RedNote Isn’t Real Life
How much of this glossy portrayal of China aligns with reality? For Americans disillusioned by their country’s shortcomings, it is tempting to see elsewhere as utopia.
The past week has been nothing short of eventful. On January 13, the Chinese social media app RedNote, known as Xiaohongshu in China, saw a sharp surge in American users. These self-proclaimed “TikTok refugees” flocked to the platform in protest of TikTok's impending U.S. ban. Just four days later, on January 17, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled against TikTok, rejecting the company's First Amendment challenge and upholding a law passed by Congress that effectively bans the app. Hours before the federal ban took effect on Sunday, January 19, TikTok went dark, leaving U.S. users unable to access videos. However, less than 24 hours later, the platform was back online after President Trump pledged to delay the ban’s implementation, granting more time for a potential deal.
Although TikTok’s future hangs in limbo, an intriguing cultural exchange that has taken root on RedNote sparks a wave of romanticized perceptions of Chinese life among American users. From low-cost groceries to sleek bullet trains and gleaming skyscrapers, some American users have taken their admiration a step further, even praising Mao Zedong and expressing unexpected enthusiasm for communism.
“If that is communism, sign me up,” a TikTok user said. “I learned that this image I have of China in my head my whole entire life because of what we've learned and kind of like assumed as Americans is so far in left field, it's crazy. Like, it is so beautiful. Their architecture, oh my god, it is gorgeous. You know what else they don't have? Drugs. Shootings.”
In an era defined by cyber diplomacy and digital soft power, this sentiment reflects a growing phenomenon. It echoes moments like Tucker Carlson’s visit to Russia, where he lauded Moscow’s immaculate subways and low-cost produce as hallmarks of an ideal civilization. But this time, it is unfolding on a much larger scale, with communism seemingly winning the PR battle and prompting many to question the American Experiment—and, more critically, the very foundation of liberal democracy. Yet, how much of this glossy portrayal of China aligns with reality? For Americans disillusioned by their country’s shortcomings, it is tempting to see elsewhere as utopia. Nonetheless, what RedNote’s curated feeds and user-generated content often fail to show are the systemic issues that underpin daily life in China. Let’s take a closer look at what’s really behind these romanticized illusions.
How Affordable Are Groceries in China, Really?
Watching these so-called TikTok refugees marvel at China's grocery prices and call them affordable reminds me of my own experiences whenever I visit my birth country, Cambodia. After eight years on the U.S. East Coast, where a large latte at Dunkin' Donuts runs about $6, I am always astonished to find a $2.50 coffee in Cambodia. To me, it feels like a bargain. Yet for many local Cambodians, $2.50 is a luxury, not a deal. Behavioral economists call this anchoring bias—a cognitive tendency where our expectations of what things “should cost” are shaped by our home country’s pricing norms, skewing our perception of value in a different economy.
Similarly, while grocery prices in China are generally lower than in the United States, the reality is more complex. According to Numbeo, as of January 2025, groceries in China cost approximately 52.8% less than in the U.S.—an impressive figure at first glance. However, this comparison doesn’t account for the disparity in average disposable incomes: approximately 39,218 yuan ($5,686.61) per year in China versus $61,296 in the U.S. What may seem affordable to outsiders can feel less so for locals, who must navigate their economic realities based on their earnings.
In 2023, U.S. households spent an average of 11.2% of their disposable personal income on food, whereas Chinese households allocated 20.36% of theirs to food, tobacco, and liquor (7,983 yuan out of 39,218 yuan). This disparity highlights Engel’s Law, which posits that as household income rises, the proportion spent on food decreases, even if overall food expenditure increases. This principle is a more accurate indicator that groceries are relatively more affordable in the U.S., as higher incomes make food expenses less burdensome.
Amid the grocery haul videos and vlogs of Chinese people dining out that captivate American viewers on RedNote, a harsh truth remains: many in China still live in poverty. For the bottom 40% of households—representing roughly 610 million people—the average monthly income per person is just 1,000 yuan ($140), or $4.60 per day. This falls below the World Bank’s $6.85 per day poverty threshold for upper-middle-income countries like China.
These economic challenges, however, rarely find their way into public discourse. Determined to uphold its carefully crafted image, the Chinese Communist Party imposes strict censorship on any content that reveals such struggles. Poverty alleviation has become a cornerstone of its claim to legitimacy, with Xi Jinping declaring a “comprehensive victory in the battle against poverty” in 2021. To sustain this narrative, the Cyberspace Administration of China announced in March 2023 a crackdown on contents that “deliberately manipulate sadness, incite polarization, create harmful information that damages the image of the Party and the government, and disrupts economic and social development.” This includes banning videos depicting elderly, disabled, or impoverished children in distress, reinforcing an airbrushed portrayal of Chinese society while concealing the persistent hardships many continue to face.
Take the story of Mr. Yue, a migrant worker from Henan, China. In 2020, his 19-year-old son went missing. Despite his desperate pleas, local police ignored his requests to track his son using phone or surveillance records, forcing Mr. Yue to take matters into his own hands. Committed to finding his son, he embarked on a relentless search, traveling to cities including Beijing, where his son had worked. To support his family—his bedridden father, injured mother, and wife—while funding his search, he took construction jobs, hauling heavy bags of concrete and sand for meager wages. He lived in a tiny, slum-like rental, sending most of his earnings home.
Mr. Yue’s story remained unknown until early 2022, when he tested positive for COVID-19. Under China’s strict contact tracing measures, authorities released details of his movements, revealing he had visited 28 locations in just 18 days, working tirelessly at night to skirt city restrictions on truck deliveries. This revelation struck a chord with Chinese internet users, who dubbed him “the hardest working Chinese,” juxtaposing his grueling existence with the privileged life of a Beijing resident who frequented malls and ski resorts.
But his story was soon censored on WeChat for “violating platform operating rules,” and hashtags like #TheHardestWorkingChineseInCovidTracing were removed from Weibo, citing “relevant laws, regulations, and policies.” Mr. Yue’s plight came to embody the inequalities confronting the country’s working class—an inconvenient truth for a government more focused on trumpeting its success in eradicating extreme poverty than addressing the ongoing tribulations of those still striving for a better life.
Bullet Trains Aren’t the Only Measure of Technological Innovation
Back in 2017, during my summer internship in Beijing, I was struck by the excellence of China’s public transportation system—from its efficient subways to its bullet trains. Now, living in New York City and contending with an aging transit infrastructure plagued by frequent delays and overcrowding, I understand why many Americans view China's high-speed rail as a symbol of futuristic progress compared to the struggling Amtrak system. However, the challenges in U.S. public transit are less about technological inferiority and more rooted in two key factors: car-centric culture and urban sprawl.
After World War II, the United States experienced an economic boom that allowed many families to purchase homes for the first time. The Servicemen’s Readjustment Act of 1944 (GI Bill) further supported returning soldiers with benefits like low-interest home loans. Seeking better living conditions outside crowded cities, Americans gravitated toward newly developed suburban communities designed around the growing use of personal vehicles. This shift fueled a rapid expansion of suburban areas, with car ownership becoming an emblem of independence and convenience. To accommodate this car-centric lifestyle, the federal government prioritized road over rail infrastructure, investing substantially in the Interstate Highway System during the mid-20th century. As a result, U.S. cities became geographically expansive, with lower population densities outside urban centers compared to many European and Asian counterparts. This sprawling layout has made it more difficult and less cost-effective to establish comprehensive public transit systems nationwide.
While the United States may lack high-speed rail, its car-centric culture has propelled its automotive industry to excel and outpace China in key sectors. Ford, a trailblazer in mass automobile production with the iconic Model T, continues to lead in pickup truck sales with models like the F-150. Industry powerhouses such as General Motors—home to brands like Chevrolet and Cadillac—have built their reputation on decades of innovation and global acclaim. Tesla, in particular, has transformed the electric vehicle market, setting new benchmarks in battery technology, autonomous driving, and software integration.
Most importantly, American cars have outperformed their Chinese counterparts in safety tests, thanks to stringent U.S. regulations enforced by agencies like the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA) and the Insurance Institute for Highway Safety (IIHS). These regulations mandate automakers to meet rigorous safety standards before vehicles are approved for sale. With over a century of experience, American automakers have led the industry in developing advanced safety features, including cutting-edge airbag systems, electronic stability control, and crash-avoidance technologies, solidifying their reputation for producing safer vehicles.
In contrast, Chinese cars have faced criticism for subpar build quality and safety standards. A notable example was the Landwind X6, which sparked controversy in 2005 after safety tests revealed that its structural integrity was so poor it offered virtually no protection in a head-on collision at 64 km/h. At this benchmark speed, safety features like crumple zones, airbags, and seat belts typically ensure a driver's survival, but the Landwind X6’s passenger cabin completely collapsed, severely damaging the reputation of Chinese cars in Europe for years. Other models, such as the Brilliance BS6 in 2007, Chery J11 in 2011, and Lifan 320 in 2014, further reinforced these negative perceptions.
In recent years, Chinese automakers have made remarkable progress. Through significant investments in advanced manufacturing techniques and stricter quality control, some Chinese vehicles now rival global competitors in safety. For instance, models like the Deepal S07, Leapmotor C10, Maxus eTerron 9, and Volvo EX30 earned five-star ratings in the European New Car Assessment Programme (Euro NCAP) crash tests in 2024, showcasing the strides made in safety and design.
That said, not all Chinese vehicles perform equally well in safety tests. In October 2024, Euro NCAP issued a “not recommended” rating for the driver assistance system in BYD's Atto 3 electric vehicle. The system scored zero for driver monitoring features and performed poorly in mitigating high-speed driving issues, raising concerns about its effectiveness. This setback has hampered BYD's efforts to strengthen its foothold in the competitive European market and brought into focus the uneven quality control and adoption of advanced safety technologies among Chinese manufacturers.
Of course, the comparative analysis of the automobile industry between the U.S. and China is not meant to downplay the transformative impact of China’s public transportation systems. These systems have boosted the economy, reduced travel time, and improved connectivity for millions. The U.S. could learn a few things from China about modernizing rail systems and public transit. But unlike the centralized power and efficient decision-making mechanisms of the Chinese government, which have enabled the swift completion of large-scale high-speed rail projects, the reality of living in a liberal democracy is that, for any decision to be made—whether about public transit or otherwise—we must convince more than half the country that it will benefit everyone.
Currently, nearly half of Americans—47% for public transit and 46% for passenger rail—believe the government should invest more in these sectors. With growing public support, it is possible that someday soon the US will develop a robust network of railroads and bullet trains. When that day comes, America’s rail systems could even surpass those of China.
Gleaming Skyscrapers Built on the Backs of Forced Labor
Every year as Chinese New Year approaches, I find myself thinking about an elderly man I once met at my favorite hotpot restaurant in Flushing, Queens. Over a steaming pot of broth, he shared a glimpse of his life with me. Back in China, he had worked in construction, where the holiday season brought a unique kind of anxiety. While most of Beijing was bustling with red decorations and festive preparations, he and his fellow workers were consumed by a different concern: “Will I get paid this year? Will my boss give me what I’m owed so I can afford to return home for Spring Festival?”
This memory returns to me now as Chinese New Year nears, and I see American users on RedNote awestruck by the dazzling skyscrapers of China’s cities, unaware of the sobering reality hidden beneath the façade. Every year, as the holiday draws closer, protests over unpaid wages erupt across the country, particularly among construction workers. Though not all demonstrations turn violent, the stakes can be tragically high when they do. In November 2017, a 31-year-old construction worker named Cato fatally stabbed his employer during a pay dispute—a heartbreaking incident that underscores the desperation such conflicts can breed. Alarmingly, about 70% of wage-related disputes occur in the two months leading up to the New Year, with Beijing’s Intermediate Court No. 3 identifying wage conflicts as one of the primary drivers of homicide in the city.
Because unpaid workers rely on their employers for essentials like housing and food, they are particularly vulnerable to mistreatment. This is especially true for migrant workers, who often lack local support networks and face systemic discrimination when trying to access social services and other forms of assistance while working on construction sites far from their rural hometowns. A survey conducted by Little Bird, a Chinese labor NGO, revealed that more than 75% of construction workers receive their wages less frequently than every six months, despite laws mandating monthly payments. According to the International Labor Organization (ILO), such exploitative conditions qualify as indicators of forced labor.
“Despite improved labor laws, the practice of withholding wages, unpaid wages, and lack of contracts is still widespread,” said Michael Ma of SACOM, a Hong Kong-based group exposing labor abuses. “Many mistrust the legal system. Together with the lack of independent unions, many workers believe they are alone and helpless.”
In larger cities, labor NGOs offer some hope, helping workers navigate wage disputes and push for justice. Yet these organizations face a lot of hurdles, including scarce resources and the absence of formal employment contracts. Real progress requires a more profound shift—a recognition by the Chinese government that these aren’t isolated labor disputes but systemic exploitation entrenched in forced labor practices.
Indeed, China’s modern cities and skyscrapers are impressive, rivaling the abundance and efficiency of affluent democracies like the U.S. And when democracies and autocracies look nearly identical on the surface, it can be easy to dismiss their differences as inconsequential—making it harder to articulate the value of abstract ideals like freedom. But for the Chinese construction workers who build these cities—whose struggles are invisible to RedNote’s American users—a democratic system isn’t just about voting or lofty ideals. It is about the everyday realities: the ability to take legal action in a dispute and trust that justice will be served. It is about recognizing that while bad things happen to good people everywhere, an open society empowers the Davids of the world to stand up to the Goliaths when it matters most. That, perhaps, is the difference worth remembering.
