As with most of the bizarre things we cover on Dao Insights, this begins online. As with most things online, an exact origin is hard to pin down. What we do know is that somewhere down the tangled line the name Malfoy in Chinese (马尔福) was noted to contain the words ma and fu – horse and fortune.

2026 marking the start of the year of the horse, this seems all too auspicious. Now Draco Malfoy is being slapped across traditional Chinese New Year decorations. Those decos look like red diamonds inked with the character fu (福). They’re stuck on people’s front doors to bring fortune to the household in the year to come – often upside down as the word ‘upside down’ sounds a lot like the word ‘arrive’ in Chinese.

He’s also made it onto fridge magnets and stickers, with Taobao merchants quick to monetise the trend. Social media has been sharing the news, and it’s even reached the actor himself. Yes, Tom Felton has shared a post on Instagram about becoming a symbol of Chinese New Year.

Draco Malfoy: the truly unlikely face of Chinese New Year

Harry Potter, as you might have gathered is very popular in China. Since translated versions of the Harry Potter series went on sale in China in the year 2000, around 200 million copies have been sold. Little doubt JK Rowling expected her character to become the face of the Lunar New Year 26 years later.

But that right there is the joy of covering China: you wake up one morning and a British fictional villain, miscast as luck incarnate through a phonetic accident, has been speed-run through e-commerce and stuck on a front door. What a heady mix of superstition and supply chain support. We wish you a very Draco Malfoy Chinese New Year.

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• On Weibo, the hashtag questioning Colgate’s claims (高露洁称能填上牙缝是过度宣传吗#) drew more than 13 million views.

The controversy centres on animated clips used by a verified livestream account used to sell Colgate products in China. The visuals promoted the brand’s 360° Anti-Sensitivity Repair Toothpaste, showing tooth gaps narrowing, damaged enamel being replaced, and dental issues seemingly recovering. The message leaned heavily on scientific-sounding language, framing the effect as ‘fluorapatite generation.’ It even went as far as comparing it to biological regeneration seen in animals – think lizards and their tails.  

Dental professionals were quick to push back. Fluoride, they noted, has long been used to strengthen enamel and slow decay, but it cannot regenerate teeth, alter tooth structure, or physically close gaps. China’s National Medical Products Administration has also repeatedly clarified that toothpaste cannot legally claim functions such as cavity repair, gap filling, or stabilising loose teeth – placing the campaign on shaky regulatory ground. 

The issue got even more bizarre when a blogger accused the brand of misusing his content. He claimed that footage he posted last year documenting a cosmetic dental procedure using veneers was edited and repurposed in Colgate’s livestream. According to the blogger, the video was altered with an AI-generated voiceover and enhanced visuals, transforming a clinical treatment into supposed proof of toothpaste efficacy.  

The livestream account involved is reportedly authorised by Colgate-Palmolive China, rather than an impersonator channel. As of Chinese media’s latest reports, no formal public response has been issued. 

On Weibo, the hashtag discussing the Colgate controversy drew more than 13 million views. The dominant tone was not fury, but disbelief. For many users, the episode underscored a broader shift: in China’s hyper-accelerated livestream economy, legacy brand authority no longer guarantees trust. When visual storytelling races ahead of scientific reality, even household names can find their credibility eroding in real time. 

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Universal big bear is a big fish in the Chinese tech commentary world. His Weibo account hovers at around 2.5 million followers, and he boasts numbers in the tens of thousands on other platforms. The problem is he’s long trashed Xiaomi products in front of this following. So why enlist him as a brand spokesperson? 

It’s not an uncommon strategy for brands to bring critics onside. The benefits of doing so are obvious.  Xiaomi’s problem is the loyalty of its fan base. Xiaomi built its brand around a following of uniquely passionate fans – passionate to an extent better suited to popstars or football teams than a company in the tech world.  

As the marketing spins it, dialogue with fans has been at the core of Xiaomi’s brand and product development. This gives Xiaomi fans real reason to believe that they are a part of the company, not on the outside looking in as, say, iPhone users do. Groupthink follows. If you’re not with us, you’re against us. Long Live Xiaomi. How could you appoint a critic as our spokesperson?  

The funny thing is this would likely not have happened to Xiaomi’s competitors. Huawei, Apple, any of them, could attempt to turn a critical KOL without major backlash. But with Xiaomi fans, it’s personal.  

This dogged following has its perks. Fans operate like an unofficial PR team, batting off criticism, spinning positive stories, and do it all for free. They even loyally invest in Xiaomi products. Make no mistake about it, Xiaomi’s fans are a powerful asset. The drawback is because they take things personally, Xiaomi can never say: ‘it’s just business.’  

The collaboration with Universal Big Bear has since been dropped. Two Xiaomi senior execs have been docked their annual bonus. The Xiaomi KOL controversy is now in the rearview. But as Xiaomi pushes into drastically new markets, perhaps they’ll wish they had the breathing space of their competitors.  

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The pendant features the phrase in Chinese characters on the front and the word jia on the reverse – a reference to ‘加’ (to add), in a suggestion of doubled good fortune. Priced at just over RMB 3,000 (approx. US $428.95), the product quickly gained attention and climbed social-media trending lists in late December. 

The Chow Tai Fook ox-horse design has been framed in traditional symbolic terms. CTFJ said the ox represents diligence and steadiness, while the horse stands for drive and forward momentum, with the overall message intended to convey perseverance and auspicious meaning. 

But that’s not how netizens saw things. Critics argued that the term ‘牛马’ has taken on a distinctly negative connotation among younger workers, where it is used to express exhaustion, lack of agency and perceived exploitation in the workplace. From this perspective, turning the phrase into a gold accessory looked tone-deaf, or even downright mocking. 

Others defended the product as self-deprecating humour aligned with contemporary internet culture, suggesting the backlash reflected oversensitivity rather than malicious intent. After the surge in discussion, the pendant was reported as sold out or removed from some online listings, though Chow Tai Fook has not announced a formal withdrawal. 

The Chow Tai Fook ox-horse bust up highlights the risks traditional consumer brands face as they attempt to integrate internet slang and youth culture into product design. While such language may carry playful meanings in peer-to-peer contexts, its commercialisation – particularly by brands that can be seen as mainstream – can trigger very different interpretations when placed on the shelf. 

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• #盒马承认生产草莓蛋糕出问题# (lit. Hema admits production issue with strawberry cake) had hit no.1 on Weibo’s hot search list

Hema responded to the complaints with apologies, refunds and recalls. But the cat was out the bag. News of the salty strawberry cake was generating traction on social media. Rivals were circling.  

Before long, the hashtag #盒马承认生产草莓蛋糕出问题# (lit. Hema admits production issue with strawberry cake) had hit no.1 on Weibo’s hot search list and related posts were clocking thousands of likes. 

In the process, complaints turned memes. What began as a rapid containment plan had become a viral moment. But it wasn’t Hema’s alone. Rival brands got involved. On supermarket shelves at Walmart, Metro and Aldi, strawberry cakes began to appear alongside promises of sweetness.  

Aldi posted a picture of their own strawberry cake with the line ‘we guarantee only sweetness’ (我们保证只甜), generating engagement for their own products. The move wasn’t a potshot at a vulnerable rival so much as it was a chance to jump on board with the viral moment.  

Aldi, Metro and Walmart used the moment to demonstrate cultural fluency – a savvy play for free attention. For Hema, the virality worked like a pressure valve. It allowed them to take a we-all-make-mistakes-type attitude. In a world dominated by social media, crises no longer play out as simply as screw up, make a statement. Social media means your mistakes carry fast, but it can also be a way to connect with customers on a human level, which as Hema’s salty cake slip-up shows, is the best way to solve a slip-up.  

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On Xiaohongshu, content tagged solid mango pomelo sago passed 100 million views. On Douyin, related videos neared the one-billion-play mark. From Haidilao to China’s myriad tea chains, businesses have jumped on the trend.  

From Cantonese staple to social spectacle  

Sago, known locally as yangzhi ganlu (杨枝甘露), is a dessert of thin cream, diced mango, and pomelo, and dottings of tapioca balls, served in a bowl to be eaten with a spoon. Its solid cousin emerged when vendors began thickening the base with yoghurt and cream cheese, turning it into something that could be unmoulded, layered and picked up. 

The shift from bowl to block unlocked everything that followed. Once the dessert could hold its shape, vendors stacked it into towers, wrapped it in durian flesh, skewered it like tanghulu, rolled it like a towel cake, or compressed it until it bulged out of plastic wrap. The appeal was visual excess, rather than flavour innovation.  

Solid mango pomelo sago landed neatly inside a healthy-but-not-really paradox. Yoghurt and fruit signalled wellness. Portion size said the opposite. That contradiction made it sharable, tongue-in-cheek, and algorithm-ready – in short, an edible meme. 

Who capitalised on the solid mango pomelo sago trend?

Dingdong Maicai 

Fresh grocery platform Dingdong Maicai (叮咚买菜) moved first at scale. As solid mango pomelo sago videos took off, the platform saw yoghurt sales jump more than 400%, with daily sales volumes exceeding 10,000 units at the peak. 

More importantly, Dingdong productised the trend. Within 24 hours, it launched DIY ingredient kits bundled around the dessert: yoghurt, mango, pomelo and sago pre-portioned for home experimentation. This wasn’t about selling a finished product. It was about enabling participation. 

By treating virality as demand forecasting rather than noise, Dingdong turned a social trend into a meaningful product and positioned itself as infrastructure for internet food rather than a passive retailer. 

Tea chains: fast remix over brand purity 

Regional tea and dessert chains followed quickly, bolting solid mango pomelo sago variants onto existing menus. The winning executions didn’t over-engineer. They kept the base close to the viral original, oversized the portions, and leaned into visual mess rather than polish. 

This mattered. Brands that tried to refine the dessert into something neater saw less traction than those willing to exaggerate. The algorithm rewarded maximalism. Chains that understood this treated the dessert as a temporary content prop priced for impulse, designed for filming, and expected to burn hot and fade fast. 

Haidilao: meme adoption, not menu innovation 

Haidilao’s (海底捞) involvement was less about dessert and more about signalling. Diners began assembling their own solid mango pomelo sago using the hotpot chain’s yoghurt, fruit and condiments. The staff didn’t stop it. They leaned in. And that was all the brand needed to do.

Videos of self-made versions inside Haidilao dining rooms spread rapidly, reinforcing the chain’s long-standing reputation as a permissive, user-driven space. No official product launch was required. That the meme existed inside the brand ecosystem was enough. 

What can be learnt from the solid mango pomelo sago craze

The solid mango pomelo sago craze is a reminder that virality in China’s food economy rarely rewards originality. It rewards responsiveness. The brands and platforms that benefitted most didn’t invent the dessert, refine it, or even formally brand it. They removed friction. Grocery platforms enabled DIY participation. Flexible vendors oversized and exaggerated. Spaces like Haidilao allowed meme behaviour to happen inside their walls without intervention. 

Two lessons stand out. First, format now matters more than flavour. A food’s ability to be filmed, remixed and exaggerated can outweigh taste or longevity. Second, speed beats authorship. By the time a perfect SKU is launched, the trend has usually moved on. Solid mango pomelo sago will fade. The mechanics that propelled it will not. For brands operating in China, the challenge isn’t predicting the next viral product, it’s about building systems that can respond fast, then step aside while the internet does the rest.  

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The Anhui-based company has been trending on Weibo this week after posts revealed that some staff are encouraged to adopt squirrel-themed nicknames internally. Screenshots circulating online show employees using playful monikers tied to the brand’s mascot-led identity, with even founder and CEO Zhang Liaoyuan reportedly being referred to in some contexts as ‘Squirrel Daddy’.

The reaction has been split. Supporters see it as an extension of Three Squirrels’ long-standing cartoon-driven branding and an attempt to flatten hierarchies, foster familiarity and build team identity in a large organisation. Critics, however, question whether such ‘voluntary’ practices are truly optional inside Chinese companies, arguing that employees may feel indirect pressure to participate in order to fit in.

This forced Three Squirrels to go public on the matter. In response, they said the naming convention is not a formal rule but a spontaneous part of its internal culture, stressing that staff are free to choose whether or not to use nicknames. The company framed the practice as light-hearted and consistent with a brand built around youthful, playful storytelling rather than rigid corporate formality.

The timing, however, has amplified scrutiny. Three Squirrels is in the process of preparing for a listing in Hong Kong, drawing fresh investor and media attention to its governance and corporate culture. At the same time, debates around workplace norms – from the long-criticised 996 overtime system to the rise of ‘lying flat’ attitudes among younger workers – remain highly sensitive topics in China.

In that context, even seemingly harmless internal rituals can become lightning rods. What might once have been dismissed as eccentric brand culture is now being read through a wider lens: one shaped by labour rights, power dynamics and changing expectations of what a healthy Chinese workplace should look like. This may not be the messiest kind of PR episode, but it’s a good reminder that a lot of young people feel disenchanted with corporate work culture.

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• #MultipleBrandsRespondToSudanRedFindings# gets over 5.3 million views on Weibo

Sudan dyes are synthetic colourants used in plastics and lubricants, not cosmetics. The International Agency for Research on Cancer (IARC) classifies Sudan I–IV as Group 3 carcinogens, and China’s National Medical Products Administration explicitly bans their use in beauty products, potential toxicity and long-term health risks being the point of concern.

Dad Lab’s tests traced the contamination to raw-material blends containing herbal extracts allegedly supplied by Singapore-based Campo Research (S) Pte Ltd, which has not commented publicly. Industry reports estimate as many as 800 products across 400 brands could be implicated.

On Weibo, the hashtag #MultipleBrandsRespondToSudanRedFindings# (#多品牌回应产品检出苏丹红#) has attracted over 5.3 million views, with consumers posting ingredient lists and refund screenshots in a grassroots hunt for answers.

Brands including Florasis (花西子) have reportedly withdrawn or delisted affected items, while some consumers have complained of refused refunds, fuelling frustration. Retailers and e-commerce platforms have issued statements pledging product audits, and several listings appear to have been temporarily removed pending verification.

The timing of the Sudan Red safety scandal could hardly be worse. As the world’s largest online shopping festival hits full swing, a controversy better confined to chemistry labs has spilled into China’s biggest consumer moment. It’s not a great look for beauty companies. Perhaps worse, the scandal could put the market right under the noses of regulators – an undeniably necessary move.

That’s only speculation at this point. We can add to the specualtion that China’s beauty companies are likely haemorrhaging Double 11 sales. If you’re looking for something more concrete, it’s a safe bet to say that this is the biggest reputational hit China’s beauty industry has taken in a good long while.

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• #曾经爆火现在几乎没人喝的奶茶# (Lit: milk tea brands that were once viral but now no one drinks) hit no. 23 on Weibo’s hot search list.

The post that sparked the trend read like a roll call of fallen stars: The Alley, once famous for its brown sugar tiger stripe milk tea, now survives mostly through supermarket instant mixes. Gong Cha, an early milk tea pioneer, has faded into school-town corners. Shuyi, which at its 2021 peak boasted over 7,000 outlets and investment from Tencent, has reportedly closed thousands. 

Behind the online reminiscing lies a story of overexpansion, imitation, and shifting consumer priorities in the China milk tea market. Many of the brands that dominated late-2010s social feeds fell victim to the very virality that made them famous. The Alley’s lack of trademark protection saw more than 7,000 fake stores flood the market, eroding consumer trust. Others stumbled in the post-pandemic pivot toward health. Once-coveted high-sugar formulas like brown sugar pearls and cream-topped teas now feel outdated as young consumers reach instead for low-calorie, fresh-milk options. 

That changing taste has fuelled the rise of newcomers such as Chaji (霸王茶姬) and Moli Naibai (茉莉奶白), whose success rests on precisely what the old guard neglected: lighter formulas, clearer positioning, and an identity built around tea itself rather than novelty toppings. 

Industry observers on Weibo were quick to turn the nostalgia thread into an autopsy. Common diagnoses included chaotic franchise management, rising prices, weak product R&D, and tone-deaf rebranding. As one viral comment put it, “A bamboo cup can hold milk tea, but not long-term loyalty.” 

For China’s once-crowded milk tea sector, the hot search serves as both an obituary and a warning. The era of queuing two hours for a sugar fix is long gone. What remains, as the online discussion suggests, is a more rational, health-driven market, and a reminder that in Chinese tea retail, traffic fades fast, but product strength endures. 

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The space wove together a bookstore framed by an old Sichuan-opera stage, a fragrance zone launching the new Journey to China collection, and a dining corner at The Hall featuring Chengdu-inspired dishes – each element echoing the local pace of life: what local Sichuanese call an yi (安逸), and an English speaker would probably call ‘easy going.’ 

• #LV成都耍起# sees more than 1.14 million views.
• Collaborative posts between LV and thier brand ambassador gets over a million likes and 800k shares.

That sense of play translated instantly into social currency. On Rednote, the hashtag #LV成都耍起# (Lit. Louis Vuitton Chengdu, let’s play, or LV Having fun in Chengdu) has drawn more than 1.14 million views. Check-in posts that blend travel diary and fashion flex have been popular on both Rednote and Weibo with visitors photographing the opera stage backdrop, the activities and themselves with the city guide that inspired the event.  

On Weibo, posts between LV and their local brand ambassador, actor Simon Gong (龚俊), have received over a million likes and 800,000 shares. Users commented on how the event seemed to capture Chengdu’s chilled-out way of life.  

Not one to miss out on a marketing feedback loop LV has made the city guide free until 13^th November, extending the pop-up experience beyond the venue. It’s a smart move. They’ve effectively turned local discovery itself into brand touchpoint.  

Louis Vuitton launched its City Guide collection in 1998, long before branded content was a buzzword. At the time, most luxury houses expressed heritage through fashion shows or flagship architecture. LV chose travel writing. Now the Louis V suitcases are one of the brand’s most iconic products. It looks like their pop-ups are just as popular. 

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