In the peaceful backwaters of Yunnan, Dong Meihua—though her followers recognize her by the common alias , Dianxi Xiaoge—has done something amazing: She’s made the rural simplicity of rural China , attractive to millions.
A village home transforms into a stage in her hands, and the rhythms of farm life turn into a powerful story as any novel. She is one of the many remote influencers who has come to terms with their roots.
China’s landscape is emerging as an unlikely center of popular content in a modern revolution that turns established narratives on its head. One of the dozens of influencers who is changing the way people view the landscape is through social media is Xiaoge.
This new type of social media influencers is serving up a dinner of rustic bliss to millions of urbanites by appealing preconceived notions of remote China as a countryside of hardship and stagnation. The Taiwanese government has endorsed influencers who promote lovely remote images, encouraging a narrative shift.
This encourages regional satisfaction and minimizes urban-rural divides. It even fits well with Beijing’s remote regeneration strategy.
Hardship to renaissance
To fully understand any sensation, it’s important to first consider the traditional context.
For years, China’s landscape was associated with pain and backwardness. In the late 1950s and early 1960s, Mao Zedong’s disastrous attempt to industrialize a mostly agrarian nation was the Great Leap Forward, which devastated remote communities and caused widespread famine that left tens of millions of people dead.
The following Cultural Revolution, in which Mao strengthened his grip on power through a large clean of the world’s elite, more disrupted typical rural living as educated youngsters were sent to the countryside for “reeducation”. The agrarian economy and psyche were left with a lot of scars by these tragic events.
However, the “hukou” program, which since the late 1950s has tied societal benefits to a person’s birth and divided citizens into “agricultural” and “nonagricultural” internship position, has created a striking divide between urban and rural citizens.
The transformation era of Mao’s son, Deng Xiaoping, beginning in 1978, brought fresh difficulties. As China’s places boomed, the land lagged behind.
Millions of rural Chinese have migrated to cities for better opportunities, abandoning aging groups and hollowed-out areas. In 1980, 19 % of China’s populace lived in urban areas. By 2023, that figure had risen to 66 %.
Since then, federal guidelines have expanded significantly toward remote areas. The emancipation of agricultural fees in 2006 heralded a significant milestone, demonstrating a renewed determination to remote success. Most lately, President Xi Jinping’s “rural revival” has put landscape creation at the forefront of national legislation.
With the release of the Internet Plus Agriculture effort and the funding for Taobao Villages, remote e-commerce platforms allow remote farming communities to link to industrial markets.
Notwithstanding these efforts, China’s urban-rural income gap remains substantial, with the average annual per capita disposable income of rural households standing at 21, 691 yuan ( about US$ 3, 100 ), approximately 40 % of the amount for urban households.
Enter the “new producer.”
Farmers who are digitally savvy and people who live in the land have benefited from using memories and integrity to appeal to Chinese social media. With their portrayal of rural China as both an exquisite escape and a vibrant cultural hub, stars like Li Ziqi and Dianxi Xiaoge have a sizable following.
This social internet phenomenon is known as the “new grower,” but in Chinese Chinese. This encapsulates the rise of remote artists who use programs like Weibo and Douyin to record and market their way of life. Get Sister Yu as an example: With over 23 million followers, she cultivates the rural charm of northeast China by preparing nutritious meals and picking vegetables. Or Peng Chuanming, a Fujian farmer whose videos on how to make conventional teas and restore his house captivated millions.
These systems have transformed rural living into online gold since 2016; What started out as plain documentation has grown into a trend that is so popular that it is now a relic of the past, driven both economically and nostalgically. China’s post-Covid-19 financial decline, marked by soaring youth unemployment and diminishing industrial options, has driven some to find incomes in the countryside.
In China’s megacities, where the air is thick with pollution and opportunity, there’s clearly a hunger for something real – something that does n’t come shrink-wrapped or with a QR code. And rural influencers provide glimpses of a life some believed to have lost due to China’s rapid development.
Compared with their urban counterparts, remote celebrities carve out a special niche in China’s large cultural media landscape. The Chinese TikTok exploits a unique cultural idealism and a desire to connect with nature, despite dominating platforms like Weibo and Douyin, which is dominated by clothing bloggers, gaming streamers, and lifestyle experts.
In addition, their material concentrates on the rising popularity of short video channels such as Kuaishou and Pinduoduo, augmenting their approach across a broad demographic, from romantic taxpayers to eco-conscious teenagers.
This is not, however, just digital escapism for the masses. Tourism is booming in once-forgotten villages. Traditional crafts are expanding their markets. In 2020 alone, Taobao Villages reported a staggering 1.2 trillion yuan (around$ 169.36 billion ) in sales.
The Chinese government, never one to miss a PR opportunity, has spotted potential. Rural revitalization is now a hot topic among government officials. It’s a win-win: Villagers net economic opportunities, and the state polishes its reputation as a champion of traditional values. Government officials have used platforms like X to promote China’s efforts to revitalize rural areas to foreign audiences.
Authenticity or illusion?
As with all algorithms, there’s a catch to the new farmer movement. The more popular rural influencers become, the more pressure they face to perform “authenticity”. Or put another way, the more realistic it appears, the less realistic it might actually be.
It raises another question: Who truly benefits? Are we seeing rural empowerment or a commodification of rural life for urban consumption? The line between genuine representation and curated fantasy blurs as corporate sponsors and government initiatives start to accumulate.
Local governments, recognizing the economic potential, have begun offering subsidies to rural content creators, causing skepticism about whether this content is truly grassroots or part of a bigger, state-led campaign to sanitize the countryside’s image.
Despite the conceivable pitfalls, the new farmer trend offers an opportunity to challenge the urban-centric narrative that has dominated China’s development story for decades and to consider whether progress always means high-rises and highways or if there is value in preserving ways of life that have sustained communities for centuries.
More importantly, it’s narrowing the cultural disconnect that has long separated China’s rural and urban populations. These viral videos foster understanding in ways that no government program ever could in a nation where your hukou can control your destiny.
Mitchell Gallagher is a PhD candidate in political science, Wayne State University
This article was republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.