serious drink to get drunk “ They just say, "I want something sweet, even with a tea note, to enjoy the tipsy”

Non-Standard Backend, Standardized Frontend

The biggest bottleneck in traditional bars' scale is the bartender and space cost.

Bartenders generally cost high salary, high turnover, and product quality depends entirely on experience. Store expansion relies heavily on "masters" training apprentices. That model simply does not multiply.

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DASH LAND applies the Luckin model. The underlying logic of the two has similarities:

1) products are highly standardized; R&D and innovation power sits entirely at headquarters. Stores are just execution terminals with fixed process and formulas — no professional skills needed.

2) second, tiny space — 40–80 square meters - fit more location scenarios.

3)then — drive the supply chain cost down through scale.

4)rely on a digital membership system to lift repurchase rates — analyze consume behaviors smartly to empower the innovation back then.

This is exactly the same as when Luckin went after Starbucks back in the day—it's equivalent to me going after traditional cocktail bars now; the logic is identical.

According to Wang,

We are more Luckin-style…A store may only have two or three people, but those two or three people are not necessarily bartenders. They don't need to know how to mix drinks; they could just be a recent college graduate.

This model solves the most difficult problem in chain expansion—extreme light store level operations—with all core competence embedded in the central organization. But the trade-off is clear: the ritual of "handcrafted on site" is sacrificed in exchange for cost control, easy-to-access and rapid replicability.

Expansion is already underway. The brand currently operates 30 stores, but plans to open 1,000 within three years.

The Challenge

Low prices get people through the door once. The real question is: do they come back?

Clearly, the frequency of bar visits is inherently lower than that of milk tea consumption. So -the core challenge is—before consumers habits are fully formed, whether DASH LAND has the patience to educate the market like Luckin did, and stay the course on the product and even overall- experience competition until it succeeds.

Regardless, the attempt to transform cocktails from a "high-priced, low-frequency and a complex" bar experience into an "affordable, convenient and delicious” daily beverage is already a notable progress and innovation —Such an easy and low-stakes option — who could resist?

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We may often wonder why the owners of independent coffee shops— known locally as zhuliren 主理人 — can seem cold or distant — especially in Shanghai.

Many consumers might complain about this—in theory, a café should value service, be warm, and be good at chatting with customers to build a warm connection.

I know, and trust me, most café owners initial…

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And honestly, it’s not hard to see why.

Health is shaping up to be the next big money maker—right after beauty and food, and easily hitting trillion‑yuan territory.

Take China: the wellness economy hit 10 trillion yuan in 2025, with nearly 500 million people actively using platforms like Tmall Health and JD Health. And guess who’s leading the charge? The post‑95s—they already account for 35% of supplement spending. Tmall Health alone reportedly has close to 300 million annual active users (though that number still needs a solid source). Even more striking: post‑95s and post‑00s are said to buy about a third of all melatonin sold. Lutein, liver‑support pills, and fish oil? They’ve gone from occasional buys to everyday essentials for many young people.

But here’s where China puts its own spin on wellness — It’s not just personal discipline, tracking every step, or keeping your body in a perfect working order. It also taps into the old wisdom of yangsheng 养生 —the art of “nurturing life”—which somehow promises both instant fixes and slow, long‑term benefits, even if that promise is sometimes just a beautiful fantasy.

Just look at the shelves.

L’Oréal-owned Vichy is betting on “beauty from within” with ingestible collagen supplements. Korea’s Olive Young has incubated Olive Better as a one-stop K-wellness platform, while Japan’s DHC brings skincare, health foods, and pet nutrition under one broader umbrella. Pechoin has expanded from beauty into medical aesthetics and broader health-related categories, while Guyu has launched Sishi Youfang, an oral nutrition line. In food and beverages, Nayuki’s ejiao milk tea, Haoxiangni’s freeze-dried red-date and tremella snacks, Chunfeng’s herbal “late-night water,” and WonderLab’s portable probiotics all turn traditional or medicalized ideas of wellness into products that are easier to drink, eat, carry, and share.

Different brands, same vibe: health can’t be so clinical, heavy, or intimidating anymore. It has to be something you can grab, sip, swallow, and toss in your bag like a daily essential—to keep up with the hectic pace of modern life. Bottom line: beauty goes health, health goes snackable, and TCM slips into modern formulas with sleek packaging.

But who actually needs this new wellness wave the most?

It sounds like China’s elders are the perfect fit for such remedies — but that’s not what is really happening. Older folks, cushioned by pensions and state support, are often seen as living their best lives in retirement.

The ones who look like they’re really struggling? The answer is — the young.

There’s a joke going around China: the elderly are full of energy, while the young are barely holding it together.

It sounds exaggerated — until you look at the lifestyle of today’s urban youth.

A typical day for a busy-urban youth might — begin with a jolt of coffee, followed by a sugar-loaded milk tea. After work comes a late-night workout or a fitness livestream. Before bed, vitamins are popped to keep the body going, liver-support supplements are swallowed as penance, a candle is lit for emotional balance, and a few collectible figurines are arranged like tiny psychological bandages — then sleep is tracked.

On weekends, apart from having to be on call for work, one can find brief pleasures in various hobbies, gatherings, and consumption — and, to lose weight but with limited time? maybe semaglutide as a short-cut.

It seems to be a perfect loop: stimulation, exhaustion, compensation, and consumption — the peculiar wellness logic for many, who burn out during the week and then buy recovery rituals in their scattered spare time.

Clearly, life doesn’t easily lend itself to relaxation or happiness for such busy white-collars — which is precisely why so many brands have advocated this wellness concept, given its vast market potential. The one might win such urbanism is whoever can turn those health warnings into reassurance, provide a moment of tranquility, or simply sell the fleeting happiness or healing promise that improvement is possible without disrupting the daily grind.

That may explain why some intellectuals, facing the gig economy, see “flexible employment (or non-employment) as a form of welfare” — they’re likely using such stressed lifestyle as their reference point for comparison. Well - I can’t really judge, because I don’t know whether this comparison method is truly rigorous or scientific, but I guess that’s probably how she thought about it at the time.

Of course, that is not the whole picture.

Shift your gaze away from fast-paced cities like Shanghai and toward the cozy towns—or even county seats—that make you breathe a little easier, and you will find young people living at something closer to 0.5× speed. It is not that competition and comparison have disappeared. Rather, consumers in these slower, less pressured places approach wellness brands from a distinct perspective—one shaped less by the urgency to recover and more by the desire to preserve a comfortable way of life. They may occasionally follow the latest trends or borrow a slice of big-city life, but what they value more deeply is something gentler and more sustainable: a way of staying well that fits the rhythm of everyday life.

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In 2020, Dewu (Poizon 得物, Men’s Xiaohongshu in China ) launched its “Star Brand” incubation program, and sneaker brand called FOOT INDUSTRY (足下工业) —then nearly a decade old founded in Tokyo but founder is Chinese —became its first footwear investee. At that moment, the brand was widely seen as a representative of rising domestic sneaker labels 👇

Just a few years later, PANE — a Shanghai-based brand founded in 2022 — swept the top three spots on Tmall's German Army Trainer (GAT) bestseller list. It not merely gained traction abroad but also becoming a hit back home, with nearly every store packed and long lines at the door — its popularity is now on par with Songmont 👇.

Interestingly — the former brand had spent twelve years building its foundation with capital and collaboration resources; the latter entered the market just a few years ago with no outside funding — but became an instant sensation.

Many people now like to compare these two brands, and although product reviews are mixed, in terms of heat, the late comer — PANE — already seems to have surpassed the similarly positioned FOOT INDUSTRY in both online visibility and offline buzz.

What a drama.

But How?

FOOT INDUSTRY once built its credibility through material quality, craftsmanship, clean & minimalist aesthetic, aligning closely with Japanese streetwear culture, even securing an adidas Originals collaboration.

However, the brand has yet to establish a stable offline retail presence. This prolonged lack of reliable physical touchpoints has kept the brand’s value largely confined to a niche audience, limited its ability to reach a broader consumer base, left the brand’s visibility and recognition persistently blurred, and prevented it from building a truly complete experience loop.

A more serious shift lies in the brand’s identity strategy.

FOOT INDUSTRY registered its company in Tokyo and adopted a de-localized communication approach in its early days, using its overseas association to gain market trust and facilitate international entry.

However, as Chinese consumers have grown more confident in their own culture and more demanding of transparency, that strategy has gradually shifted from an advantage to a liability.

The brand now faces questions from both sides: domestic consumers ask why it registered abroad and positioned itself as a typical Japanese-rooted company, while international audiences ask where it truly comes from and why it does not seem proud of its own origin. This identity confusion is no longer a plus—it has become a barrier to building brand recognition and winning trust.

PANE has taken a different path.

PANE identified a price band around 800 yuan in the athleisure footwear category where there were no strong competitors — neither not-big-enough Foot Industry nor the major sportswear giants — and smartly used the widely recognized German Army Trainer (GAT) as its hero product and category anchor, quickly capturing consumer mindshare.

Go deeper — PANE’s competitive edge can be understood through 3 dimensions,

• Aesthetics, emotional connection and lifestyle — offering universal urban customers a sense of “quiet confidence.”

PANE’s design is grounded in three principles: timelessness, motion, and authenticity.

Rooted in Shanghai, the brand speaks a globally legible visual language—drawing on retro references, Greek-inspired forms, and contemporary fashion—without overtly signaling its Chinese identity, neither hiding nor twisting it; the product itself conveys quality and cultural relevance.

Founder Chen Ning, leveraging a decade in premium menswear, applies a refined understanding of proportion, comfort, and consumer behavior to create everyday footwear that feels effortlessly right: comfortable, elegant, and true to itself.

Positioned between traditional heels and performance-driven athletic shoes, PANE combines technical construction with understated elegance to deliver a sense of quiet confidence to urban customers.

Though initially conceived for women, this aesthetic proved unexpectedly compelling to men—early Instagram followers were 70–80% male—showing the brand’s appeal lies beyond gender, in a shared desire for functional, distinctive, and quietly refined footwear.

Simply put, PANE subtly reimagines the GAT with an unique aesthetics, and champions “effortless elegance” as a lifestyle for the urban middle class 👇.

• Offline experience— one store, one design.

Since opening its first flagship store in Shanghai in mid-2024, the brand has expanded to eight locations across Beijing, Guangzhou, and Shenzhen—all situated in prime, non-standard projects in first-tier cities. Each store carries its own theme—from “PANE PLAZA” to “Urban Window” to “Endless Vacation”—while sharing a consistent architectural language that blends Greek Revival elements with modern minimalism. This “one store, one design” approach turns every physical space into an extension of the brand’s narrative, rather than a cookie-cutter sales terminal.

• Brand momentum as a strategic upgrade—overseas endorsement, scarcity marketing, and reverse flow back to China.

PANE was pursuing a new form of “export-to-domestic” growth (出口转内销), similar to Songmont’s approach: building credibility within overseas fashion circle, then converting that recognition into domestic demand.

By accumulating visibility on platforms such as Instagram—where it has nearly 200,000 followers—and creating impact and a sense of scarcity through a deliberate strategy of “seeding influencers while making the product very difficult to buy overseas,” PANE turns limited availability into part of its desirability.

That overseas momentum is then brought back to China through a form of “reverse daigou.反向代购 ” When a pair of shoes that is difficult to purchase abroad returns home in a traveler’s suitcase, it becomes more than a product — it becomes a story of international approval and hard-won access.

In the end - PANE’s combination of overseas credibility, controlled scarcity, and reverse daigou ultimately fuels discussion across both Chinese and the west social platforms 👇

Right now, the followers on Instagram—five times its following within RedNote in China. So it’s fair to say that it is far more popular overseas than at home. Add to that the fact that it is almost impossible to buy overseas, and if we measure its performance using the now-popular metric of “consumer desirability,” it would score very high.

The game is far from over.

To rebuild trust and drive growth, FOOT INDUSTRY appears to be downplaying and recontextualizing its Japanese identity in the domestic market, though the effectiveness of this shift remains unclear. That said, the brand still retains genuine product expertise, a distinctive design language, deep ties to Chinese culture, and a growing capacity to deliver a premium in-store experience. Whether it can carve out its own path, however, ultimately depends on what it does next. 👇

PANE, on the other hand, must continue to prove that its growth is more than a short-lived aesthetic trend. Needless to say, competitors are already catching up, so PANE needs to continually evolve and strengthen its brand equity.

Ultimately — in China, nothing is certain — everything is changing fast. Late entrants can win, and laggards can reverse the tide — this vast system is playing its role — constantly giving rise to outstanding talent and companies through a process of survival of the fittest.

Further Reading

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The global art toy market is experiencing rapid growth. According to industry research, the global art toy market is projected to grow from $6.94 billion in 2026 to $14.97 billion by 2033. These figures suggest that art toys are no longer a niche collectible category, but an increasingly significant market bridging consumer goods, culture, and creative industries.

With the rise of Pop Mart, China's art toy market has expanded quickly, drawing in a growing number of brands and entrepreneurs. Yet as Pop Mart's success model has been widely adopted, signs of homogenization have become apparent: similar IP characters, comparable gameplay mechanics, and converging visual languages have led to a certain degree of aesthetic fatigue in this fast-growing market, and raised questions about the long-term sustainability of the industry.

Against this backdrop, one brand has stood out to me: fufusoul. With over 40 offline stores and experiential spaces worldwide, it has built something that feels different from the typical IP-toy playbook. I've always been drawn to their spaces and oversized pink toys, and I find myself genuinely curious: why would a grown man decide to build a pink toy brand — and more importantly, how can he and his team continue to grow in such a fiercely competitive sector?

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Why did you think of creating such a brand? A mature man creating a pink-themed toy universe —that piques my curiosity. What was the initial spark?

It all began with a simple conversation with my daughter. She described a little creature that would stay by her side, “eat”her unhappiness, and give off a lovely scent.

That moment stopped me in my tracks. It made me wonder: why does a child—my child—feel drawn to such a companion?

Its appeal, I realized, goes far beyond a cute face or a tangible object. It’s about emotional healing and the quiet reassurance of presence. As a father, my first instinct was to turn her imagination into reality. So I started sketching the prototype of fufu, based entirely on her vision. And as I worked, the seed of a brand began to grow.

Over time, it dawned on me that this longing isn’t limited to children. Adults, too, crave something that can hold their feelings, process their silent struggles, and offer comfort without judgment. What began as a daughter’s fantasy thus became the soul of fufusoul.

When it came to color, pink was our natural choice—our “visual hammer.”

You’ll find it everywhere: in our spaces, our packaging, and our hero product. At first, it was simply because my daughter loves pink. But as I reflected deeper, I understood that pink carries a powerful emotional resonance for many women—our primary audience. In everyday culture and aesthetics, pink evokes warmth, tenderness, beauty, confidence, and affection. It’s more than a color; it’s a visual language that speaks directly to the heart, forging an emotional bond between the brand and those who encounter it.

So romantic, but was there any rational thinking involved?

I think deep down, most marketers probably harbor a dream of building a brand, and I’m no exception.

For me, my daughter was a huge inspiration and the source of the brand’s idea. My years of work experience, on the other hand, gave me the capability to turn that idea into reality.

I’m very grateful for my time at Alibaba. There, I wasn’t just exposed to marketing; I also got involved in and understood aspects like supply chain and product design. I gradually built the ability to think from multiple dimensions, including user needs, product logic, and operational execution.

These experiences not only laid a rational foundation for building the brand but also gave me the confidence to transform a romantic wish into a real, sustainable product and brand.

You seem to often refer to fufusoul as a “healing” brand in other settings. What does “healing” specifically mean to you?

“Healing” might not be about grand narratives.

Most of the time, it responds to simple, genuine needs in daily life: making people feel safe when anxious, relaxed when tired; bringing warmth and joy when feeling down; and allowing them to feel love even when alone, not lonely, and accepted.

The name fufusoul itself contains our understanding of “healing.” Our Chinese brand name, “福馥” (Fú Fù), takes meaning from the associations “fufu” evokes: “福” (Fú) represents happiness and blessing, while “馥” (Fù) brings to mind lightness, softness, and a rich fragrance. “Soul” points towards one’s inner emotions and spiritual world. We hope that an image as soft, cute, and fragrant as fufu can become a medium for carrying emotions and delivering joy and comfort.

Of course, we don’t want to define our products too narrowly. Our products are part of a “brand worldview about healing”: it could be a designer toy, it could be a moving little story. What matters isn’t just what it specifically is, but whether it can establish an emotional connection with people regarding healing and comfort.

The IP-toy market is developing very rapidly, while Pop Mart has had a huge impact on the industry. Many consider them unbeatable especially for a domestic latecomer. For a new brand, how much room is there left to break through?

Pop Mart is a pioneer in the industry. It helped the market establish many new standards and introduced more people to designer toys and trendy toys. They are incredibly strong across the board, making it difficult for latecomers to surpass them by playing the same game.

So, we don’t see “how to benchmark against Pop Mart, or any existing global IP toy brand” as our core issue. We focus more on whether we can create something different—even a different system—and meet needs that still unmet.

One point I want to make: outsiders might focus too much on blind boxes.

While blind boxes are an effective product or marketing mechanism, Pop Mart’s success isn’t really that tied to them—its popularity correlates more strongly with the boom in plush toys, not blind boxes.

In the post-pandemic era, including Jellycat and Disney, plush toys are generally very popular—because they possess a natural, tangible softness and comforting quality. This reflects a broader trend of “spiritual resonance consumption”—we humans generally lack security and a sense of belonging.

Stepping back, looking from the perspective of overall “emotional consumption,” new brands still have opportunities, and significant ones. Find a unique psychological desire for consumers and address it properly—that will set you apart from other players.

So, whether the “blind box” model’s sustainable or not is a pseudo-question.

Yes. Blind boxes can be a tool, but they shouldn’t be the core logic for running a business.

For fufusoul, we aim to establish a new IP product category centered around the “long plush + fragrance” experience. We want consumers to like it, not just because they pulled a specific figure or because it has collectible value, but because it genuinely brings healing and companionship.

You mentioned the category concept of “long-plush fragrance IP-toys.” It seems you are pioneering and defining this product category. I’m curious, as a design-driven brand, how do you achieve this through your product design?

Yes, the competition could be fierce, but I believe a unique category positioning allows us to stand out and stay away from direct competition.

In terms of design, we’ve been exploring a cross-sensory design language combining “scent + softness + cuteness.” This allows our toys’ visual cuteness, tactile softness, and olfactory fragrance to form a more complete and unique emotional experience together.

During product development, we simultaneously consider shape, material, feel, fragrance, and usage scenarios. Turning a concept into a tangible product requires many rounds of adjustments, debates, and coordination across design, prototyping, material testing, and supply chain.

We have a mature in-house design team; product designs are led internally. Because I have combined experience in marketing, product design, and supply chain, I can output ideas faster, judge their feasibility, and establish a more direct link between creativity and actual production. You could say we are likely one of the fastest teams in China to bring creative ideas to life.

Of course, while the product is the core carrier of the IP, it also includes other touch points—ultimately, it’s no longer just product design focused on a single sense; it’s more like a holistic experience design engaging all five senses, extendable to spaces, scents, stories, and maybe even a cup of coffee. We want consumers to generate some meaningful emotional connection at every moment they see, touch, smell, or even taste or hear fufusoul.

Many Chinese brands now like to integrate local culture into their brand universe. There are successes, but also many odd and ugly failures. But I see that your co-branded collection with Putuo Mountain 普陀山 has a very natural and seamless fusion. How do you approach this? Does your long-term art collecting help your sensitivity in this area?

I believe any design-driven work requires a strong belief in long-termism. Cultural exploration is no exception—you need to genuinely and deeply understand the culture you want to express.

Simply using some traditional Chinese patterns, symbols, or colors doesn’t necessarily mean you understand and can express that culture well. Specifically, many brands might just use cultural elements as “decoration” rather than a “language” resulting in superficial or strangely executed works.

Our approach is different: we strive to understand the culture’s underlying way of thinking, lifestyle, craft heritage, and history through smaller-granularity methods like experiencing the real-life details of the original place, asking advices from locals and collaborating with experts. Then we consider how it can naturally enter our brand and design domain.

Of course, my hobby of art collecting has had a huge impact because—well, I wouldn’t spend money on works that aren’t good enough, lol…..So, this long-term collecting has given me a certain accumulation of artistic and aesthetic samples, with traditional Chinese aesthetics being a significant part. This perhaps gives me an intuitive judgment ability that differs from others.

We’ve already made some very successful attempts, including collaborations with overseas artists and explorations in local cultural tourism and artist partnerships.

Recently, we also want to explore the possibility of collaborating with local Chinese craft artisans. China has a wealth of regional arts, and many details deserve serious attention and exploration.

In short, we don’t want to “use Chinese elements” for the sake of using them. We want these cultures to genuinely become part of our products and values, expressed in ways that contemporary consumers can understand. Brands like Songmont did this well, but the specific design logic varies by category and brand philosophy; we need to find our own path.

It seems you are also expanding globally. Did fufusoul have global aspirations from the very beginning?

Yes. From the start, we didn’t limit ourselves to being a brand only for the Chinese market. The desire for “healing” isn’t unique to one country or region. People in different places may speak different languages, have different cultures and habits, but they all need love, kindness, and companionship.

We’ve seen positive feedback in both Asia and the US. Consumer behavior might differ—perhaps American clients show more interest in artist collaborations—but ultimately, there is much common ground in people’s responses to healing concepts like softness, cuteness, fragrance, and companionship.

Once, a US customer sent us a DM on Instagram saying he wanted to buy three fufu toys in different colors for the three children of a neighbor who had suffered a family tragedy (an elderly relative passed away, and another relative has a terminal illness). We don’t know if the story was true, but we chose to believe it and decided to send the Fufusouls to the family for free. After Christmas, he sent us photos of the kids receiving the toys—they looked so happy. At that moment, our team felt their joy too.

These small moments make us more clearly realize that many inner spiritual needs of humanity are universal. People are naturally drawn together by emotional connections—kindness, love, and the reassuring feeling that someone cares—that’s the problem we want to address and solve.

These real stories and user feedback also give us more confidence that our design language can transcend cultures and languages. Through our products, experiences, and genuine customer relationships, we are able to create warmth and meaningful connections for people around the world.

fufusoul currently has over 40 stores globally. As the brand expands, how do you maintain the team’s creativity and organizational vitality?

I place importance on a “platform mindset.”

A company shouldn’t just be a place where employees complete fixed tasks; it should also be a platform that helps them grow. We want employees to build competence in their professional area while continuously expanding knowledge and experience in other fields.

This is the “1+X” culture I promote internally.

“1” represents a person’s foundational skills; we respect each employee’s unique talents and core values. “X” represents the other capabilities they can continuously develop. A designer can understand product and market; an operations person can understand users and content.

I advocate for this cross-disciplinary ability. It facilitates communication within the team, helps each person discover new possibilities, and maintains their sustainable value as the organization evolves and changes.

Beyond that, I value kindness, inclusiveness, and a collaborative culture.

A brand will inevitably face pressure and differing opinions as it grows. But without inclusiveness and goodwill among team members, it’s hard for the organization to sustain itself in the long run. Whether a person can be kind and inclusive towards their surroundings ultimately affects their ability to gain broader cooperation and support.

I believe these qualities will bring good fortune to each of us and the entire organization, and also spark unexpected inspiration. As a Buddhist text goes, “Do good and fortune will follow. 行善者多福. ”

Besides toy brands, are there any brands you particularly like?

Let me think... I am quite into Apple.

What impresses me about Apple isn’t just their powerful products, but their very complete product ecosystem. They consistently start from user needs, thinking about the relationships between products and whether the overall user experience is cohesive.

They also place high importance on details and standards, yet they continuously innovate. To me, this ability to maintain “rigor and innovation simultaneously” is very instructive. fufusoul is still in a growth phase, and we hope to gradually build our own ecosystem.

If you were to recommend one place in China to foreign friends traveling here, besides the must-visit Shanghai, where would you suggest?

I would recommend Guizhou.

For me, Guizhou isn’t just a single tourist destination; it’s also a place that allows for a better understanding of China’s regional cultures and lifestyles. It has unique cuisine, handicrafts, architecture, clothing, folk culture, and incredibly rich natural environments.

For those of us building brands and products, places like this offer observations and inspirations quite different from coasting urban consumer environments. Lately, I’ve been very interested in their embroidery techniques.

For overseas friends, Guizhou’s rich and unique elements are definitely worth experiencing and exploring. The coffee in Guiyang is especially great— you’ll love it.

Thanks for reading!

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The current wave of consumer brands with genuine global ambitions traces its roots to the VC frenzy of 2015–2019. To me, that’s no surprise—political headwinds simply delayed what should hav…

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I want to add some context here. I’ve noticed that few in the media ever clearly explain the origins and evolution of these concepts such as “DTC” and “New Consumer Brand” within China context.

In China, “DTC” and the “New Consumer Brand” concept appeared almost simultaneously, around 2018. DTC was a concept created in the US and introduced into China around that time, while the local “New Consumer Brand” concept emerged almost in the same period. Definitions of a New Consumer Brand vary, but the broad consensus is: new demographics, new marketing, new design, new products — basically everything is new. Here, DTC is primarily about model innovation, whereas the New Consumer Brand implies a more comprehensive brand upgrade.

This kind of terminology game always lags behind. The earliest group of consumer-focused investors and founders were already thinking deeply about consumer issues around 2015 — though, of course, that was already many years after the DTC wave in the US.

Today, the New Consumer Brand concept has essentially run its course, because China has gone through a full awakening of brand consciousness. While absorbing Western brand theory, local companies have also figured out their own playbook.( I will talk more about it the near future)

Moreover, many brands that have been seriously learning how to build a true brand have been at it for nearly a decade now — they are no longer “new.”

However, the concept of DTC is still alive; it has always existed within organizations, merely manifesting in different forms and holding varying strategic weight depending on the brand stage.

For startups, it is still a tactical weapon for digital arbitrage — maybe mainstream e-commerce traffic has become very expensive, but social commerce still presents many opportunities — anyway, there are always pockets of low-cost traffic. While for established corporations, it has evolved into either a strategic imperative to stay close to the consumer — building powerful offline spaces and community marketing is, in essence, a closer and better way to communicate with consumers — or a revolutionary model for end-to-end digital integration, breaking down the silos between supply chains and user data.

Think about it: no one can completely detach from a DTC perspective when looking at problems; after all, in a market of oversupply, understanding and meeting consumer needs is the top priority.

NIKE

Nike China will terminate all online sales authorizations next year

It is said that Nike has completely terminated all online sales authorizations for its distributors in the China market next year. That means its entire online business is now under unified control, and the DTC share is estimated to surge to around 50%, roughly on par with Anta’s main brand.

Topsports, Nike’s distribution partner, soon began liquidating inventory at a discount and its stock price tanked. Pou Sheng, another distributor, was also forced to restructure its business.

Nike officially says it’s to avoid channel fragmentation; distributors guess it’s for price control — and honestly, both make sense. When channels are fragmented and pricing gets chaotic, it really hurts a brand’s ability to stay premium.

But, much like LV, this argument gets zero support in the court of public opinion. You talk about controlling prices, but customers just think your prices aren’t worth it in the first place — so what exactly are you controlling?

In fact — Topsports was using its offline wholesale agreements to run online stores, and never had a formal online distribution authorization from Nike headquarters. In the early days, Nike turned a blind eye. It’s only in the last couple of years that they’ve started to clamp down.

What can I say? I've been lucky enough to work with the marketing teams at Nike, Adidas, and other major sportswear brands numerous times, and Nike's organizational culture is my favorite — simple, professional, and straightforward. So, I don't believe Nike has any malicious intent. Business is business.

But here’s the brutal truth: Nike’s product in China is now a real problem — just like Starbucks and the NBA. When the ideological halo fades ( This not only means that US universal values have a very limited market, but they may even face skepticism and criticism ), local brands are catching up, it’s painfully clear that their products are simply not as appealing as they used to be. IMO — Even if they successfully take back control of online operations, it will likely do very little to address the broader issue of product competitiveness in the short term.

Further Reading 👇

Moutai

Moutai’s late push into DTC won’t be smooth sailing.

Moutai’s DTC share currently sits around 40-45%, which puts it in a league of its own in the baijiu industry, where Wuliangye and Luzhou Laojiao are still languishing in the 20-30% range.

Its instrument is the “i Moutai” self-operated platform. I remember back then they launched and promoted it very quietly since 2022, cutting traditional distributor quotas year after year, imperceptibly, while holding all the incremental supply firmly in their own hands. The objective was crystal clear: the MSRP of a bottle of Feitian Moutai cannot remain a decorative number forever.

The massive revenue in the channel are not what Moutai is truly worried about. Just like Nike, what concerns them is pricing power. I think I’ve mentioned this in one of my earlier posts: since when does a premium brand have to operate and pricing based on the mood of its distributors? What a joke.

Beyond online DTC, restructuring offline distributor channels, especially the multi-layer sellers, is essential to regaining price control — and unsurprisingly, Moutai’s greatest hurdle is corruption. The web of ties between top executives and distributors is complex that reform is brutally hard.

Further Reading 👇

Luckin

Beyond the TikTok-style algorithm, this is essentially the SHEIN model applied to the broader physical world.

I used to see Luckin as very similar to TikTok. Now, I increasingly see it as SHEIN.

SHEIN’s playbook is well known: data-driven small-batch rapid response, massive SKU testing, vertically integrated supply chain, and turning upstream suppliers into “cloud factories” that obey algorithms entirely. The brand doesn’t rely on any buyers or distributors; it talks to consumers directly using only its own data and algorithms. This is DTC in fast fashion taken to its ultimate form.

And Luckin has simply moved that exact same logic into offline coffee retail. SHEIN’s online storefront is replaced by Luckin’s physical stores, but the core is identical — brand, supply chain, product, pricing, data are highly controlled by the brand; the terminal is only responsible for execution.

The store structure is 65% directly operated and 35% partnership stores.

On the surface, there seems to be a portion of “franchisees,” but in reality, beyond site selection and handing over authorized fees partners have very few authority. No cash, all data is collected by the HQ, no decision power of any product promotion and pricing — basically, everything is digitally managed. Headquarters’ control goes down to the pores. To put it bluntly, a partner is just a hired hand wearing a “co-owner” coat.

Moreover, Luckin’s grip on the value chain is the same as Starbucks’, or even more extreme. From coffee bean cultivation (with its own bases in Yunnan and Africa) to roasting, warehousing, logistics, all the way to in-store fulfillment and user data flowing back — they grab hold of everything. This highly digitized, algorithm-driven new product launch, fully self-controlled supply chain model is exactly what SHEIN does in fashion.

SHEIN proved you can dominate a market without relying on any external channels. Luckin is proving you can do the same, even when you have to open tens of thousands of physical stores.

Further Reading 👇

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In May, the fast‑fashion giant stunned the industry by buying the U.S. sustainable‑fashion benchmark Everlane from L Catterton (an LVMH‑affiliated private equity fund) for est. $100 million.

Then on July 10, China’s securities regulator approved SHEIN to issue up to 342 million overseas ordinary shares for a Hong Kong listing, with a target valuation in the $40–50 billion range.

Hurun’s 2026 Global Unicorn list still ranks SHEIN ninth worldwide at about RMB 456 billion, but its IPO valuation would be far below the $100 billion peak seen in 2022 — roughly cut in half.

Those few events have pulled this controversial brand back into the limelight. Much has been said—and argued—about SHEIN’s “small‑batch quick‑turn” supply chain, its labor and environmental record, the Xinjiang cotton allegations, not to mention its roller‑coaster valuation and geopolitical headwinds. I have no intention of rehashing those discussions here.

Rather, I want to revive a question that has been shelved for too long: Who is the next Shein?

That question was one of the hottest topics in China’s consumer‑goods investment circles between 2019 and 2022. It was the peak of consumer investment: dollar funds and yuan funds hunting for the “Chinese ZARA” or the “next SHEIN.”

Money poured in, valuations soared — it felt like everything was on fire.

Then the tide went out. Consumer investment cooled down, trade frictions intensified, Western regulators tightened oversight, and cross‑border small‑parcel tariff policies changed.

For a while, the question went quiet. No one was asking about the “next SHEIN” — because even SHEIN’s own fate seemed far from certain — tied to China’s national fortunes — overwhelmed by political headwinds.

Now that SHEIN is finally moving toward a Hong Kong IPO — is the party really starting up again? I’m not sure.

But it does feel like the right moment to reopen the question: after SHEIN, who’s still in the race? At the very least, we can check in on those would‑be competitors to see how they’ve been doing.

Cider: probably the most similar successor

Among the candidates people talk about as “the next SHEIN,” Cider is probably the closest in spirit.

Founded in 2020, Cider’s founder Wang Zhan worked in several big internet firms. The company raised four rounds quickly, totaling over $130 million in early years.

Cider entered Gen‑Z women’s fashion with a “Pick a Mood” approach, used a TikTok multi‑account funnel to drive traffic to its standalone site, reached a $1 billion valuation within two years, reported annual revenues in the hundreds of millions, and had over 15 million registered users. On the supply‑chain side, Cider also runs a “small‑batch quick‑turn” model, compressing new‑product cycles to about seven days.

But Cider has deliberately differentiated itself from SHEIN from the start. SHEIN chases rock‑bottom prices; Cider prices most items at $15–$50, clearly above SHEIN’s $5–$20 range. SHEIN organizes by category; Cider organizes by “mood” — people buy more than clothes, they buy identity and emotional resonance. SHEIN is broad across age groups; Cider targets Gen‑Z precisely (about 70% of users are 18–24), leaning into Y2K and vintage aesthetics.

In April 2026, Cider opened its first global flagship in Los Angeles, about 7,800 sq ft, with a store layout built around six emotional style pillars like “elegant,” “cool,” “sweet,” and “free.” It runs weekly “Cider Sundays” community events, and a second store in San Jose was announced for summer.

Clearly, Cider is shifting from being an online sprinter to building long‑term omnichannel retail capability — it’s not trying to be a cheaper SHEIN; it aims to be a more stylish Cider

Urbanic: a model sidesteps competition by expanding into regions its rivals struggle in

If Cider is confronting SHEIN head‑on in Western markets, Urbanic chose a different path.

Founded in 2019, headquartered in London with operations in Hangzhou, Urbanic’s founder Xue Chi previously worked at Google and cofounder Deng Qiulin came from Alibaba’s strategy team.

Rather than fighting SHEIN in the US and Europe, Urbanic targeted markets SHEIN had been pushed out of — notably India — and emerging markets like Brazil and Mexico.

This is a very smart “dislocation” strategy.

After the 2017–2018 China‑India border tensions, the Indian government banned dozens of Chinese apps, including SHEIN. SHEIN left a massive market with hundreds of millions under age 25.

Urbanic entered under a “London brand” identity and quickly became India’s leading DTC fast‑fashion player.

By July 2025 it had delivered over 30 million orders in India and was profitable. Annual revenue rose from RMB 2 billion in 2024 to RMB 2.8 billion in 2025. In November 2023 it closed a $150 million Series C, bringing total funding above $200 million.

Urbanic’s core is a data‑driven supply chain. It aims not just for “small‑batch quick‑turn” but for something near “zero inventory” — using AI and psychographic data to predict demand and treating each week like a micro‑season, with algorithms deciding what to produce and where to store it. It also uses AIGC tools to systemically generate designs and claims it can hold inventory waste to under 1%.

And, Urbanic’s next moves show bigger ambitions.

In June 2025 it launched Savana in India, a sub‑brand targeting Gen‑Z women with lower price points (mostly under INR 1,000, about $12), trendier styles, and faster turn. The Gurgaon warehouse processes 600k–1M items weekly.

Seemingly — Urbanic aims to cover both SHEIN’s price band and Cider’s aesthetic in the regional market: “SHEIN’s efficiency + Cider’s style” at the same time.

However, the brand’s largest risk isn’t competition but geopolitics.

How long can its “London brand” cover last, given political sensitivities?

SHEIN’s ban in India is a clear warning — any renewed border friction could wipe out Urbanic and Savana’s investments in an instant. The deeper Savana goes in India, the larger the political exposure. This is a structural problem, not just a commercial one.

PatPat, Halara and Cupshe — Vertical specialists

Another path is deep focus on a single vertical and squeezing supply‑chain efficiency there.

PatPat, founded in 2014, is a mother‑and‑baby DTC brand focused on 0–6 year apparel. It raised a $510 million C round in 2021 and reached a RMB 21 billion valuation in 2025. But the mother‑and‑baby category has a natural ceiling: short user lifecycles force constant high‑cost customer acquisition. Online sales fell 20–50% year‑over‑year in 2025, and the company is still navigating a tough transition.

Halara, founded in 2021, is an athleisure brand known for “high‑value yoga pants.” — rival of lululemon. Its omnichannel revenue hit about $313 million in 2024, and GMV surpassed $1 billion. Founder Zhang Xiaopei graduated from Tsinghua in computer science and was formerly VP at Hulu. But Halara’s supply‑chain depth is far shallower than SHEIN’s — fewer SKUs, slower replenishment. It looks more like a content‑savvy DTC brand than a supply‑chain driven fast‑fashion company.

Cupshe succeeded by making a decisive move—subtracting rather than adding. Founded in 2015, it initially tried to follow SHEIN's full‑category fast‑fashion playbook, but after a full year of going nowhere, it made a drastic pivot in 2016: it cut every category and went all‑in on swimwear. That decision proved to be a masterstroke.

By 2017, Cupshe had become the No.1 online swimwear brand in North America. Today, its own‑site annual sales stand at roughly $220 million, with total online GMV estimated at around $420 million.

Well, even though the vertical model works, the ceiling is clear. SHEIN diluted customer‑acquisition costs across many categories; vertical brands must finely balance lifetime value against acquisition cost.

Zaful — A Great Beginning, a Bitter Ending

You can’t talk about “the next SHEIN” without mentioning Zaful — once paired with SHEIN as a poster child for cross‑border fashion, today it stands as a bankruptcy caution.

Zaful launched in 2014 under a cross‑border group and rose alongside SHEIN. By 2018 it reported over RMB 2 billion in revenue and was seen as a strong competitor. But around 2020 the paths diverged. SHEIN double‑downed on supply‑chain and data systems; Zaful pursued a “capital‑fueled” strategy: heavy ad spending, big celebrity endorsements, week control over the supply chain and broad category expansion.

When the 2021 Amazon “account suspension wave” hit, Zaful’s standalone site traffic and conversion collapsed. It sold brand assets in 2023 and was declared bankrupt in January 2026 with liabilities of RMB 813 million and negative net assets of RMB 735 million.

Zaful’s story is a brutal footnote: capital can buy traffic but not supply‑chain moats; you can buy exposure but not customer loyalty. When the money leaves, those without underlying operational strength are exposed.

In the end, maybe the question itself needs to be rethought

The question “Who is the next SHEIN?” assumes something that may be wrong — that SHEIN’s model is meaningfully replicable.

But the world doesn’t need a second SHEIN.

(Even if they wanted to, other brands can’t fully copy Shein — Shein was founded nearly a decade earlier over them, and that deep accumulation makes it almost impossible for later entrants to replicate.)

Cider’s “emotion space” stores, Urbanic’s Savana in India, and PatPat’s persistence in mother‑and‑baby — these moves aren’t about producing a SHEIN clone. They show different routes.

The “next” after SHEIN may not be a single brand that looks like SHEIN; it may be a cluster of brands that go overseas in different ways, across different categories — beauty, home, consumer electronics — and into different markets — Southeast Asia, Latin America, the Middle East — using different and even more creative models.

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For years, China’s freshly made tea and coffee markets were treated as separate worlds — different price points, different consumers, different operating rhythms. That boundary has dissolved.

Today, tea brands are installing coffee machines by the thousand. Coffee chains are building non-coffee menus that rival their core offerings. They’re chasing the same customers, in the same delivery apps, across the same dayparts. So we’re now looking at a more integrated battleground — and the 2025 earnings offer the clearest snapshot yet of who’s holding up and who’s not.

Some more context: growth in both categories appears to be slowing.

Plus - even though the usage occasions, production processes, and supply chains of tea and coffee are not entirely identical, but they overlap more significantly over other categories.

Those two points may be few of the key reasons why the two categories have started to compete so directly.

With that backdrop, here’s how the listed players performed 👇.

Tea: Six Listed Companies, Four Profitable, Two in the Red

(2025FY Full-Year Base + 2026 Incremental)

• Mixue (蜜雪冰城)​ ✅ Solidly profitable, growth decelerating

  2025FY: Revenue RMB 29.75B (+20.5% YoY); adjusted net profit RMB 8.92B (+4.6% YoY)

  2026Q1: Pending August 2026 interim report

• Guming (古茗)​ ✅ Profitable, growth leading

  2025FY: Revenue RMB 12.91B (+46.9% YoY); adjusted net profit RMB 2.575B (+66.9% YoY)

  2026Q1: Pending August 2026 interim report; company guidance: same-store GMV -0.5% to -1.5% YoY (first post-IPO same-store decline)

• Chabaidao (茶百道)​ ⚠️ Thin profit, second year of revenue decline

  2025FY: Revenue RMB 6.33B (-5.7% YoY); adjusted net profit RMB 833M (+29% YoY); attributable net profit RMB 821M (+71% YoY)

  2026Q1: Pending August 2026 interim report

• Auntea Jenny (沪上阿姨)​ ⚠️ Thin profit tier

  2025FY: Revenue RMB 4.47B (+36.0% YoY); adjusted net profit RMB 570M (+36.4% YoY) (disclosed, not estimated)

  2026Q1: Pending August 2026 interim report

• Chagee (霸王茶姬)​ ❌ Q4 2025 operating loss; full-year profit halved

  2025FY: Revenue RMB 12.91B (+4% YoY); attributable net profit RMB 1.19B (-52.4% YoY); Q4 operating loss RMB 35.5M

  2026Q1 ✅: Revenue RMB 3.31B (+21.3% YoY); attributable net profit -33% YoY; domestic same-store sales -16% YoY (narrowed from -25.5% in Q4 2025); operating margin 1% → 17.1%

• Nayuki (奈雪的茶)​ ❌ Net loss RMB 241M

  2025FY: Revenue RMB 4.31B (-12% YoY); 152 net store closures; delivery accounts for 52.6% of directly-operated revenue; in-store dine-in <10%; bakery revenue share 10.7% → 8.1% (-33% YoY)

  2026Q1: Pending August 2026 interim report

The divergence between the profitable and loss-making names is fundamentally a story of two different operating models.

The profitable chains share a lighter, more resilient structure: they anchor themselves in lower price points to capture the largest customer base, control raw material costs through deep supply chain integration, iterate products rapidly, and deliver competitive overall value at their respective price tiers. In an oversupplied market, this model has proven far more resistant to pressure.

This pattern also holds true in the coffee sector — seen most clearly in Luckin's success and the wave of other coffee brands now imitating its small-store model.

On the loss-making side, Chagee and Nayuki face structurally similar challenges — premium positioning, larger stores, elevated operating costs, low table turnover, insufficient depth in product management and innovation, and an expansion of portfolios that quality control can’t keep up with.

These problems mirror the difficulties confronting Starbucks China: when spatial premium is diluted by delivery platforms and by rivals offering a sharper value proposition (lower price combined with higher perceived quality), sustaining both a premium price and healthy volume becomes exceedingly difficult.

Coffee: Two Profitable, Three in the Red — Even the Leaders Are Feeling Unit-Economic Strain

(2025FY Base + 2026 Incremental)

• Luckin (瑞幸)​ ✅ Profitable, but margin thinning

  2025FY: Total revenue RMB 49.29B (+43% YoY); stores 31,000

  2026Q1 ✅: Revenue RMB 12.00B (+35.3% YoY); GAAP operating margin 8.3% → 6.0%; net profit RMB 506M (-3.6% YoY); first negative same-store for company-operated: -0.1% YoY; delivery cost RMB 689M → 1.31B (+89.8%), 8% → 11% of revenue; delivery mix <40% (Q4) → ~30-35% (Q1)

• Starbucks China​ (post-Boyu: Boyu 60% / SBUX 40%, closed April 2 2026; deconsolidated from Q3 FY26) ✅ Profitable, carried by non-beverage channel

  FY2025: Revenue ~USD 3B; same-store 6 consecutive quarters negative

  FY26 Q2 (natural year March 2026) ✅: Revenue USD 799.8M (+8% YoY); same-store +0.5% (txn +2.1% / ticket -1.6%); stores 7,991 (20 net closures vs Q1); channel development (RTD + merch + licensing) op margin 40.5%; June 10 2026 non-coffee price cut -5 RMB, floor RMB 23; “Thousand Stores Thousand Faces” compact rollout (200–300㎡ → 10㎡ kiosk / pop-up)

• Tims China (THCH)​ ❌ Penny stock, chronic loss

  2024/25: Est. annual net loss RMB 200–300M (no standalone FY2025 audit); share price $1–2 post-SPAC

  2025 pilot: “Tims Go” 20–30㎡ compact format

• Cotti (库迪)​ ❌ Negative unit economics, closure wave

  Unlisted, no audited FY2025; est. cost ~RMB 11.1/cup at 9.9 price → ~RMB 1.2 loss/cup

  2026 updates ✅: June 30 canceled franchisee buyback guarantee → pre-deadline closures; forced coffee-machine upgrade on renewals; americano subsidy cut RMB 9.5+ → RMB 2.5–3.5 (franchisee take-home <RMB 6/cup); Mar–May 2026: 762 new / 722 closed (~zero net); third-party (GeoHai): 722 closures / 90 days (4.5% of 16,000 footprint)

• Seesaw​ ❌ Bankrupt 2026

  Unlisted; founder hit with consumption restriction order; tens of millions in wage & supplier arrears; peak 140+ stores → dozens remaining

The two profitable players represent the sector’s absolute leaders — Luckin standing for the small-format model, Starbucks for the large-format one.

Luckin’s earnings power requires little elaboration.

Starbucks China has managed to remain profitable, and even showed nascent signs of recovery, thanks to a series of forceful adjustments: recalibrating price points, optimizing store sizes, strengthening product innovation, stepping up promotions, and pushing deeper into lower-tier regions.

Remarkably, the roots of the losses at Tims, Cotti, and Seesaw are distinct.

Tims’ “beverage + food” portfolio appears elegant on paper but suffers from serious quality-control failures — its coffee, at the very least, falls dramatically short of reasonable expectations and comes across as even less honest than Starbucks. How such a poor product came to market is a question best directed at its management.

Cotti, the other brand founded by Luckin’s founder, has stubbornly pursued subsidy-driven growth, resulting in persistently inverted unit economics. Its founding motive seems to have been fueled, at least in part, by a sense of revenge — a narrative that has not translated into consumer appeal. Today, its brand perception lags well behind Luckin, which has already cemented itself as the go-to choice for affordable daily coffee. There may be a sense of inevitability here: once a mental moat is formed around a brand, it becomes exceedingly difficult to dislodge it with a similar playbook.

Seesaw’s failure — by consensus, it lies in its prolonged indecision between a specialty-coffee ethos and a scaled chain model, ultimately dragging itself into collapse (though I personally remain less convinced by this view).

Consolidated Observations on both Tea and Coffee Sector

On the “Consumption Downturn” Narrative

“Weakening consumer demand” is frequently invoked to explain the industry’s troubles, but it functions more as a shared backdrop than a specific cause of any single company’s losses.

A more accurate explanation might be that a subdued consumer mood amplifies pre-existing model mismatches — where costs are allocated and whether the model is adapted to China’s structural realities (high delivery penetration, the blurring boundary between tea and coffee) matters far more than the macro climate alone.

On Delivery’s Role

Several disclosed figures reveal just how much delivery now dominates revenue.

At Nayuki, delivery accounted for 52.6% of direct sales; dine-in was below 10%. This means a significant portion of revenue does not depend on in-store consumption — an intrinsic contradiction for a large-format spatial model.

At Luckin, the delivery share was under 40% in Q4 2025 and approximately 30–35% in Q1 2026; Luckin appears to be deliberately lifting average ticket prices and even expanding its proportion of larger-format stores.

In short — the delivery war has never gone away, and it never will, because delivery has become a deeply embedded part of Chinese consumer behavior. For tea and coffee chains, balancing physical space with delivery economics may become one of the central strategic questions navigating the next phase.

On Differentiation

In a market defined by brutal homogenization, cross-category expansion, SKU proliferation, and experiential layering have become the default paths in search of differentiation. But when quality control and innovation fail to keep pace, new SKUs merely disperse supply-chain focus, turning into items that consumers regard as “not terrible, but not worth remembering.”

Meaning — the short-term revenue bump from superficially adding categories and simply piling on experiences rarely translates into durable repeat purchase.

This may be the best product-level explanation for why tea and coffee have so aggressively encroached on each other’s turf. As noted earlier, the usage occasions, production processes, and supply chains of tea and coffee are not entirely identical, but they overlap significantly — especially when it comes to creative drinks. The overlap is far greater than with categories like alcohol, desserts and bakery, or hot food, all of which require a heavier operational model. This shared foundation gives brands significantly more control over both quality and creativity.

On the Unlisted Blind Spot

The analysis above rests entirely on publicly disclosed financials from listed companies, except Seesaw. A considerable number of unlisted brands remain financially opaque, and independent shops are not captured here at all. Any conclusions drawn from current public data should therefore be treated as inherently limited and potentially unrepresentative of the full market picture.

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Once hailed as the cradle of China’s specialty-coffee talent — the unofficial academy that inspired an entire generation — the brand has exited the stage in brutally abrupt fashion, after years of breakneck expansion and internal turmoil.

The news ignited a firestorm. Almost overnight, a chorus of Monday-morning quarterbacks piled on, eager to dissect Seesaw’s “strategic missteps” and second-guess its “failed expansion.” History has always been merciless: when you’re winning, your every word sounds like genius; when you’re losing, your every move looks like a blunder.

Seesaw’s private struggles — the doubts, the regrets, the moments of confusion and anguish — along with all the twists and turns, the tangled resentments and what-ifs… how could any outsider ever truly grasp them through a few platitudes delivered with perfect hindsight?

Who was right, and who was wrong? It’s a question that can’t be reduced to a sound bite. The truth behind rarely matters; only the outcome does.

Cast your mind back to Seesaw’s original dream. It genuinely wanted to do something cool: to make being a barista an honorable profession. That dream was clear, pure, and radiant with idealistic conviction. But as the whole industry got swept up in the wave of venture capital, Seesaw was dragged onto the path of expansion.

Was this a contradiction? Absolutely. Was it an act of desperation? I am not sure. History doesn’t deal in what-ifs. No one can answer that.

On the flip side, Manner’s story plays out from a completely different script.

It is said that Manner’s founder originally tried, and failed, to launch the business in his hometown Nantong. He later went to Shanghai. In that crucible — the richest, most cutthroat coffee market in the country — Manner didn’t just survive; it grew into the powerhouse it is today.

Relentless chain-store DNA, lean staffing, uncompromising product quality, blistering operational speed — Manner operates like a quality precision-engineered machine, sweeping across the country with unstoppable momentum. You could even argue that its presence has raised the bar for the entire Chinese coffee industry.

Now, after all these years, it’s finally opening its very first store in its hometown. Some say Nantong failed Manner back then. Others say the founder has long since moved on, forgiven the city, or simply made peace with his younger self.

Maybe none of such gossip matters anymore.

What matters is that Manner is coming home. Only this time, it’s no longer the anonymous underdog that slipped away all those years ago.

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Just now, on the floor in Brussels, Weize Xu（徐维泽） — the Chinese competitor’s setup offered a clear window—not into how far she’d go, but into what she put on the table. The origins of those objects formed a kind of side-view map of where China’s coffee scene really stands.

The beans were Panamanian Geisha. The popcorn machine brand is - American LORING - both are my favorite. No surprise — when it comes to green coffee and heavyweight roasting gear, China is still learning; it hasn’t yet earned a seat at that table.

But some of the lighter kit told a different story.

The WBRC‑sponsored filter grinder is now OPTION (LAGOM is the product name; 01 denotes the model — like iPhone XXX vs. Apple) — a Chinese brand many still assume is foreign. It didn’t get there by undercutting on price. It walked straight into the world‑class single‑dose grinder category, a space EK43s and Ditting 807s have dominated for what feels like centuries — not to confront, but to fill a gap.

EK43 and Ditting 807 lab‑sweets are legends in the professional world, but Option’s grinder aims to give users more choice — just as the brand name promises.

As you can see from the photos below, their product lineup is broad — from home to café, daily use to competition, entry‑level to high‑end. The design is exquisitely minimal and tuned for a light‑roast aesthetic — true to the name LAGOM, a Nordic word meaning “not too much, not too little.” It reflects deep coffee knowledge while blending restrained Nordic philosophy, the Chinese 中庸 (doctrine of the mean), and contemporary coffee flavour trends into a very impressive product. 👇

In fact, such cute machine is already in cafés worldwide — more and more top specialty cafe are using the brand.

That signals something important: at least one Chinese company has stopped asking “are we good enough?” and is letting the world’s pickiest users answer that question every day. To me, this isn’t a hype-victory story. It’s an ongoing experiment — but one that shows China’s coffee industry is deliberately aligning with global trends and growing steadily.

The drippers reinforced that picture.

The Chinese brewer used two different pour-over cones to brew separate portions of the same recipe (the second portion was even a blend of two grind sizes).

The opening dripper was the Lily Drip — a pour‑over cone invented by a Taiwanese ( I guess he is) coffee genius enthusiast 👇.

The second was the CT62 dripper 山文滤杯, designed through collaboration between a Taiwanese designer and coffee expert 👇.

Both brands are extremely popular in China, appearing frequently on café counters and competition bars nationwide.

What this assortment points to are not a simple “Made in China” story. It’s a scattered, international community of Chinese talents — each pulling in their own direction yet together shaping what’s happening back home.

Last but not least, there’s the person behind the bar, Weize Xu — the brewer herself — an amateur.

That’s worth pausing on, at least in a Chinese context.

Not because it’s rare, but because it signals acceleration: not only professionals, but everyday Chinese consumers are getting seriously good, knowledgeable, even quasi-professional about coffee.

Part of this is global — the rise of home coffee and the democratization of brewing knowledge. But it also shows that Chinese coffee drinking pattern now has largely synced with the wider world. China isn’t some isolated market; it shares the same pulse as global coffee culture.

Of course, that rising consumer competence is putting pressure on sloppy cafés - they get called out and abandoned. And more than anything else, that consumer intolerance for mediocre coffee is what’s forcing the industry to evolve — China included.

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Let me start with a counterintuitive fact: on Xiaohongshu, China’s Instagram, eight or nine out of ten cafés are pushing creative drinks. When foreign media cover China’s coffee scene, they also give these drinks a very prominent place. When you go to a coffee festival in China, you're almost buried under a wave of strange, over-the-top creative concoct…

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Coffee roasting is a craft that blends thermodynamics, physics, and chemistry — From loading beans, dehydration, color change to the development phase, roasters use smell, sight and parameter control to release, reorganize, and stabilize the flavor compounds hidden in green beans under high heat.

If we roughly apportion the origins of a cup’s flavor (I don’t recall where I first saw this sentence): 40%–50% comes from the green bean (variety, origin, soil, microclimate and altitude set the flavor ceiling), while roasting accounts for at least another 30%+. Meaning - without excellent roasters, the good coffee in our cups would not exist — so saying “roasting is the soul of specialty coffee” isn’t an exaggeration.

But what does this say about the China market? Aren’t Chinese cafés just selling “sweet drinks” and novelty creative coffees that mask the real coffee flavor — strange, complex recipes that don’t require good green beans or careful roasting?

Admittedly, if we’re talking about large chains, it might have a point — Luckin treats coffee like a sweet beverage & bubble‑tea brands now sell milk‑based coffees. But the hard truth is that in almost every SPECIALTY café — except for a tiny minority (well under 0.1% ) devoted entirely to signature creations — the main sales still come from two categories: Americano and latte. Creative drinks function mainly as a marketing or funnel tool — loud online but not the business’s foundation, because core coffee consumers don’t buy creative drinks frequently, while non-core users have broad options for creative drinks outside of cafe offerings. True survival still depends on traditional coffee.

> Notes: As this piece focuses on specialty‑coffee culture, when I don’t explicitly mention “signature creative drinks,” I mean true traditional espresso‑based or hand‑brewed coffee — so don’t misread me.

In short: labeling China’s market as dominated by “sweet drinks” or “creative novelties” is probably outdated view ( Maybe many hold this view, including my lovely readers — I don’t want to be the bad guy unless absolutely necessary, but I have to call it out because it risks creating a serious misperception about China’s coffee landscape.). Those novelty drinks may attract non‑daily-coffee-audiences heavily, but traditional coffee remains the core profit driver.

(The special role of signature drinks in China merits a separate article, I’d think about it.)

This is precisely why I want to write about roasters’ booming in China: the rise of China’s specialty coffee = the boom in traditional coffee alongside it, which is inseparable from the work and development of coffee roasters behind storefronts.

In fact, I thought long and hard about which angle to take for this piece on Chinese roasting brands — region? roasting style? history? In the end I chose the simplest and most blunt framework — scale — because it’s more direct and easy-to-read.

So — this article maps China’s specialty roasting ecosystem by scale and its business model: large roasting brands (including specialty chains and national roasters), regional roasters, and the redefined “independent studios / in-house roasters” (including online-first). At the end I focus on China’s market particularities and future outlook.

Scope & boundaries:

To keep the piece focused, I exclude two groups:

1) ultra-large commercial roasting plants (not specialty coffee chains) and OEM factories;

2) non‑professional roasters — for example, estate-only roasting operations that don’t retail broadly or study wider green-bean sourcing.

This article centers on “distinct, professional specialty roasters” — brands that may not be headline-grabbing but quietly drive China’s specialty coffee growth.

> Note: the roasting brands mentioned in this article are listed in no particular order and are not ranked.

Let’s begin!!

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Big specialty roasters: two main routes and their logic

To me, within the “big brand” category there are two clear commercial logics:

1. Chain-driven roasting systems (supply-chain oriented)

Role Models: Manner (local specialty chain) and Peet’s ( the US brand that earned the solid reputaiton domestically and inspired many local players).

These brands may have started relying on local OEM in their early stages, but ultimately established their own factories and consolidated their own formulas and methodologies — fast service, consistency, cost and reproducibility. Their beans tend toward stable blends and cost-effective single origins; rarity is not the priority.

1. National-scale roasters that don’t depend on store sales # the real and powerful drivers of specialty culture diffusion here in recent years

These brands typically have stronger green‑bean procurement networks, more diversified product lines, and clearer roast aesthetics. They grew with the specialty‑cafe wave and set industry trends and standards — many independent cafés use their beans at the bar. Representative features and examples:

• Captain George 乔治队长 ( Guiyang) : Undisputed leader and adventurer in the industry at the moment. Even before its founder won the 2025 World Brewers Cup, the brand was already a roasting powerhouse (I mentioned it in my last year’s piece). It has no major blind spots across all product categories, and early on more balanced, nailed milk‑based coffee beans that suits Chinese consumers. Its strong online sales and solid retail experience make it a increadible force 👇.

• Shanghai cluster (examples, not ranked):

  • Terraform 启程拓殖 (brand name for its offline stores: Black Sheep 黑羊): Made SOE; focuses on single‑lot, small‑batch freshness and is active internationally.

  • Big Sur: One of the early adopters of the “ultra light roast” aesthetic; strong in direct green‑bean sourcing, giving it rarity and diversity advantages plus tight quality control.

  • Lucky Draw (有容乃大): Skilled at soft, balanced blends and deeply involved in Yunnan processing improvements and origin work.

• Pincle 拼一口 (Nantong) ：Pincle’s founder is currently the only Chinese world roasting champion. Beyond the title, he’s also a seasoned operator — owning multiple outlets in Nantong and now running two branches in Shanghai. Unlike many peers, he humbly tests customers’ preferences directly and has been evolving his roasting toward sweetness, development and fullness, even incorporating direct‑fire styles rather than following the mainstream light‑roast trend. I expect he’ll keep bringing surprises to the market.

• Gout & Co (Chengdu): staunch advocates of French-style light roasts. Interestingly, they’re committed to professionalizing the in‑shop experience — encouraging average customers to taste coffee like competition judges. Crazy.

Other national‑level roasters with notable influence include:

Nanjing — M2M (As an OG in the industry, calling them merely “roasters” is misleading — they’re one of the pioneers and remain leaders of China’s specialty coffee.)

Shanghai — T12（OG） / Aokka / Little Whale (白鲸 );

Qingdao — Coffee Buff

Jingdezhen — Daily Routine (德林造味);

Guangzhou — Rose Cafe（OG）;

Hefei — MOVE RIVER （合川水流）;

Shenzhen — KW（自在心） / Abit;

Chengdu — Puman (䇚满)

Beijing — S.O.E. (OG )……..

…….etc.

Regional roasters: local depth and differentiated survival

Compared to national brands, their strengths are local understanding and network coverage: fast local delivery preserves freshness; they tailor products to local tastes and can operate with more flexible rhythms. While, for various reasons, they do not yet have nationwide influence or recognition — perhaps the founders never intended to.

Examples:

• 1% (Hangzhou): over ten local stores in Hangzhou with a bold playbook — very high product refresh frequency, an extremely wide selection of beans (multiple roast styles coexist), and a push toward higher‑concentration espresso consumption, creating a distinctive customer experience.

• 黑叶 Kuroba (Suzhou) — operates several storefronts in Suzhou; known for Japanese dark roast style; top local reputation but low expansion appetite and almost no visibility on national stage at all.

• 领地 La Finca (Qingdao) — owner of ten local outlets. See the name? bold and ambitious. This true local king now has more loyal hometown fans than Coffee Buff, even though Coffee Buff is better known nationally today.

• 瑰夏村咖啡 Geisha or Gesha Cafe ( Nanjing ): — multiple local stores serving expensive, rare Gesha or Geisha in espresso-based coffee; service and origin storytelling deliver very high emotional value — Their baristas will walk customers through the bean story even behind a flatwhite or latte in detail 👇.

…and etc….

Independent roasters

Independent roasters are super diverse as their business models are more flexible and niche. My personal definition for Independent roaster = small‑batch roasting + targeting niche or specific fan communities.

• Local experience type: cafe or workshop centered; focus on in‑store experience, fresh delivery and community influence (many “small and beautiful” neighborhood roasters).

• Online‑first type: Little or no physical experience space; rely on group‑buy platforms, social communities and e‑commerce; grow via fan management and frequent small‑batch drops.

• Hybrid: Combine local store experience with strong online channels — cultivate local core users then convert to online repeat buyers.

Of course, we should avoid hastily labeling these niche roasters; although they currently serve a small audience, many are likely aiming to become the next national brand.

Examples(not ranked):

• Soft Focus 纽巷 (Shanghai): runs a workshop and opens weekends only; careful bean selection. Their roasting uses a hybrid hot‑air/fire approach — delivering consistent, soft, balanced, espresso‑oriented coffees backed by deep roasting expertise. You can buy their products in‑store or on Taobao.

• 煮屿 Brew Island (Shanghai): An astonished showroom of coffee origin and terroir stories. High‑end small batches, frequent updates, rare estate beans — a go‑to for coffee aficionados and industry insiders. The founder manages the green beans, roasting and bar experience from A to Z. You can buy his beans at his shop or through group‑buy communities.

• 缓奏 (Hangzhou): the founder specializes in all‑hot‑air roasting. The cafe is tastefully appointed, and he insists on personally preparing drinks at the counter every day. Produces clean, fresh, highly developed and meticulously crafted roast profiles, while staying low‑profile in marketing — bean product can be bought in store .

• Aroma ESP (Chengdu): blend‑ and omni‑roasting specialists led by founders with a humble approach and a global vision. Their distinctiveness lies not only in their roasting strategy but also in their business approach — they strive to give customers real power over flavors rather than treating them as passive recipients, regularly hosting cuppings where to help consumers get their favorite blend recipes. I am not sure about the overseas market, at least, this is very unique in today’s China, where most coffee insiders wanna push customers to “fall in love” with a certain type of coffee. Plus, they are now frequently touring the world with bar takeovers and coffee events. To me, aroma esp is hard to define — not big in scale for now, but highly creative, globally minded, full of energy and ambition. I’m excited to see their next moves — Certainly, China currently has many such brands. Without a doubt, as emerging forces, they will play an important role in the industry in the future.

• Online exemplars: Light Wave, Right Paw, Naizui — fan‑driven, group‑buy oriented. Many have no physical shops and rely entirely on online fan communities, selling beans tailored to customer demand for profit. They frequently use scarcity‑driven marketing — positioning “good coffee beans” as an accessible luxury.

…and etc….

Overseas roasters: role models, adaptation and varied strategies

Foreign roasters have long been teachers for the Chinese market. (Regardless of how Chinese coffee evolves, we must show sufficient respect to overseas coffee practitioners. )

After continuous market exploration and product introductions, those brands that become popular here in China are generally outstanding at adapting to Chinese tastes.

Of course, I don’t mean these brands are truly tailor‑making everything for Chinese customers (maybe some are, but I don’t know); rather, they just “flourished” repeated rounds of market selection — the ones left are those tested and proven by markets and consumers.

As a result, the “screened” popular brands tend to enjoy very high reputations — for example, the U.S.’s SEY, the Japan’s Weekenders, the Netherlands’ Friedhat / DAK, Norway’s Tim Wendelboe, the U.K.’s Special Guest, Australia’s ONA / Cold black and etc…..👇

Increasingly, overseas players not only export roasted beans but open stores and even roast domestically — a sign of long‑term belief in China’s growth (Australia’s Stitch, Japan’s Kurasu, and Korea’s ULT 👇 have already entered the Chinese market with their physical stores).

The uniqueness of Chinese roasting industry

Key point — China’s market structurally differs from mature markets, and those differences drive both diversity and tolerance for many roast styles.

1. A large, still‑forming audience. Compared with Europe, Australia or the U.S., China’s specialty‑coffee consumer base is young: exposure is limited and preferences are not yet fixed. That makes consumers more open to novel flavors and easier to educate, so new styles can find an audience faster than in mature markets.

2. Cultural borrowing. Chinese practitioners actively import techniques and aesthetics from Japan, Korea, Europe, the U.S. and Australia, then rapidly localize them. The result is the simultaneous coexistence of ultra‑light Nordic‑style roasts, more balanced profile, Japanese‑influenced darker profiles, Korea’s clean & round‑clear articulations, Australian roasts for milk-based products, and etc….. — not random chaos, but cross‑pollination.

3. Small batches and low-cost stylistic experimentation. Because demand is malleable and distribution can be highly targeted (local shops, online drops, fan communities), roasters can trial competition‑grade, ultra‑light, direct‑fire or blend‑forward approaches with manageable risk. Those experiments accelerate learning and industry evolution — and this aligns with China’s current pattern of relatively low per‑capita coffee consumption.

IMO — taken together, these factors create “not exactly fragmentation” but a large‑scale, open‑ended social experiment in coffee sensory: multiple roast logics coexist, interact and iterate rapidly, producing the pluralistic ecosystem we see today.

Conclusion & outlook

China’s roasting landscape is multi‑layered: chains and national roasters deliver scale and stability; regional roasters build local moats on freshness and aesthetics; independent studios are the innovation and fan‑economy frontiers.

Future competition will hinge on five elements:

• Green‑bean / origin understanding and management: traceable, stable, diverse supply is the long‑term differential; deep origin work is already happening and will continue.

• Roasting craft and aesthetic fidelity: R&D and the ability to productize experiments matter equally.

• Channels and logistics (freshness management): regional instant delivery and roast‑to‑cup timing are short‑term advantages.

• Fan management and brand power: online‑first and hybrid players can monetize small‑batch models via communities.

• Team learning and iteration speed: the ability to respond quickly and convert trends into durable offerings.

China’s “learning‑phase” market brings huge opportunity and risk: preferences and business models are still reshaping, and consumer taste can change quickly with education and marketing. For roasters aiming to win customer’s preferences or even scale nationally, whether you are a local or an overseas brand, the central challenge is to keep aesthetic and technical adaptability that can adapt to fast‑moving tastes.

Next Chapter…

Honestly, I’ve been hesitant to write a portrait of China’s independent cafés — because it’s hard. Cafés business in China are vastly larger and also super complex (assume there are ~200,000 cafés and a 50% chain rate, that’s at least 100,000 independent cafés in China — a staggering number), and their iteration cycles are very short, constantly changing, improving and failing — if you’ve followed Chinese specialty coffee for five or even ten years, you’ll find the cafés that survived several cycles are very few, despite the huge number of participants. So — Until I can form a clearer clue, I won’t rush a full cafés piece.

Well — I don’t yet know what my next piece will be. Maybe, I just say maybe, it’ll cover.. cafe equipment or roasting machines trends? lousy coffee competitions or the craze for weird latte art? the boom in hand‑brewing or the special role of signature drinks in Chinese cafés? or……. why China has so many Q‑graders (amusingly, half of the world’s professional Q‑graders are in China today — can you imagine?).

I don’t know — stay tuned.

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Coffee is magical: it wakes you up, sharpens your mind, can even become addictive—and as long as you don’t overdo it, it’s actually good for your health. It’s similar to tea in terms of function, yet completely different in flavor; its energizing effect is almost instantaneous, more intense physiologically than tea, and naturally fits the fast pace of urban life.

On an emotional or culture-level, it represents a kind of Western lifestyle that is quality, free, and cool. That’s probably coffee’s innate advantage in China and across much of Asia: it has a built-in appeal for young people here.

In the past few years, thanks to mainstream media coverage, the outside world’s impression of Chinese coffee has long been stuck on the “Luckin vs. Starbucks” battle. This shallow understanding stems partly from entrenched biases about the Chinese market. On the other hand, much of the content out there in the market — mine included — still looks at coffee mainly from the consumer side, and lacks an industry perspective. That inevitably leaves readers with a somewhat one‑sided understanding of the coffee market.

So, this time, I want to do something slightly different — Let’s step away, for a moment, from the stage of “storefront or consumer perspective” and move the camera a layer deeper:

Where exactly do these coffees come from? Who is actually supplying the resources behind the cup in Chinese consumer's hand?

In fact, the coffee value chain is far more complex than most people imagine—from farming, picking and processing, to roasting, logistics, and finally landing in cafés or in consumers’ hands. Beyond that, there are futures markets, industry associations, trade shows, competitions, and grassroots communities all working together to empower and reshape this industry.

Today, I’ll start from one of the least-talked-about areas in the mainstream media—the origin of coffee: Green Beans (coffee before roasting) — and use that as an entry point to keep piecing together the puzzle of “China’s coffee world.”

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I’ve mentioned many times before — the Chinese market is unique in a very specific way—you may recall this: China is probably one of few places in the world that simultaneously has ultra-large-scale coffee consumption (a market worth hundreds of billions of RMB) + significant-scale coffee cultivation (currently ranked 14th globally). This combination almost guarantees that the brands, habits, and trends that emerge on this land will look different from anywhere else.

On one hand, it has given birth to massive coffee chains that drive consumption—Luckin, Manner, and now players that have crossed over into coffee, like Mixue and Gu Ming. On the other hand, this demand has in turn fed back into local production.

“Yunnan 云南” coffee now accounts for over 35% of China’s total coffee sales. And perhaps unexpectedly, “Hainan 海南” is also a coffee-growing region, though very small, contributing about 2% of domestic coffee bean output.

Taken together, these numbers make one thing very clear: the vast majority of green coffee consumed in China still comes from overseas rather than domestic production.

Notably, China is now a major importer of green coffee beans, bringing in around 200,000 tons each year, with 13.5 % yoy growth rate in 2025. The total consumption of green coffee here already ranks among the top ten in the world, according to a report by Science and Technology Daily.

Although green coffee beans have many physical attributes, the simplest and most intuitive way to classify them is by origin. So in this article, I’m not going to dwell too much on grand narratives. Instead, I want to start from a more micro perspective—the coffee-growing origins that are popular in China—to show how these beans are actually shaping the market here 👇

Let’s start at my home (China): Yunnan & Hainan

Yunnan: between being “looked down on” and “looked forward to”

First, some context,

The coffee market can be roughly divided into commercial coffee and specialty coffee: Commercial coffee: lower-quality beans that only need to satisfy the basic function of “keeping you awake.” Specialty coffee: higher-quality beans that not only energize you, but also offer flavor, terroir stories, rarity, and other variables that support a more “premium” experience.

This is also why, when I previously categorized cafés, I personally split them into three types: Chains (commercial coffee–led) ; Specialty chains (specialty coffee–led) ; Independent cafés (specialty + distinct positioning or personality — otherwise hard to survive)

Fundamentally, this is a basic segmentation along the axis of commercial vs. specialty coffee. With this in mind, it becomes much easier to understand how different beans are used and valued in the market.

For a long time, Yunnan’s overall bean quality lagged behind traditional origins, so most of its output went into: Instant coffee products or some inferior roasted blends. The proportion that could actually enter the real specialty market used to be consistently below 5%. But as the specialty segment has boomed in China in recent years, in 2024, this number is up to 30%!!!!!!!

However, some specialty varieties—Typica 铁皮卡, Caturra 卡杜拉, Geisha 瑰夏, SL28, Bourbon 波旁 etc.—are still planted in much smaller volumes, and experience is limited, though acreage has been expanding in recent years. Now, most of the coffee planted in Yunnan is still Catimor 卡迪姆, a variety that is easy to grow but lower in cup quality.

Catimor itself is genetically predisposed to certain flavor notes—woody, smoky. In professional coffee circles, this isn’t automatically a “defect.” But for Chinese consumers—especially when Catimor is processed and roasted poorly—pulling it out as a single-origin and asking people to drink it straight is often a recipe for total rejection.

On top of that, compared with other origins, labor costs in Yunnan are high, which is another reason why Yunnan specialty beans have long been stuck in an awkward position:

In short: not that tasty, and not that cheap.

Just look at these screenshots from XHS:
on the left, a user complains that Yunnan coffee tastes flat and uninteresting;
on the right, a barista from a well-known café bluntly says that Yunnan beans are both not tasty and expensive—so most coffee shops simply choose not to use them 👇

Worse still, in order to compete with international beans, some Yunnan producers resorted to shortcuts in processing: Artificial flavoring in “fermentation” Poor technique leading to unnatural, overly perfumed flavors — so called Artificial flavored beans 香精豆; Trying to aggressively manipulate flavor to mask inherent weaknesses of the beans; Even scandals where Catimor was sold as higher-value varieties like Typica. All of this understandably angered both consumers and professionals. Confidence and trust in “Yunnan specialty coffee” went through a real low point.

To adapt to changing market demands and rebuild trust, the Yunnan government and industry players have been pushing hard on multiple fronts in recent years: Upgrading farming and processing techniques；Investing in infrastructure；Attracting more talent into Yunnan’s coffee-growing sector；Introducing new varieties；Tightening market management and improving transparency and etc…

Under these changes, more and more Yunnan coffees have clearly improved in quality.

For example: The harsh, unpleasant finish often associated with Catimor has become less pronounced in many lots. Some lots of varieties—like “Sarchimor” (萨琪姆) — have shown surprisingly Ethiopia-like profiles, with faintly clean acidity and sweetness. Certain estates and batches have even delivered flavor experiences strong enough to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with world-class coffees.

My cupping experience makes one thing very clear: Yunnan is undergoing a drastic transformation. This year’s slots are a completely different animal compared with those from even two years ago. The market just hasn’t fully caught up yet—it needs some time to react.

However, we shouldn’t celebrate too early. We still have to admit that, compared with origins like Ethiopia and Panama, Yunnan as a whole still has a big gap: quality is unstable, differences between batches and farms are huge, and corner‑cutting and mislabeling still occur.

So I don’t want—and refuse—to irresponsibly “canonize” any particular Yunnan variety or estate here. This isn’t Ethiopia or Panama; you can’t assume consistency easily. A batch I find excellent might be followed by another batch that you find mediocre or worse. For a region or estate to truly get things right, it often takes many years, if not decades, of iteration and proof.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m not trying to pour cold water on Yunnan coffee. Its progress is obvious to anyone who’s been paying attention: from disappointment and anger, to sympathy (“what a shame”), to finally those moments of surprise you get after stubbornly “sifting the sea with a spoon.” That full emotional arc is exactly what keeps people who care about Yunnan coffee curious and willing to keep trying — Here, no one genuinely wants to see it fail.

If you have professional skills, long-term ambition, or capital in this space, Yunnan is absolutely worth a long-term investment. Personally, I’m more inclined to look at it on a 5–10 year horizon rather than one or two. I do believe that one day, it will deliver a real surprise to the world.

Hainan: small and bitter, carrying “caffeine and cost” on its back

What might surprise you is that China has another coffee origin: Hainan.

The elevation there is low, and the climate is hot and humid—conditions that are suitable for growing robusta. The issue is that these beans tend to be “too intense” in aroma—put simply, they’re very bitter, often carry rubbery notes, and are very high in caffeine. For most consumers, that’s hard to enjoy on its own.

So for now, their value is mostly realized in: Instant coffee products and as a supporting component in certain blends.

The role is similar to some of the more basic-quality Yunnan beans: They take on the “bitter + strong caffeine + cost reduction” job that no one sees, but the market needs.

Of course, top-grade robusta can compete with arabica in cup quality. But Hainan’s overall output is so small that even if there are excellent lots, their market impact is still minimal. So I won’t go deeper into that here today.

Halftime recap: a rough but real “map of China’s green beans”

If we roughly divide the sources of green beans in China by function, the picture looks something like this:

Yunnan: Transitioning from “cheap base + instant material” toward “promising but unstable specialty option.” On one side, dismissed as “overpriced and underwhelming”; on the other, burdened with the hope that it might one day represent China on the specialty stage.

Hainan: Small-origin, small but bitter—mainly responsible for “bitterness and caffeine” in instant and deep-roast blends.

Alright, let’s put the domestic part on pause for now.

As mentioned earlier, imported green beans already account for a larger share of the market than locally grown ones—and in terms of both scale and overall quality, they are still ahead of domestic beans.

According to China’s 2024 customs data, the main sources of imported green coffee were Brazil in first place, followed by Colombia, Vietnam, Ethiopia, Indonesia and Uganda. By 2025, however, the ranking had shifted: Ethiopia moved into first place, followed by Vietnam, Uganda, Brazil, Indonesia and Colombia.

Among them, the standout is Ethiopia: in 2024 it was still in fourth place, but by 2025 it had jumped to first, with imports increasing by a staggering 124%.

Let me put it in this way — at least for the moment, it’s these imported green coffees that are truly working behind the scenes to shape Chinese consumers’ taste preferences. But how? 👇

Imported Beans:

Ethiopia: China’s Best‑Selling and Most Influential Origin Today

Ethiopian green coffee holds a special position in the Chinese market for several reasons.

First, policy: China offers tariff exemptions to Ethiopian imports (and is phasing in zero-tariff treatment for more African countries), which gives Ethiopian coffee a natural price advantage.

Second, flavor: Ethiopian beans usually bring - Distinct florals and fruity aromatics - Bright but approachable acidity - Smooth, layered mouthfeel — lower‑grade lots often go into blends, while higher‑grade ones are typically used as single‑origin pour‑overs.

All of which align very well with the preferences of today’s mainstream urban coffee drinkers in China. So while few professionals will say this outright in “official” contexts, my personal view is — Ethiopia has become the de facto benchmark for everyday pour-over coffee. In simple terms: If your beans are more expensive than Ethiopian, you’d better offer something truly unique.

Let’s zoom in.

One major popular category is beans from Yirgacheffe region: Under light roasting, their jasmine aromatics are unforgettable.

Another category is, unsurprisingly, Gesha: whatever Gesha or Geisha sells, even most consumers can not really tell the difference. Well — Ethiopian Gesha in particular tend to have very intense florals and fruitiness, bright acidity, and outstanding cleanliness. It was one of the coffees that first introduced Chinese consumers to Gesha after Panama’s Geisha.

Notably, there’s an interesting coffee bean in the Chinese market: Oiran (花魁, which some people simply call “China Beauty”) 👇

The bean itself is a natural-process coffee beans from the Hambela, Buku Abel Station, selected by Ethiopia’s DW Coffee Export back in 2017. It won the Taste of Harvest (TOH) competition and was brought into China by a trader in BJ, where it was rebranded as “Oiran” (literally “queen of flowers 花中之王” in Chinese).

In fact, this name doesn’t align with what it’s called abroad. Outside China, it’s usually just called Hambela.

Let me slip in an interesting story here — you’ll notice that “Oiran” on the market keeps being renamed with each new import batch: from Oiran 1.0, 2.0… all the way up to the latest 11.0.

And there’s no 10.0 in between. Why?

Because some domestic green coffee traders wanted to “pay tribute” to Apple 🍎 and copy the iPhone naming strategy, so the 10th-generation coffee was simply called Oiran X. 😂

Admittedly — just like “Geisha” and “Yirgacheffe,” the Chinese name “Oiran” is pure genius: Simple and memorable; Expresses exactly what’s special about the coffee—intense florals and a tea-like structure; Carries rich cultural imagery. That naming stroke alone helped this origin dominate Chinese specialty coffee menus for years — its market recognition level is now on par with Geisha and Yirgacheffe.

Recently, the way coffee beans are named and marketed has been quietly changing. Over the past two years in China, there’s been a growing focus on:

• Named producers (like ALO, ETLO, etc.), and

• Specific varieties (such as 74158, 74100, etc.).

These details now often appear as explicit selling points on the menus of serious specialty cafés — and this isn’t just true for Ethiopia; other origins are following the same pattern.

On one level, you can read it as increased transparency on beans supply chain. On another, a lot of it is being pushed from the marketing side — The logic is simple: if you keep selling the same old “country / processing / flavor” formula forever, people are eventually going to get bored.

Indonesia: the “dark roast king”

Indonesia’s flagship in China is Mandheling 曼特宁.（I am not taking abt Robusta here)

In central and southern China, Mandheling is no longer popular as a single-origin espresso or pour-over; more precisely, it had its moment, but has gradually been replaced by more floral and fruity coffees. (Of course, as a component in blends, Mandheling is still one of the most widely used and enduring recipes.)

Why?

To me, Mandheling does have some redeeming good features — cocoa, caramel and deeper body. But it also comes with herbal and woody notes, and often bitterness. Even with deep roasting to mask some defects, it can still carry off-flavors — herbal medicine vibes, muddiness—that many Chinese customers find off-putting.

Of course, even many “consensus-trained” experts are reluctant to admit something — Thoughtful deep roasting + precise brewing = can unlock a side of dark roasts most people never see: stunning sweetness and surprisingly clean cups. It’s just that very few barista + roasters can actually execute this consistently. Anyone who has really experienced good dark roasts will know what I mean.

One more interesting thing I’ve noticed about Mandheling is a kind of geographic–cultural wrinkle👇

Perhaps because northern Chinese consumers are used to stronger alcohol and bolder flavors, or maybe because the north has been more influenced by Japanese dark‑roast culture, cities like Beijing show a much higher tolerance dark roasts and straight black coffees and Mandheling is actually a star product in many cafés there. This stands in clear contrast to the south, where people generally prefer brighter, lighter‑roasted beans.

Vietnam & Uganda: the invisible backbone of instant and espresso blends

Vietnam and Uganda share a key trait: both are robusta powerhouses. In China, their main roles are: Raw material for instant coffee and Base layer in espresso blends

They contribute: Bitterness; Crema and body; And help keep overall costs under control. You rarely see “Vietnam estate X” or “Uganda micro-lot Y” on café menus. but on procurement sheets in factories and roasteries, they’re anything but invisible.

In many ways, they’re the uncredited workhorses of China’s coffee industrial complex.

Brazil: the crucial chassis

Brazil is probably the most “invisible yet crucial” origin in today’s Chinese coffee cups.

Its role is simple - Flavor-wise: nutty, chocolaty, caramelly, full bodied; Quality-wise: solid and very consistent — Operationally: ideal for large-scale, reliable sourcing

Key facts: Luckin buys about 60% of all Brazilian coffee imported into China. Many premium espresso blends also choose Brazilian beans as their base to ensure intensity and consistency.

Colombia: a love–hate relationship

Colombia is a textbook “polarizing” origin:

On one side, it produces a number of truly high-quality Geisha, Bourbon, and other great varieties.

On the other, it might the one of the most aggressive origins in experimenting with special processing in the world.

Unfortunately, Chinese consumers are particularly sensitive to this now, partly because in Yunnan, as I just mentioned, we went through a whole phase where “artificial flavored” and “over-processed” beans were used to mask poor raw material —so for many people, “special processing = cheating” became a default mental shortcut. So many cafés now treat “no artificial flavored beans” as a moral bottom line. This emotional backlash has hit good Yunan and Colombian coffees as well.

I can’t say this is the only reason, but the outcome is clear: Colombia’s green bean imports into China have been on a clear downward trend last year, and that lines up closely with what I’ve been observing in terms of changing consumer preferences on the ground.

Panama: in the high-end game, China is no longer just a spectator

When it comes to high-end coffee beans and “street cred,” Panama is almost impossible to avoid.

In the minds of most serious coffee lovers, “Panama Geisha” is no longer just an origin + variety label. It’s a whole package of symbols: Exquisite florals; Complex fruit acidity ; Layered sweetness and tea-like structure; Very high cupping scores; And, increasingly, absurd auction prices.

What many people may not realize is this:

In recent years, a large share of those record-breaking auction lots from Panama—the ones that make global headlines — have been bought by Chinese buyers.

Here is a selection of buyer information from the official website of the 2025 Panama coffee auction 👇

This sends two strong signals:

1. China is no longer a follower, but an active player in the high-end pricing game.

When you’re willing to pay the highest prices in the world for a coffee, you’re not just buying beans — you’re participating in defining - What counts as “top-tier flavor” in the coming years — Which processing methods and origins others will try to emulate

2. Panama’s industry now has to take “Chinese taste” seriously.

When one of your biggest buyers is from China, it becomes inevitable that: Chinese judges appear on juries and more professionals show up at origin.

This isn’t token representation; it’s about building Chinese consumer’s preferences directly into the auction feedback loop - impact the whole supply chain eventually.

In the end…

To wrap this up, if I had to force everything into one sentence, the current “green bean battlefield” in China roughly looks like this — Imported beans are supporting the fast-growing coffee consumption civilization we live in today; Domestic beans is quietly laying the groundwork for a future that hasn’t fully arrived yet.

No doubt, the story of green beans is far from over—what I’ve done here is only to open up the map a little. A single article can’t possibly cover every origin, nor can it do justice to all the detailed trends. In the future, I’ll probably write more pieces that dive into specific subtopics on the bean side.

Needless to say, a green bean on its own can’t go straight into your cup—it’s just raw material. To become good coffee it must pass through a whole series of steps, as discussed. The next article in this coffee series—though not finalized—will most likely focus on coffee roasting in China, a crucial link between the bean and the bar.

If this interests you, please consider sharing this piece and subscribing. Thank you.

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China now has over 400,000 freshly made tea (new-style tea) shops. From 2025 to March 2026, 120,000 new stores opened and 140,000 shut down. It’s a massive market, but it has clearly entered a phase of brutal internal competition and rapid “upgrading.” In this arena, any brand without real differentiation is destined to be eliminated.

Broadly, the tea brands that are still in a high-growth phase can be grouped into six archetypes:

1. Super chains (HeyTea, Mixue, ChaGee…)

2. Innovation labs (Sexy Tea)

3. Regional culture / unique-origin ingredients (CreaTea 去茶山)

4. Heavy hand-made operations (Ah Ma Handmade, etc.)

5. Health-oriented concepts (Naixue and Hun Juice 混果汁)

6. Tea brands that aggressively borrow from coffee (BASAO, Mamahecha, Alcalcha)

To survive and grow, all of these brands are throwing everything they’ve got at the market. But what is the real driver of growth?

In my view, it always comes back to product. Especially in a capital winter in the consumer sector, a truly distinctive, repeatedly buyable product is the only real foundation for survival. Moreover, milk tea sector has a particular structural challenge: you cannot protect a food or drink product with copyright. That means brands have no choice but to keep innovating – if you stop for a second, you invite elimination 👇

Hey Tea — “Kitchen” Upgrade (Product Quality + Operational Efficiency)

After HeyTea suspended franchising, it systematically upgraded and re-architected its store operations to address the quality degradation caused by over-expansion. Today, HeyTea insists on washing, peeling, and processing fresh fruit on-site in every store, every day, to ensure a genuinely fresh and distinctive flavor profile. This “sincere” way of making tea drinks is gradually winning back consumer trust.

The cost, however, is extreme back-of-house complexity. Different fruits require very different handling flows, and the processes are time-consuming. This places very high demands on kitchen layout, staffing, and management. Without exceptional kitchen design and operational discipline, it’s simply impossible to reconcile “complex, fresh processing” with “fast output at peak hours.”

Mixue — 100% Integrated Core Ingredient Supply Chain + Global Expansion + Multi-Brand Play

I’ve said this before – and I may have been one of the first to phrase it this way: Mixue is not really a milk-tea company; it is, at heart, a supply-chain company.

Mixue has built an integrated system that runs from raw materials (core ingredients are self-produced; other materials are procured at massive scale), to processing and warehousing, all the way through to highly efficient store-level turnover.

The key structural difference between Mixue and HeyTea is where complexity sits. HeyTea pushes complexity to the front: fruit is processed fresh in-store. Mixue pulls it to the back: the heavy lifting is done in Mixue’s own factories, while stores focus on standardized assembly and output. This dramatically lowers store-level operational difficulty – and that is one of the core reasons Mixue can open stores at such astonishing speed worldwide, while HeyTea cannot grow at the same pace.

More importantly, Mixue is now executing a multi-brand strategy: extending from tea into coffee and even beer. This is fully consistent with how Mixue has always seen itself – not as a “tea brand,” but as a fresh-made beverage platform. In earlier posts, I pointed out this detail: Mixue’s ambition is to become the world’s largest fresh-beverage company – the offline Coca-Cola, the McDonald’s of drinks – rather than just a “milk tea chain.”

ChaGee — Big Vision + Cultural Capital + A Starbucks-Style Positioning, But Severely Misaligned Product Strength

ChaGee’s challenges are extremely visible. As I mentioned in my previous post, in an intensely competitive domestic tea market, its products are not particularly strong, while its direct and indirect competitors are very, very capable.

The founder seems deeply enamored with grand narratives and “model innovation,” but shows a clear lack of depth and experience in product. The claim that ChaGee “relies too heavily on a few hero SKUs” is really a symptom of a deeper issue: it lacks a systematic capability to generate and mass-produce hit products.

In China, one or two star products are nowhere near enough. You need a repeatable mechanism to create hits over and over if you want to survive multiple cycles. If ChaGee truly tries to run a “outdated Starbucks playbook” – a handful of classics holding up the whole enterprise – in China’s tea market, it’s effectively setting itself up for failure. （ In fact, Starbucks has already gone through its own round of reflection and now clearly recognizes how critical continuous product innovation is in the Chinese market.）

And none of this can be fixed by surface-level PR and beautiful store design – the parts of the story the media like to tell. What the founding team needs is a fundamental reset on three fronts:

1. Rebuild the business around a real, coherent product system, not only narrative;

2. Redesign the store model to reflect that product logic, rather than stacking concepts;

3. Reconfigure the organization and incentives so that the company is structurally committed – and able – to invest in product strength.

Without that, all the grand cultural assets and high-level storytelling will eventually evaporate.

GuMing — Mixue-Level Supply-Chain Strength + HeyTea-Level Product Quality + Possibly the Best Coffee in Milk-Tea Land

GuMing’s supply-chain capability is second only to Mixue’s. Its self-production ratio in manufacturing is somewhat lower than Mixue’s, but structurally its supply chain is very similar – and it may even have an edge in cold-chain logistics. It operates its own refrigerated fleet, delivering to stores every two days, and in some locations daily, which gives it a very strong “freshness” advantage on ingredients.

On the product side, GuMing is, in many ways, the closest to HeyTea. It has essentially treated HeyTea as a living product library: when HeyTea launches a successful SKU, GuMing will often replicate it, then optimize it into its own version. It is not a particularly original innovator, but it is extremely good at digesting competitors’ ideas, reengineering them, and making them feel like “its own.” In a hyper-competitive market, that is a real capability.

Like most major tea brands, GuMing has also moved into coffee as food-delivery competition heats up. In 2025, GuMing officially launched coffee products, and founder Wang Yunan recently said, “Our track has shifted from milk tea to tea-coffee.” That shift from “we also sell coffee” to “we sell a different kind of coffee” is really about injecting milk-tea supply-chain advantages into coffee, using a deeper understanding of milk and dairy to rework what coffee can be.

Overall, GuMing is very grounded: its own original R&D is not outstanding, but it is extraordinarily good at absorbing competitors’ best ideas and operationalizing them. Turning other people’s strengths into your own competitive system is, in itself, a powerful survival skill.

Naixue — Great Ingredients + “Green” Formulas, But Simply Not Very Tasty

Counterintuitively, if you study Naixue’s supply chain carefully, you’ll find that its ingredient quality is likely among the best in the industry, and its formulas are among the healthiest – almost no syrup, almost no artificial flavoring.

The downside is clear: its health profile significantly outperforms the industry, but its flavor perception lags behind its key competitors. In practice, it’s the “good but not good-tasting” paradox. In a market where consumers’ palates have already been trained by high sugar, high flavorings, and strong sensory stimulation, Naixue’s restrained and “clean” approach loses in head-to-head taste tests, even if it wins on the health dimension.

Ah Ma Handmade (AMH) — High-End, Hand-Crafted, and Operationally Complex Kitchens

AMH’s “kitchen” model is, quite literally, hard to believe. It is easily an order of magnitude more complex than HeyTea’s. It doesn’t just process fresh fruit on-site; ingredients like taro, ice cream, mochi, and almost every other component you can think of are all freshly sourced and hand-prepared in the store. That leads to extremely high labor costs and a very demanding people-management challenge.

But precisely because AMH is willing to invest in, and relentlessly refine, such a complex operational system, it has built a very high, very hard-to-copy moat in an overcrowded market.

The flip side is structural: this kind of system is inherently difficult to scale. Expansion is slow by design. If store-level sales ever dip below a certain threshold, the weight of that labor cost can crash the business very quickly. That is the core risk of a “high quality + high complexity” model.

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Sexy Tea — The Undisputed Product Innovation Lab of China’s Tea Industry

Sexy Tea really needs no introduction: it is the original product innovator in China’s new-style tea segment.

Its pace of product innovation is comparable to Luckin Coffee’s, but what’s more interesting is how it innovates: it likes to redefine categories from first principles. Tea cocktails, tea-coffee hybrids, creative lemon teas, new store formats – these are not just riffs, they’re category experiments. I’ve said this more than once: Sexy Tea is, in practice, the core inspiration source for a large part of the Chinese tea industry. Many “novel” products you see across other brands are, in reality, things Sexy Tea tried first.

Beyond product itself, they’ve even begun experimenting with factory-style automation equipment inside the store to make drinks on site. By doing this, they turn an extremely complex set of procedures into something simple and efficient. If this works, we may soon see the entire industry adopt similar systems.

CreaTea 去茶山 — A “Water Brand” from Guizhou

CreaTea is very explicit about wanting to take share from specialty cafe and craft beer shops. Many of its locations use equipment that is essentially on par with premium coffee store and craft beer bars already — so wild.

This aligns with how the founder frames the business: they’re not just “a tea brand”; they’re trying to “make a truly good-tasting cup of water.” In that sense, CreaTea looks more like a premium version of Mixue – a quality-focused platform that will eventually extend into multiple beverage categories, rather than a narrow tea-only concept.

Interestingly, the brand did not lean heavily into the “Guizhou” element at the start. It was only when it expanded nationwide that it discovered how commercially powerful that regional identity could be. This was enabled by post-Covid tourism: the boom in Guizhou tourism exposed a national audience to the region’s landscapes and culture, which in turn created a window for “Guizhou-origin ingredients” to travel across the country — such as Roxburgh Rose 刺梨 and Tongren Macha 铜仁抹茶.

Alcalcha — Rebuilding Coffee’s Category Architecture in Tea, but with Very Strange Tastes

Alcalcha’s store layout is divided into three parallel sections: tea-coffee, tea-based specialty drinks, and tea pour-over. This is a direct mirroring of the three major pillars of the coffee industry.

Strategically, it’s bold and even elegant on paper. But several of its actual products don’t live up to that ambition. From my own experience, the tea-coffee drinks I tried were literally odd and, frankly, taste unpleasant. It’s hard to understand what the founder was thinking at the product level – it’s one thing to have a clever concept; it’s another to serve consumers something that, at the end of the day, just isn’t drinkable.

By contrast, within this “coffee-benchmarked” segment, I much prefer Mamahecha and BASAO: the former does an excellent job with tea-based cocktail creative drinks, and the latter delivers a truly outstanding pure-tea experience.

Conclusion: The New-Style Tea War Is Now a War of Hard Fundamentals

China’s fresh-made tea war has already moved past the stage of “who tells the better story.” We are now in the phase of “who has the harder fundamentals” – product, supply chain, and organizational execution.

• Super chains are competing on supply-chain depth, standardization, and scale efficiency;

• Innovation labs are competing on who can define the next product paradigm;

• Regional-culture brands are trying to turn local terroir into scalable product assets;

• “Freshness and Hand-made” concepts are trading extreme experience for high margins and high loyalty;

• Coffee-inspired tea brands are attempting to rebuild the coffee category architecture around tea.

In a category where products cannot be protected by copyright, any brand that stops moving will, often quietly, be left behind.

There are only two types of players that can survive this cycle:

1. Those who always have something genuinely new to offer, without breaking their operating system;

2. Those who may not tell the flashiest story, but who go extremely deep in supply chain, store operations, and product.

Everyone else will slowly be cleared out by this “fresh-made tea war.”

You can tell stories. In fact, you should. But the product has to outweigh the story’s momentum by a wide margin if the story is to sustain itself. Otherwise, the bigger the story you tell, the faster it will turn and hit you on the way down.

To learn more about China’s fresh-made tea industry, feel free to explore my earlier posts linked below 👇

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Alibaba

• Qwen AI in commerce > On January 15, 2026, Qwen integrated with Taobao Flash Sale and Alipay AI Pay, launching a natural language ordering feature (consumers can directly voice “给我点一杯奶茶” to get delivery). Chinese consumers placed over 120 million orders through Alibaba‘s Qwen app in six days. Plus, Qwen has now integrated with Amap and other Alibaba services, positioning itself as a new consumer search gateway—challenging not only e-commerce platforms but also search engines.

• Hema (Freshippo) > 2026 strategy centers on “dual-wheel synergy,” targeting “premium quality” and “downmarket penetration.” Hema Fresh positions itself for mid-to-high-end urban families, offering high-quality fresh products and 30-minute instant delivery; Super Hema NB targets community hard discount, achieving extreme value-for-money through streamlined SKUs and direct sourcing.

Meituan

• Acquisition of Dingdong Macao (叮咚买菜）> On February 5, Meituan announced it would acquire 100% of Dingdong Maicai’s China operations for an initial consideration of about USD 717 million.

• Xiaoxiang Supermarket > Opening physical stores (Beijing Dec 2025, Ningbo Jan 2026) fills online fulfillment gaps and supports Meituan Flash Sale—stores act as fulfillment nodes, enable pickup, in-store experience, and online purchase.

Taking Shanghai as an example, in the fresh food e-commerce front-warehouse and store-warehouse integrated models, Hema and Sam’s Club each hold around 30% market share, while Dingdong Maicai holds 20%, and Meituan’s Xiaoxiang Supermarket only around 10%. After the merger, their combined market share reaches approximately 30%, enabling them to compete directly with Hema and Sam’s Club, rather than “burning money” to expand market share.

Walmart > Since 2025 Walmart has piloted a community-store pivot in Shenzhen with 500 m² shops, 30% private-label mix; plans 150 new stores in 2026 focused on mature communities in Tier-1/2 cities.

ALDI > Q1 2026 store count will exceed 100 in East China

Busy Ming (physical snack chain)> IPO in Hong Kong: Listed 2026-01-28. In the first nine months of 2025, Chinese top snack retailer Busy Ming ( the giant brand formed after the merger of Busy For You and Zhao Yiming) reported rapid expansion with revenue of 46.4 billion yuan (approx. S$8.4 billion) and a net profit estimated to be at least 2.3 billion yuan for the full year 2025. Revenue surged by 75% compared to the same period in 2024, supported by a network of over 19,500 stores by September 2025. (exceeded 20,000 stores by January 2026)

Wancheng Group (physical snack chain)> According to the company’s latest financial report, Wancheng Group recorded RMB 36.56 billion (USD 5.1 billion) in revenue for the first three quarters of 2025, up 77.37% year-on-year. Net profit reached RMB 855 million (USD 119.7 million), a staggering 917.04% increase. The latest store count stands over 19,000.

Three Squirrels (the former snack king who excelled in e-commerce) > 2025 profit warning (2026-01-29): In the first three quarters of 2025, Three Squirrels reported an operating revenue of 7.759 billion yuan, marking a year-on-year increase of 8.22%. However, net profit attributable to shareholders decreased by 52.91% year-on-year to 161 million yuan.

To counter declining performance, Three Squirrels—a brand that excels in e-commerce—has embraced an omnichannel model to reach consumers more efficiently. The company is achieving full-channel coverage of “online + offline + distribution” through offline distribution network expansion, full-category lifestyle store deployment, integrated supply chain support, and organizational management optimization. The goal: balanced revenue of RMB 10 billion each for online and offline in 2026, becoming a “full-category, omnichannel, manufacturing-based private-label retailer.”

Pangdonglai > Founder Yu Donglai announced retirement from operational duties on 2026-02-11, moving to an advisory role; daily operations and strategy now run by a Pangdonglai Decision Committee—marking a move from founder-driven to institutional governance.

Yonghui > Continues struggling with a transformation—shifting from traditional format to an experience level nearly matching Pangdonglai—that brings financial strain. 2025 preliminary results (2026-01-20) show net loss to shareholders of ~RMB 2.14 billion (45.6% worse YoY) and adjusted net loss of ~RMB 2.94 billion. This marks the fifth consecutive year of losses, with cumulative five-year losses exceeding RMB 10 billion.

To learn more about grocery wars in China, please read this post👇

East Buy > After losing star anchors like Dong Yuhui, the brand accelerated a Douyin (TikTok China) account matrix, and offline stores tests. Opened a 400 m² flagship in Zhongguancun, Beijing — quick-serve cafe to create “shop + hangout + meet” experiences for well-paid crowds. Store finishing late 2025, slated to open Mar–Apr 2026.

To learn more about the drama between star anchor Dong Yuhui and East Buy, please read the following article I wrote 2 years ago 👇

Dreame × Spring Festival Gala 🇨🇳 + Super Bowl 🇺🇸

Dreame Technology (founded in 2017) is a rapidly growing global tech company specializing in high-performance smart home cleaning devices, including robot vacuums, wet/dry vacuums, and hair dryers.

The brand has become a strategic partner of the 2026 CCTV Spring Festival Gala and will also appear at the Super Bowl. It's seizing both of the biggest annual galas in China and the U.S. for maximum exposure—likely the first and only brand in the world to do so.

To me, Dreame is a company full of imagination — their products are cool. Its founder aspires to be “China’s Elon Musk” and a superhero, but many employees think he’s just dreaming and talk shit.

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Huawei

From January 29 to February 28, Huawei is running a promotion on smartphones, tablets, and wearables, with discounts of up to 4,000 RMB on certain products. This is clearly a counterattack against Apple's CNY "price war”.

Apple's aggressive pricing in China is a serious test for domestic brands. Don't assume only Chinese brands excel at price wars—Apple's global supply chain and cost control give it more flexibility and lower marginal costs.

Insta360

In an interview with Luo Yonghao (老罗), Insta360's founder said that without DJI pioneering the consumer drone category, Insta360 would not exist—DJI's strength surpasses what most people imagine. But this is a warning, not praise: "Don't encroach on our territory."

Insta360 and DJI are already competing across multiple fronts — last July DJI released a 360° camera, officially stepping into Insta360’s territory, and just 15 days later Insta360 struck back with a 360° drone aimed at DJI. (I’m not sure who truly initiated the move — it’s unlikely Insta360 developed a drone from scratch in just 15 days;

JK Liu claims he will be DJI’s competitor for the rest of his life.

TIIANLALA (甜拉拉)

TIIANLALA has over 8,000 stores nationwide, focusing on lower-tier markets as a bubble tea chain and is perhaps a rival to Mixue.

It launched two new drinks, “Juicy Fresh Orange Jasmine” and “Juicy Fresh Orange Passionfruit,” building out a “fresh fruit, fresh tea” product matrix. It seems that “freshness” and “ is the core positioning in its contest with Mixue.

HEYTEA

HEYTEA released a year-end review of its differentiated achievements: the “tea mixology” series became a best-selling product line, and the brand opened over 100 stores in 32 overseas cities.

What is the essence of tea mixology?—using a limited vessel to create unlimited possibilities—breaking through the constraints of beverage categories by endlessly incorporating different ingredients to achieve the goal of stunning the palate.

The tea mixology is just as magic as coffee mixology—perhaps this category wasn’t invented in China, but it has certainly flourished here—because in such a fiercely competitive market, without constantl innovation, survival is impossible.

Pop Mart

Pop Mart is currently testing dessert/bakery offline stores or pop-up formats centered around its proprietary IPs in select cities, with products including cakes, desserts, and beverages, emphasizing IP imagery + visual design + photo-worthy attributes, rather than traditional dessert chain logic.

What truly matters here is not “desserts” but the monetization boundaries of IP continue to expand—from blind boxes → home goods → theme parks → desserts, Pop Mart is essentially testing: can IP, like Disney, become a form of “edible emotional consumption”?

ANTA

Anta has become a strategic partner of the Hellenic Olympic Committee, creating professional competition apparel for the national sports delegation.

Bosideng (Down Jackets)

Bosideng partnered with designer Kim Jones to launch its premium line AREAL, which made its overseas debut with a pop-up store at Galeries Lafayette in Paris.

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The notorious melamine scandal severely damaged China’s dairy industry in the short term, but it did not fundamentally alter the industry’s trajectory of being pushed onto an “accelerated” path.

Under the top-down government narrative of “improving national nutrition” and “matching developed countries’ per-capita milk consumption,” upstream farms and processing capacity expanded rapidly. Massive imports of dairy cows, densely established farms, and raw milk production surged to high levels in a very short period—while actual consumer demand lagged behind expectations — the industry experienced explosive production growth starting in 2020, and in less than four years, began to decline in 2024.

The reasons are likely multi-layered: the total population has peaked, births and student populations continue to decline; lactose intolerance remains common; and in traditional dietary patterns, milk has never been a must-have on the table. The result is clear — this is an industry that theoretically “still looks like it has huge potential,” but in reality has entered a cycle of oversupply, destocking, and falling margins.

However, within this overall downward trajectory, different forces are still reorganizing value. Below I want to show readers three Chinese dairy brands I pay special attention to and somewhat admire, and how each is finding its own way to survive and grow against the headwinds 👇.

伊利 (Yili)

A Slowed Giant and a Belated Turn 😭(Yili; Yicai)

• Pressured growth: In the first three quarters of 2025, Yili reported total operating revenue of RMB 90.56 billion, a year-on-year increase of only 1.7%, while net profit attributable to the parent was RMB 10.43 billion, down 4.1% year-on-year. ( In 2024, the company achieved total operating revenue of 115.78 billion yuan, down 8.24% year-over-year; net profit attributable to shareholders was 8.453 billion yuan, down 18.94% year-over-year)

• Core engine malfunctioning: The drag on the whole was its cornerstone business: UHT milk(Yili holds ~38% share; together with Mengniu, the duopoly controls over 70% of the market.) That segment’s revenue in the first three quarters was RMB 54.94 billion, down 4.5% year-on-year. By contrast, its infant formula and cheese businesses kept growing but are not yet large enough to offset the main channel’s decline.

• Slow pace of transformation: Although the chilled fresh milk market is growing rapidly, Yili’s financial reports have never separately disclosed fresh milk sales, and the extension of its marquee ambient UHT brand “Jindian” into fresh milk has not made a big market splash.

Yili’s earnings report reads like a typical “giant turning” health check.

When the industry’s prevailing current shifts from the wide UHT (ambient) sea toward the fresh milk lane that requires cold-chain protection, this giant ship feels unprecedented resistance. Its 4.5% decline in core business is not a random quarterly blip but a snapshot of an era: the nationwide distribution network and large-scale standardized production that once delivered success are becoming liabilities in the face of consumer demand for freshness, short shelf life, and ready-to-drink formats.

The problem is not that Yili hasn’t seen the trend — it began investing in fresh milk years ago. The problem is that the transformation speed of its massive system has fallen out of sync with the pace of consumer change. A sharper contrast is that Yili has only recently significantly increased investment in ready-to-drink dairy drinks, even as ready-to-drink tea has already become a brutal red ocean. Such slowness might have been masked by scale in an up-cycle, but in a down-cycle of static demand it translates directly into painful share loss to competitors.

Perhaps an outbound story must become Yili’s second narrative. Leveraging its mature domestic supply chain and cost advantages to explore Southeast Asia, the Middle East, and other incremental markets is logically sound. But dairy is highly localized: brand recognition, taste habits, and channel barriers make it a long-term undertaking. Yili’s public globalization data remain fuzzy — whether this giant can regain speed in unfamiliar waters is still uncertain.

Its dilemma reveals a harsh truth: in a period of industry paradigm shift, the greatest risk often stems from the path dependence forged by past success.

New Hope Dairy

The Actuary of High-Value Categories 📈（New Hope Diary)

• Outstanding profit elasticity: In the first three quarters of 2025, the company’s revenue was RMB 8.434 billion, up 3.49% year-on-year; net profit attributable to the parent was RMB 623 million, up a substantial 31.48% year-on-year. Profit growth far outpaced revenue growth — the best proof of strategic quality.

• National expansion:

  • Centered on the "24-hour" series and the "Asahi" brand emphasizing quality and freshness expanding into the premium national market.

  • Localized market penetration: Replicating the success of regional brands like "Liangshan Snow" (which holds 75% market share in Xichang, Sichuan), cultivating low-tier markets.

• New model: Through a “city-factory + regional cold chain + multi-new-channels ” model, it has built an extremely efficient network of localized fresh milk supply that is hard for national brands to replicate.

If Yili’s report reflects the “pain” of transformation, New Hope Dairy’s report precisely exemplifies the “joy” of focus.

While the industry sinks into price wars, destocking, and margin erosion, its 31.48% net profit growth is like a sharp flash illuminating a completely different path: abandon the obsession with “volume,” and instead pursue “quality” and “price” deeply.

New Hope’s impressive growth shows the foresight of its strategy; fundamentally it is a precise “value segmentation” operation. It did not try to educate the whole country to drink more milk; it decisively bet on a high-value consumer segment that is insensitive to price but highly sensitive to quality and freshness.

However, this brand also faces a risk worth noting: succession.

The future leader is Liu Chang, daughter of founder Liu Yonghao—a female entrepreneur as accomplished and principled as Zong Fuli. While New Hope Dairy’s succession looks more stable than Wahaha’s, appearances can deceive. It’s hard to see what’s really happening inside. The real test will come when Liu Yonghao fully steps back: can Liu Chang establish unquestioned strategic authority and control over resources within the group’s complex industrial empire and its entrenched network of veteran executives?

I hope Liu Chang won’t repeat Zong Fuli’s tragedy.

BeFood (必如)

The “Niche King” That Defines Standards 👑

• An unlisted invisible champion: As a private company, BeFood does not disclose financials. Its influence can’t be measured by traditional reports but shows up in another dimension — category-defining power.

• Creating and owning a category: Its core product, Eisbock 冰博客 (a concentrated milk produced through freeze-distillation), intensifies milk flavor through industrial processing and has become inseparable from “Dirty,” the breakout drink in China’s specialty coffee scene.

• Securing B2B formula entry: In B2B markets, it has made “Dirty = BeFood = Eisbock” the default formula. It doesn’t advertise directly to consumers but controls consumption choices indirectly by shaping thousands of coffeeshops’ product standards.

So who is Dirty? 👇

A coffee drink built around a hot espresso shot crashing into ice‑cold milk, designed to create a strong temperature and texture contrast;

The recipe originated from a Japanese specialty café, but it was in China that Dirty became a true menu staple;

Today, Dirty is a near‑mandatory SKU in most specialty coffee shops in China.

BeFood’s case is the most strategically instructive beyond financial statements. It proves that in an industry perceived as struggled and consolidated, there remains a disruptive opportunity to “create a new game and set the rules.”

The brand smart moves was not to improve old products or chase popular new categories like fresh milk. It did something more radical: based on a uniquely Chinese growth scene (the booming specialty coffee culture), it deliberately created an industrial raw material tailored to that scene — a previously unseen standardized ingredient.

The strategy’s power is seismic.

It sidestepped head-to-head battles with giants over channels and consumer advertising, and instead went upstream to capture the key position of “formula.” When a new coffee shop opens and wants to make a market-recognized Dirty, using Eisbock becomes an almost unquestioned industry norm. That means BeFood’s moat is not brand loyalty but the product’s standardness and indispensability. It may never have Yili’s tens-of-billions revenue, but in its narrow and deep niche it enjoys near-monopoly pricing power and an unassailable position.

This reveals the ultimate survival philosophy in an over-competitive market: rather than fighting to be the biggest fish in a red ocean, find your blue ocean and become the undisputed shark.

If you want to make Eisbock at home, read the article by the American coffee champion — Morgan Eckroth — in both her piece and my commentary, you’ll see our shared appreciation for the BeFood brand 👇

Coffee For Here

How to make barista championship milk at home

I’m very lactose sensitive (I stubbornly refuse to give up cheese) but if you hand me a freeze-distilled cortado, I’ll finish the whole thing…

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2 years ago · 75 likes · 9 comments · Morgan Eckroth

Summary > Three Paths, One Future — The War for Value Depth

These three markedly different “report cards” together map the clear migration of value pools in China’s dairy industry:

• Yili represents the old-continent guardian: it holds the largest terrain (channels and share), but the soil underfoot (ambient milk demand) is sinking; reclaiming new land (fresh milk, overseas markets) requires time and huge resolve.

• New Hope Dairy represents the new-continent boutique farmer: it voluntarily abandons barren land and chooses the most fertile soil (high-tier cities, chilled categories), cultivating intensively to reap rich returns (margins).

• BeFood represents the new-continent “pick-maker” or toolmaker: it doesn’t farm land or fight for territory; instead it discovers a new gold rush (specialty coffee) . Its success lies in capturing derived demand.

The core of this battle has shifted from “who has broader channels and louder voice” to “whose value anchors are deeper and more indispensable.” Whether it’s New Hope binding to freshness and scene, or BeFood binding to formula and standards, both deepen the link between their offerings and real consumer needs.

The industry’s endgame may no longer be unchecked expansion by a single giant, but a new ecosystem of “mega players plus many invisible champions” coexisting. Yili-like firms may continue to hold the basic market and mass traffic, while New Hope, BeFood and others will carve out profit-rich, defensible fiefdoms in specific niches.

For consumers, this is arguably the best era — we are no longer being lectured to “drink a kilo of milk every day,” but are served as individuals with more precise and innovative offerings.

To learn more about China's milk industry, you can check out this article I wrote two years ago 👇