Feminist Media Studies

ISSN: (Print) (Online) Journal homepage: https://www.tandfonline.com/loi/rfms20

#metoo activism without the #MeToo hashtag:

online debates over entertainment celebrities’ sex
scandals in China

Ling Han & Yue Liu

To cite this article: Ling Han & Yue Liu (04 Jun 2023): #metoo activism without the #MeToo
hashtag: online debates over entertainment celebrities’ sex scandals in China, Feminist Media
Studies, DOI: 10.1080/14680777.2023.2219857

To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/14680777.2023.2219857

Published online: 04 Jun 2023.

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FEMINIST MEDIA STUDIES
https://doi.org/10.1080/14680777.2023.2219857

#metoo activism without the #MeToo hashtag: online

debates over entertainment celebrities’ sex scandals in China
a b
Ling Han and Yue Liu
a
Gender Studies Programme,The Chinese University of Hong Kong, Hong Kong, China; bSchool of Media Arts
and Studies, Ohio University, Athens, OH, US

ABSTRACT ARTICLE HISTORY

Hashtag activism is a common practice of digital feminism to Received 24 September 2022
challenge patriarchal orders. As the Chinese government has inten­ Revised 8 May 2023
sified its control over social media, a notable feature of the ongoing Accepted 24 May 2023
#MeToo movement is the absence of the hashtag itself. Within KEYWORDS
tightened state control online, how does hashtag activism build digital feminism; #metoo;
upon network connections to continue its impact without the celebrity sex scandal;
hashtag? In this research, we compare the two largest sex scandals hashtag activism; China
of 2021 involving prestigious male celebrities. We argue that online
debates surrounding A-list celebrities’ sex scandals have facilitated
virtual spaces for public discussion on structural gender inequalities
in both public and private domains, even without the obvious
#MeToo hashtag. Consequently, public discussion has popularized
feminist concepts to help articulate these events. However, besides
online discourse using male celebrity misconduct as a conduit to
disentangle the inner workings of patriarchal institutions, misogy­
nistic media practices and decoupling media strategies, like empha­
sizing the cases’ non-Chineseness, have been equally rampant to
divert public attention. This article delineates the latest endeavors
of Chinese digital feminism and reveals its promises and pitfalls
when rallying online activism without a hashtag.

Introduction
Internet users, mainstream media, and political authorities utilize hashtags to thread
conversations, people, and movements together on social media platforms, with the
earliest adoption seen on Twitter in 2007 (Sarah J. Jackson, Moya Bailey and Brooke
Foucault Welles 2020, xxviii). In 2009, Twitter introduced the “trending topics” function,
which circulates the algorithmically-identified popular hashtags of a given moment (Eve
Ng 2022, 52). Advancements in digital communications technology further facilitate the
online allyship of marginalized groups and give rise to hashtag activism that advocates for
social change, identity politics, and political inclusion (Jackson, Bailey, and Foucault
Welles 2020, xxviii).
Feminist activists have employed hashtag activism to unite women with shared
experiences to collectively challenge hegemonic structures and to produce

CONTACT Ling Han linghan@cuhk.edu.hk Gender Studies Programme, The Chinese University of Hong Kong,
Room 250, Sino Building, Hong Kong, China
© 2023 Informa UK Limited, trading as Taylor & Francis Group
2 L. HAN AND Y. LIU

counternarratives to the dominant media discourse (Maja Brandt Andreasen 2020). The
#MeToo movement is among the most prominent examples of feminist hashtag activism.
It was started by the Black feminist Tarana Burke in 2007 but did not gain considerable
media visibility until Hollywood actress Alyssa Milano adopted it to disclose her experi­
ence with sexual violence in 2017. #MeToo then became a global digital campaign to
connect women with shared trauma all over the world.
In early 2018, China’s local #MeToo campaign first exploded in higher education, where
female students reported experiences of sexual harassment by male professors (Jing Zeng
2019). Since then, scholars have examined the Chinese #MeToo movements through
a variety of lens, such as platform affordances, social networks, responsive strategies to
censorship, and intersectionality (Chen Chen and Xiaobo Wang 2020; Siyuan Yin and Yu
Sun 2020; Lingyan Ma and Yueqian Zhang 2022). As we began to track digital feminist
activism in China’s cyberspace, we noticed that an increasing number of female victims
were publicly revealing the sexual misconduct of prestigious men in the entertainment
industry. While netizen support was widespread, they no longer posted with the hashtag
#MeToo nor its localized variants used to circumvent platform censorship, e.g.,
#RiceBunny and #WoYeShi.
Against this backdrop, we intend to investigate how #MeToo activism, which was built
on networks of connection, impacted the Chinese media space even without the use of
activist hashtags. By examining two cases involving high-profile male celebrities in 2021,
we address the following research questions: (1) How was this new round of the #MeToo
campaign different from earlier ones in China? (2) How does #MeToo activism without the
#MeToo hashtag contribute to China’s digital feminism? Drawing on the specific practices
of Chinese women challenging prestigious men in the entertainment industry and fight­
ing against structural gender injustice, our research expands our current understanding of
digital feminism in authoritarian societies and provides practical implications for future
activism.

Precarious #MeToo activism in China

In post-2000 China, bottom-up feminist activism has emerged in online and offline
discourse, shifting from earlier forms of non-governmental organization activism (Qi
Wang 2018). A notable feature of this younger feminist generation is their ability to utilize
digital media for social change (Jia Tan 2017; Bin Wang and Catherine Driscoll 2019).
These young feminists are quick to adopt new digital practices, like the #MeToo hashtag,
to connect to transnational feminist movements.
Since early 2018, the #MeToo movement has moved out of higher education and
expanded into other sectors in China, including media, non-profit organizations, and
business (Jing Zeng 2020). The efforts of #MeToo activism have redefined sexual
harassment, having previously been understood as a personal experience, which
allows it to be recognized as part of a larger institutional system of patriarchal
oppression (Luwei Rose Luqiu and Sara Xueting Liao 2021). The campaign
encourages Chinese women to stop individual tolerance for sexual harassment and
to come forward as a collective (Zhongxuan Lin and Liu Yang 2019). Though at the
movement’s inception, authorities responded to the campaign and punished perpe­
trators, typically by dismissing them from job posts or withdrawing awards. Online
 FEMINIST MEDIA STUDIES 3

Figure 1. If searching #MeToo on Weibo now, user will be shown “in accordance with relevant laws,
regulations and policies, the result page is not displayed”.

platforms, in alignment with the state’s Internet regulations, began to censor

#MeToo content from participants and supporters by blocking the #MeToo hashtag
(see Figure 1).1
Alongside constant censorship, China’s digital feminists have long suffered from cyber
misogyny (Xiao Han 2018). Cyberspace is still hostile to women, as illustrated by male
perpetrators’ denial or justification for their misconduct (Kaibin Xu and Yan Tan 2020) and
conservative backlash from public intellectuals (Qi Ling and Sara Liao 2020). Even more
worrisome, digital feminism has been stigmatized as a conspiracy initiated by Western
hostile forces to destabilize Chinese society (Qiqi Huang 2022).
While bringing new light to gridlocked feminist activism in China, the Chinese #MeToo
movement has its limitations. For example, Zeng (2019) worries that the movement fails
to challenge China’s “untouchable” high-ranking politicians. Additionally, most of the
campaign participants are well-educated “elites,” and the voices of rural, working-class
women are underrepresented and marginalized in the movement (Siyuan Yin and Sun
2020). Jing Xiong and Dušica Ristivojević (2021) also suggest that #MeToo is unable to
4 L. HAN AND Y. LIU

bring about substantial institutional change unless feminists strategically negotiate with
the state to provide comprehensive support for sexual violence survivors.
Despite a few ongoing lawsuits, the #MeToo movement in China reached a stalemate
in late 2019. However, this has not stopped women from speaking out online about their
experiences with gender injustice, notwithstanding the higher social status and power of
the perpetrators. China’s #MeToo movement has made feminist-conscious netizens more
aware of gendered power imbalances, which has facilitated more in-depth public discus­
sion that intersects with celebrity culture.

Negotiating values through celebrity sex scandals

Celebrity gossip provides powerful, vivid, and convenient content that enables the public
to discuss the boundaries of acceptable and unacceptable behavior (Valérie Gorin and
Annik Dubied 2011). Such public negotiation of social values includes gender roles,
appropriate sexual behavior, and more. Celebrities themselves, as “the subject of sexual
desire, speculation and rumor, and in some cases opprobrium,” can showcase the
ambivalent perspectives on gender and sexuality in a society (John Mercer 2013, 1). Yet
Hilde Van Den Bulck and Nathalie Claessens (2013, 55) argue that, in most cases, public
discussion provoked by celebrity news only reinforces, rather than challenges, the estab­
lished social and cultural norms. Moreover, sexual double standards often emerge in the
public discourse on celebrity sex scandals (Gaston Franssen 2020; Caitlin E. Lawson 2018).
Sex scandals can sometimes lead to “de-celebrification,” a top-down and bottom-up
process which strips celebrities of their public legitimacy and the symbolic power
attached to their celebrity status (Mette Mortensen and Nete Nørgaard Kristensen
2020). In post-socialist China, the governance of entertainment celebrities is an integral
part of the nation’s larger project of “cultural-moral governance,” which expects celeb­
rities to pursue both professional excellence and moral integrity (Jian Xu and Ling Yang
2021). Stars who violate moral or cultural norms may be implicitly banned by the
authorities, which can be inferred from celebrity gossip or entertainment news without
official announcements (Xu and Yang 2021, 205). Such cultural governance reinforces the
idea that celebrities need to be positive role models, otherwise they will have a negative
impact on fans (Min Xu, Stijn Reijnders and Sangkyun Kim 2021). Therefore, the personal
lives of entertainment celebrities in China are regulated by the state and supervised by
the public. Sex scandals can lead to loss of public support and public shaming by the
Chinese state as examples of immorality.

Data and methods

Our study draws on social media discussions and media coverage of gender injustice
within China’s entertainment industries in 2021. Various issues are included in the
discussions, such as rape, sexual harassment, and emotional abuse that leads to sexual,
physical, mental, or economic harm for the victims. The relationships between victims and
perpetrators are diverse, including spouses, colleagues, fans, and even strangers.
In this research, we select two leading celebrity sex scandals in 2021 for detailed
analysis: the sexual scandal of Kris Wu and the divorce scandal of Leehom Wang. We
use these two case studies to elucidate a more holistic and meaningful understanding of
 FEMINIST MEDIA STUDIES 5

intricate social issues (Robert K. Yin 2003). The first is about a high-profile male idol that
coerced young women into sex. Although the #MeToo hashtag is missing in the original
social media posts and domestic media coverage, it was extensively framed as a typical
#MeToo event by many Western news outlets. The second case is infrequently categor­
ized as a typical #MeToo event, but it resembles the #MeToo activism in three aspects: (1)
the power imbalance between the victims and perpetrators; (2) a personal experience
that demonstrates structural gender injustice; (3) the formation of digital alliances.2 More
importantly, it expanded the discourse to include emotional abuse in private domains and
enriched the topical scope of this new round of #MeToo activism.
Before the incidents, both male perpetrators were exceptionally popular singers in the
Chinese-speaking world and had also attracted international audiences due to their
transnational backgrounds.3 Wu had more than 50 million followers on Weibo, China’s
biggest microblogging platform, before his account was deleted on July 31 2021. Wang
had over 72 million followers on Weibo before the incident, which dropped to 68 million
after. Because of their popularity, the scandals were harshly scrutinized by both traditional
media outlets and social media. Official, commercial, and alternative media contributed to
the online public dialogue on gender issues. Feminist bloggers and organizations utilized
these individual cases to call for public reflection on structural gender injustice, while
mainstream media commented from various perspectives.4
While the accused male stars in both cases were well-known in Chinese-speaking
regions, the women who spoke out, despite their own fanbases or their marriages, had
relatively low profiles. Both accusations were first published on Weibo. The relevant
hashtags then became trending topics, giving rise to heated public discussion among
feminists, fans, and ordinary netizens.
Through observation and in-depth analysis of the two selected cases, we attempt to
map out the discursive and mobilizing practices of the online movements regarding
celebrity sex scandals. During the peak of online discussion in both cases, we tracked
discussion on social media platforms with a particular focus on hashtag use. We use the
MAXQDA web collector to scratch online data, including (1) Weibo posts of protagonists;
(2) Weibo posts from digital influencers related to feminist issues or popular fandoms
commenting on the events; (3) coverage by mainstream media outlets; and (4) popular
Weibo posts under relevant hashtags. Data collection ceased when we noticed that public
attention had dwindled. We adopted the analytic strategy of “relying on the theoretical
propositions” (Yin 2003, 111). In other words, we read through all the collected data,
summarized the thematic categories based on our research questions, and then re-
examined the whole dataset to refine the thematic structure. As the original data is in
Chinese, to maintain linguistic nuance, we completed the analysis process in Chinese
before beginning English translation.

Findings
While Kristen L. Zaleski, Kristin K. Gundersen, Jessica Baes, Ely Estupinian and Alyssa
Vergara (2016) observe that allegations against celebrities in popular culture are more
likely to receive victim-blaming comments, we find that Chinese celebrities’ careers are
highly contingent on public opinion, especially those questioning the moral grounds
related to their sexual misconduct. Consequently, both Kris Wu and Leehom Wang have
6 L. HAN AND Y. LIU

suspended their entertainment careers. The Weibo platform removed Wu’s account, and
Wang no longer updates his Weibo following his apology on December 20 2021.5 That
being said, we argue that these two cases represent imperfect examples of digital feminist
activism due to a range of problematic media practices within the activism and the
absence of long-term systematic support for victims. Next, we will analyze how both
cases raise public awareness of gender-based violence but fail to dismantle the deep-
rooted patriarchal ideology.

Kris Wu: rape allegations and the deterioration of masculinity

Kris Wu, known as Wu Yifan in Chinese, is one of the most successful male stars born in the
1990s. Wu was arrested in July 2021, only 23 days after the first sexual assault allegations
against him were published online. A 19-year-old university student and Internet beauty
influencer, Meizhu Du, revealed that Kris Wu approached her under the guise of “casting
for his music video,” before getting her intoxicated and raping her. According to Du, Wu
had also seduced other young women in the same way, and that some of his victims were
underage. Du was diagnosed with anxiety and depression as a result of the sexual
violence she experienced and the subsequent cyberbullying after her post. One day
later, Wu denied the allegations using his personal account: “I met Miss Du only once at
a friend’s gathering in December 2020. I never inebriated her or seduced any women into
sex. If I had done such things, I would send myself to jail!” The most liked comments on his
thread expressed distrust or criticism. This is uncommon because of the “comment-
control (kong ping)” practices in Chinese digital fandoms, where fans intentionally post
and like supportive comments to eclipse the negative ones (Yiyi Yin and Zhuoxiao Xie
2021). Hence, the large number of negative comments under Wu’s denial illustrate either
distrust from his fanbase or the intensity of public rage.
Du later disclosed more details of Wu’s sexual trap, adding that the young women
attending Wu’s parties were required to hand over their mobile phones, preventing them
from taking photos. The Beijing police published their initial investigation regarding the
incident on July 22nd and announced that Wu had been placed under criminal detention
by the Beijing Chaoyang District police on suspicion of rape on July 31st. Meanwhile, many
domestic corporations and international brands announced that they had ended their
endorsement contracts with Wu, including Bvlgari, Porsche, Louis Vuitton, Tencent, and
Tuborg Beer. Streaming services and platforms also removed Wu’s earlier music and
dramas, and his Weibo account was deleted. In November 2022, Wu was sentenced to
13 years in prison and expelled from the country for rape and “group lewdness” (Joyce
Lau and Claire Healy 2022).
Wu’s arrest was a symbolic achievement for China’s feminist activism under increas­
ingly severe authoritarian oppression. Given the Chinese government’s previous crack­
downs on local feminist activism and the difficulties associated with investigating sexual
crimes, the timely action of the Beijing police exceeded expectations. Pin Lü (2021), an
experienced Chinese feminist now living overseas, commented that “many of [my]
feminist chatting groups were celebrating this temporary victory when hearing that Wu
was detained,” and that this victory raised awareness of China’s #MeToo movement to an
unprecedented level, “though many ordinary citizens may have no idea what it was
about.” Female victims in China’s earlier #MeToo campaigns tended to be blamed as
 FEMINIST MEDIA STUDIES 7

being responsible for the sexual assault, or to have their motives for disclosing their
experiences online questioned, and accused of seeking public attention (Xu and Tan
2020). Likewise, Wu had been accused of a range of sexual scandals since 2016, but none
had impacted his entertainment career until this instance. However, this event conceals
some worrying aspects regarding the Internet’s satirical culture, state intervention, and
the lack of long-term support for female victims.
On July 18 2021, Du published four Weibo posts as an “ultimatum” for Wu’s apology
and withdrawal from the entertainment industry. One of the posts disclosed the details of
their sexual relationships in a ridiculing tone:

What makes you so confident? What supports your conceit? Is it your sexual potency that
could only be aroused by Viagra? Every time before you penetrated, you would say, “mine is
big, and you have to endure.” . . . It felt like, you intended to pick your nose with your finger,
but you can only use a toothpick. . .You should change your name to “qian’” (literally meaning
toothpick in Mandarin).

It is very rare for female victims in China to disclose such sexual details, given that it is still
a cultural taboo to talk about sex publicly. Du’s post went viral and soon led to netizens
mocking Wu by creating satirical memes, which quickly turned into an online carnival that
both women and men participated in (see Figure 2). The memes ridiculing Wu’s bragging
about his sexual prowess and his arrogance in the face of accusations from powerless
women were popular on social media.
Such online practices of trolling are not new to feminism. However, the satirical
discourse also echoed how conservative Chinese audiences perceive male idols as the
state makes allegations about “deteriorating” masculinity (Lingshu Hu 2018). These “little
fresh meats” with their effeminate looks and exquisite make-up have gained tremendous
popularity among younger audiences in post-2010 China, while giving rise to national
gender anxiety (Geng Song 2021). Rather than highlighting Wu’s male privilege, this
satirical discourse downgraded Wu to a “lesser” status and thus reinforced masculine
ideology. It resembled what Jiacheng Liu (2021) called men’s “passive empathy,” whereby
men try to distance themselves from “other” sexist men rather than joining with the forces
fighting against gender injustice.
This online satire about Wu recalls the ambivalent status of male idols, or “little
fresh meats,” in China’s gender hierarchy. As they largely benefit from the booming

Figure 2. Chinese internet users’ self-created memes making fun of Kris Wu’s bragging about his
sexual prowess, with the captions “mine is big, and you have to endure”.
8 L. HAN AND Y. LIU

fandom economy in China, they are perceived as deviating from traditional ideals of
masculinity and patriarchal orders. These male idols are thus devalued as men in
adherence with the traditional gender hierarchy, and in Wu’s case, rather than
provoking a deeper reflection on male privilege, the authorities have become wary
of whether China’s thriving fandom culture gives excessive power to young men
like Wu.
In June 2021, China’s Internet authorities launched a nationwide “clear-up” (qinglang)
campaign against “toxic” online fandom communities.6 In August 2021, all forms of
celebrity popularity rankings were removed from China’s digital platforms, which had
been important digital arenas where fans used the platform algorithms to boost idols’
visibility (Yiyi Yin 2020). Wu’s sex scandal reinforced the stereotype of media fandom
culture in which zealous young women constructed “false” popularity for male idols
through energy-consuming data labor and over-purchasing. Many netizens, as well as
China’s policymakers, believe that easily achieved online fame and fortune makes young
male idols complacent and more prone to misbehavior.7 Wu’s case further justified
China’s top-down clear-up campaign against celebrity fandom as a wise policy decision.
Wu’s incident reaffirms the state’s campaign to crack down on “pathological” media
fandom culture. In this case, the state engaged in a stigmatization process towards
fandom culture, but they rarely intervened in the market institutions that cultivated the
“toxic” features of fan practices (Liang Ge and Erika Ningxin Wang 2022). For instance, the
state-run Xinhua Daily Telegram published a commentary in early August 2021 titled,
“From Top Idol to Prisoner: Toxic Fandom Should be Responsible.”8 Chinese fandom
scholars also believe that fans, usually young women from less privileged social back­
grounds, become convenient scapegoats for public anger by condoning celebrity mis­
conduct (Meijiadai Bai 2021).
Additionally, the existing problems in China’s earlier #MeToo campaigns remain
unsolved, namely that victims fail to receive professional and systematic support during
and after the allegations. In previous #MeToo campaigns, activists were typically non­
professional volunteers (Xiong and Ristivojević 2021). In this case, Du herself played the
role of the facilitator, speaking on behalf of other anonymous victims. This role in
managing capricious online requests was extremely demanding for a young woman
who had just experienced sexual violence. According to Beijing police, a man pretended
to be a female victim and contacted Du to obtain detailed information about Du’s
traumatic experience. Then, he contacted Wu’s lawyer to in an attempt to defraud and
demand compensation.9 Moreover, several months after Wu’s arrest, Du shared on Weibo
that she had dropped out of university and left Beijing altogether so she could focus on
improving her mental health.
Du was not alone. Dansan Zhang, a former girl band member, released evidence that
Wu had flirted with her and invited her over for drinks, which added credibility to Du’s
account. Almost a year after Wu’s arrest, Zhang revealed on Weibo that she, her family,
and friends had been subject to incessant online violence, which disturbed her career and
life. Although Wu’s case did not use the hashtag #MeToo, it resembles a key feature of the
#MeToo movement whereby victims give up their right to anonymity and are more
susceptible to psychological trauma and social stigma. The lack of professional support
systems will continue to silence victims, since speaking out may lead to more social
stigma, even if perpetrators are punished for their misconduct.
 FEMINIST MEDIA STUDIES 9

Leehom Wang: gaslighting and the plight of the housewife

On December 15 2021, Taiwanese American singer Leehom Wang announced that he and
his wife Jinglei Li had filed for a divorce. Despite a seemingly peaceful break up, sub­
sequent controversies suspended his entertainment career. Two days later, Li entered the
national spotlight after sharing a lengthy letter in which she revealed: (1) Wang wanted to
return to the “single life” after she had given birth to and raised three children in eight
years; (2) Wang had always been a playboy in contrast to his public image; (3) she was
emotionally abused by Wang and that Wang’s family had complete control over their
finances.
In the following days, brands including Infiniti China, Chow Tai Seng, and Green
Monday, announced their decision to terminate their advertising contracts with Wang.
Wang’s 86-year-old father responded with a handwritten letter alleging that Li had
threatened Wang to marry her in 2013, and that their marriage was a complete disaster.
The letter revealed that Wang tried hard to fix the marriage by agreeing to all of Li’s
material demands in the divorce settlement, including hundreds of millions of Taiwanese
dollars, two maids, a nanny, a designated driver, and payments for the living and educa­
tion expenses for the children. The same day, Li refuted these allegations and urged Wang
to respond himself. Li also revealed that Wang had previously attempted to buy her
silence with a luxury house in Taipei.
Finally, Wang released a statement the night of December 19 2021, denying the
allegations of infidelity in the marriage and asserting that he was the one being extorted.
Hours later, Li countered with screenshots of legal documents and psychologists’ report
showing that she had suffered from Wang’s mental abuse and gaslighting. On the second
day, Wang apologized and assured the public that he would take responsibility “as
a man,” in a post that would become his last appearance on all social media platforms.
As of this writing, their court proceedings are taking place in New York confidentially, but
given fleeting online attention, Chinese netizens rarely still pay attention to the latest
updates on the case.
Before this divorce scandal, Wang was considered a “high-quality star” for his appear­
ance, elite background, and musical expertise. Unlike Kris Wu, whose sexual misconduct
was condemned as the inevitable outcome of male idols’ deteriorating masculinity,
Leehom Wang stood out in the more traditional star-making system and was more widely
known by all Chinese audience age groups. The public discourse escalated Wang’s
divorce to the structural level and enriched Chinese digital feminist lexicons and agendas
by (1) making visible the issues of emotional abuse in intimate relationships, and (2)
giving rise to debates over whether elite women, such as Jinglei Li with her postgraduate
degree from Columbia University, should give up their careers to become housewives.
Thus, this incident transcended entertainment news and became an atypical form of
#MeToo activism by connecting the personal with the political (Lixian Hou 2020).
The issue of emotional abuse had gained traction in Chinese media in late 2019 after
the suicide of a female top university student, which was suspected to be the result of her
boyfriend’s emotional abuse. Although the news media did not adopt popular terms such
as “pick-up artists (PUA)” or “emotional abuse,” the event stirred up a nationwide discus­
sion about the local PUA culture in China (Chao Guo and Haiyan Yin 2021).10 Two years
later, Li Jinglei, not only brought emotional abuse back to the national spotlight from
10 L. HAN AND Y. LIU

a victim’s perspective, but also popularized the term “gaslighting:” a type of psychological
abuse where perpetrators make victims doubt themselves through purposeful denial and
misinformation (Paige L. Sweet 2019). More progressively, Li discussed Wang’s psycholo­
gical deviance from the perspective of housewives, as gaslighting is rooted in social
inequalities and can manifest itself in power-imbalanced intimate relationships (Qi Ling
2022). During this time, several public posts and semi-public feminist chat groups dis­
cussed gaslighting to raise awareness of the vicious cycle of domestic violence.
Li’s disclosure of abuse is significant for digital feminism because it popularizes aca­
demic concepts as discursive tools for women to name their suffering as feminist con­
sciousness-raising practices in digital spaces. Moreover, Li articulates her vulnerable
position in intimate relationships from her subordinate role as a housewife. In her first
letter, she framed the role of the housewife as “what required our generation to reflect
upon together,” saying:

Housewives are doing unpaid labor. They play multiple roles without having a rest. Its wage
should be calculated and include the opportunity costs: how much she could have earned if
she went to work. This is what all housewives deserve, rather than gifts or alms. . . The unequal
relationship would make women vulnerable since they can hardly do anything if they are
cheated on or suffer domestic violence.

Li also revealed that many housewives around her did not have their own savings or
incomes, making them financially dependent on their husbands. When wives of celeb­
rities talk about money, they are often socially denounced as “gold diggers,” but Li
reminded women that they should prepare for the financial predicament in advance.
While being a housewife was often seen as an unwelcome decision in socialist China,
where women were encouraged to participate in work equally, market reform and the
introduction of Western individualist gender discourse, the housewife became valorized
and even exalted as a personal choice for women to perform traditional femininity. The
myth of the housewife was among the core agenda in the Western second wave feminist
movement as the unnamed stigma suffered by women as depicted by Betty Friedan’s The
Feminine Mystique. Li’s personal experience brought attention to this long-debated
feminist topic to remind elite women that they are still entrenched in deep structural
gender inequalities and invited netizens to re-examine the legal and financial vulnerabil­
ities of housewives in patriarchal society.
While the Chinese authorities took immediate action against Wu’s sexual allegations,
Wang seemingly was left to be “handled” by the masses using “cancel culture,” as
popularized by fandom practices on social media platforms. This form of online collective
rejection aims to express discontent towards a public figure’s speech or behavior by
withdrawing popular support. While Wang faced criticism from official media for his
“moral deficiency,” such as the Central Commission for Discipline Inspection, Global
Times, and China Women’s News, his Weibo account, music, and film work have not
been removed.
Cancel culture practices are not without caveats, although they appear to be particu­
larly effective when targeting entertainment celebrities who rely heavily on public sup­
port. For example, female celebrities engaged in sexual misconduct (in most cases,
cheating in relationships) have suffered harsher punishment from China’s entertainment
industry. This echoes the traditional sexual double standard that expects chastity and
 FEMINIST MEDIA STUDIES 11

fidelity from women, but tolerates men’s infidelity (William L. Parish, Edward O. Laumann
and Sanyu A. Mojola 2007). Moreover, the long-term efficacy of canceling remains in
doubt as some cancel targets resume their careers as soon as public outrage lessens (Ng
2022). Many fans still express their trust and support for Wang, and Wang held
a comeback concert in Las Vegas in January 2023.11 Unfortunately, the mass feminist
consciousness-raising and cancel practices instigated online against Wang did not lead to
further collective action to facilitate alliances among feminist netizens. Instead, cyber
violence against other female celebrities intensified and undermined feminist efforts
online.
After Li published her first letter, Singaporean singer Yumi (a member of China-based
duo BY2) was suspected to be one of Wang’s extramarital lovers and received swarms of
malicious online attacks. In response, on December 18 2021, BY2 studio announced that
Yumi had contacted the police. Li swiftly replied, asking Yumi for the police contact
information so she could provide additional evidence.12 Polarizing comments online
demonstrated general support of Li for her brave fight against “homewreckers,” while
Yumi faced misogynistic attacks. On January 29 2022, BY2 studio announced that they
had taken legal action against Li and criticized her for “utilizing online public opinion to
satisfy her personal objectives” and “killing people with cyber violence.”13
The dispute between Li and Yumi, the two women involved in Wang’s sex scandal, is
a prime example to illustrate how the deep entanglement of popular feminism and
popular misogyny can undermine the potential for digital feminism (Sarah Banet-Weiser
2018). In this case, sexist cyber violence and progressive feminist public reflection simul­
taneously took place and diverted public attention. This ambivalence highlights a feature
of the decentralized digital pan-feminist community in today’s China: many of the
participants do not necessarily self-identify as feminists or have scant knowledge of
feminist theories or the #MeToo movement from popular media. They tend to empathize
with the narrators based on their individual life experiences and actively express their
dissatisfaction with the gender status quo. At the same time, participants still use sexist
language to articulate their thoughts during public discussions, which may attenuate the
efforts of digital feminism.

The limits of #MeToo campaigns without the #MeToo hashtag

In comparing the social media posts of the two featured scandals with those from
previous #MeToo campaigns in 2018–2019 (see MeToo in China Archives volunteers
2019), we find this new round of online campaigns differs in four aspects. Firstly, while
earlier victims state that they were inspired by either Western #MeToo campaigns or other
victims speaking out, the narrators in the selected cases did not proactively associate with
earlier feminist movements nor with other #MeToo allegations. This reveals how digital
platforms’ censorship practices may fragment the continuity of China’s feminist activism.
While previous digital feminist movements facilitated a more friendly cyber environment
for victims to speak out, earlier efforts may be rendered invisible due to constant platform
censorship and intentional dissociation. For example, when talking about the role of
housewives, Jinglei Li never alluded to any #MeToo activism, but attributed her “awaken­
ing” to her privileged access of higher education, and such emphasis on social class failed
to establish connections among women of different class with similar experiences.
12 L. HAN AND Y. LIU

Secondly, popular hashtags were mostly developed in a top-down manner that failed
to create resonance with #MeToo. We have collected the most popular hashtags on
Weibo associated with each case (see Table 1). These hashtags are either auto-
generated due to frequent searches (such as #Kris Wu and Meizhu Du) or set by officials
and news media to share case progress (such as #Kris Wu Detained). These popular
hashtags are descriptive rather than constructive, compared with those initiated by
activists. Discussions about these two incidents never actively used #MeToo, its creative
variants, nor any other important sub-hashtags like #global4jingyao, #I am not a perfect
victim either (both created in support of a female student who accused the Chinese
billionaire Qiangdong Liu of rape), or #I’ll be your voice (initiated by a Chinese male
scholar to repost victims’ stories anonymously) to actively facilitate feminist solidarity.
However, we recognize that digital networks built on hashtags can be easily dismantled
when hashtags are deactivated. Therefore, the use of descriptive hashtags is a necessary
choice to avoid censorship.
Thirdly, fans and entertainment agencies familiar with platform algorithms may
engage in digital activism through data manipulation. Entertainment agencies and fans
can manipulate search results by constantly posting with specific hashtags, even after
public debate has waned. We observed this when re-examining the popular hashtags six
months after Wang’s divorce scandal broke. While it is impossible to determine whether
this manipulation was organized by Wang’s PR team or spontaneously carried out by his
fans, the power imbalance between the accuser and the accused is evident. The accused
celebrities have greater economic and human capital to defend their reputations in the
long term, even though their accusers may have gained more public empathy and
support at the height of the public discussion.
The final issue we observed was a constant emphasis on the protagonists’ non-
Chineseness to appropriate nationalist public sentiment or to attribute their misconduct
to overseas socialization. For example, in one of her posts on July 18 2021, Du urged Kris
Wu to leave China immediately since “he did not deserve to be here as he was a Canadian
and should go back to where he came from.” Subsequently, statements like “Canadian,

Table 1. Most popular hashtags on weibo in two cases.

Hashtags (translated by authors) Read (million) Posts (thousand) Original Posts (thousand)
Kris Wu’s Sexual Scandal
#Kris Wu Detained 5420 1925 268
#Kris Wu and Meizhu Du 2790 4370 92
#Beijing Police Reports Kris Wu’s Case 2980 584 55
#Kris Wu approved for arrest 2230 547 60
#Kris Wu Studio’s Clearing-up 1240 122 31
#Kris Wu Studio’s Announcement Again 560 43 10
Leehom Wang’s Divorce Scandal
#Jinglei Li’s Post 3330 284 80
#Leehom Wang’s Extramarital Affair 2080 123 39
#China Women’s News Comments on Wang 920 80 4.9
#Leehom Wang and Jinglei Li 860 59 7.8
#Jinglei Li’s reply to BY2 620 22 3.6
#BY2 Reports to the Police 510 15 2.3
#Leehom Wang’s Ex-wife Jinglei Li’s Post 110 27 2
Data collected in June 2022.
 FEMINIST MEDIA STUDIES 13

get out of China!” soon went viral on Weibo. Likewise, in his first formal response to his ex-
wife, Leehom Wang used Jinglei Li’s Japanese name as Li had used that name when they
first met. Later, Li publicly self-identified as both Chinese and Japanese, stating that her
Japanese father had left when she was young. She grew up in Taipei, so she began using
her Chinese name more frequently. Nevertheless, some suspected that Wang’s use of Li’s
former Japanese name was intentional to stir up Chinese netizens’ patriotism and anti-
Japanese sentiments.
Meanwhile, Wang’s Chinese American identity and Taiwanese origin were frequently
discussed, with the former used to explain his playboy lifestyle and the latter to explain his
conformity to traditional family values. A conservative digital influencer with 3 million
followers described Wang’s marriage as “semi-colonial and semi-feudal” for combining
the marital financial schemes seen in Western capitalist societies with the exploitation of
women found in traditional Chinese values.14 Some netizens mockingly praised how the
PRC government significantly improved gender equality in mainland China to debase
Taiwan and non-Chinese culture saying, “When we established the new PRC government,
we forgot to inform the Taiwanese and overseas Chinese.”
By consistently highlighting their non-Chineseness, these public figures have been
labeled as “other” on Chinese social media, and this “otherness” is seen as the reason for
their sexual misconduct. China’s internal Orientalism both exoticizes and stereotypes
expatriates (Yang Liu and Charles Self 2020). In both cases, associating the sexual mis­
conduct of these two male celebrities with their experiences in Western culture helped to
elevate the Chinese identity to a superior position while preventing the discussion from
being associated with online feminist consciousness-raising debates. We observed the
prevalence of such othering discourse as a means to associate sexual misconduct with
Western culture. This negative association not only discouraged meaningful online
debate about issues of gender inequality in China, but also pointed to the limitation of
gender as a critical analytical category in online public discussion (Harriet Evans 2008).

Conclusion
This article examined two influential cases of celebrity sex scandals to explore how female
victims’ allegations of gender exploitation generated public discussion after the #MeToo
movement was suppressed in China. We show how both cases were in line with the
#MeToo model whereby a less powerful woman openly accused a powerful man of
different forms of gender-based violence. Though an umbrella hashtag was absent, digital
platforms still played an essential role in shaping digital activism and connecting indivi­
dual participants with different action frames, which made it more likely to survive the
state repression (Zeng 2020). Moreover, these public discussions revolving around celeb­
rity sex scandals have expanded the scope of Chinese digital feminism and encouraged
feminist critiques of a wider variety of public events. Prior to digital feminist activism such
as #MeToo, these stories were often taken as depoliticized anecdotes.
In this round of the online campaign, we found that activist-led hashtags such as
#MeToo almost disappeared from use, and netizens tended to instead post with
media-led descriptive hashtags. This may be a purposeful strategy to avoid wasting
feminist digital labor in the event that platforms deactivate the more politicized
hashtags. We argue that although digital feminism may have opportunities to
14 L. HAN AND Y. LIU

continue in this way, its political potential to develop into collective action is curtailed.
While celebrity sex scandals have brought more visibility to gender inequalities and
have enriched the digital feminist agenda and lexicons, there are limitations. Deeper
analysis reveals that protagonists, netizens, and the media still follow dominant
ideologies, by creating class cleavages and associating misconduct with non-
Chineseness, thus limiting the liberating potential of digital activism (Cara Wallis
2015). This research provides new insights into the dynamics of digital feminism in
an authoritarian context and calls for a more critical and multidimensional examina­
tion of the discursive practices in digital activism.

Notes
1. The social media market in China is dominated by domestic firms such as Tencent and Sina,
which allows the Chinese government to exert speedy and effective censorship through
content removal (Jennifer Pan 2017).
2. Many supporters of the Chinese #MeToo campaigns do not self-identify as feminists (Yin and
Sun 2020). In cases regarding high-profile celebrities, victims have also sparked discussion
and gained support beyond feminist communities.
3. Wu was born in Guangzhou, China and later immigrated to Canada. He first debuted with the
K-pop boy band EXO in 2012, and began his solo career in China in 2014. Wang was born in
Rochester, New York, as a second-generation Taiwanese American immigrant. Wang started
his music career in Taiwan in the 1990s.
4. For example, Mimiyana’s “Their struggles of ‘private affairs’ finally enter public
domain” Accessed December 22, 2022. https://www.wainao.me/wainao-reads/power-
inequality-in-marriage-12242021. Philosophia’s “Why we should be wary of the term
‘qian’?” Accessed December 22, 2022. https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/
VFre6NjAjmdR5l7R6Vpzdw
5. Except for an auto-generated post on Wang’s birthday in 2022 and posts about his
new song and concert in 2023. Accessed May 7, 2023. https://weibo.com/u/
1793285524
6. See the announcement by the Cyberspace Administration of China on June 15, 2021 (in
Chinese). Accessed June 17, 2022. http://www.cac.gov.cn/2021–06/08/c_1624735580427196.
htm
7. In one of her Weibo posts on July 18, 2021, Du wrote, “I don’t think you [Wu] are an
essentially bad person. . . The capitalist profit-driven fandom culture has led you to where
you are today”
8. Accessed June 17, 2022. http://www.xinhuanet.com/mrdx/2021–08/02/c_1310101895.htm
9. Accessed June 19, 2022. http://www.xinhuanet.com/2021–07/22/c_1127684090.htm
10. The archive of the investigative report by the Southern Weekend on December 13, 2019.
Accessed June 22, 2022. https://chinadigitaltimes.net/chinese/624306.html
11. Accessed February 9, 2023. https://k.sina.com.cn/article_7519874133_1c0382c550010164dz.
html#/.
12. Li reposted BY2 studio’s post on December 18, 2021. Accessed June 26, 2022. https://weibo.
com/5977512966/L6B8ergSB?from=page_1005055977512966_profile&wvr=6&mod=weiboti
me&type=comment
13. BY2 studio’s announcement on January 29, 2022. Accessed June 26, 2022. https://weibo.com/
3502943355/LcZDhh7d5?from=page_1006063502943355_profile&wvr=6&mod=weiboti
me&type=comment#_rnd1656232512732
14. Lu Shihan’s commentary on December 20, 2021. Accessed June 29, 2022. https://weibo.com/
3276099007/L6VnRhJMh?from=page_1005053276099007_profile&wvr=6&mod=weiboti
me&type=comment#_rnd1656492437865
 FEMINIST MEDIA STUDIES 15

Acknowledgements
The authors would like to thank Dr. Chengpang Lee for providing helpful suggestions on earlier
drafts.

Disclosure statement
No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Funding
This research was supported by the research start-up fund at The Chinese University of Hong Kong

Notes on contributors
Ling Han is an Assistant Professor in the Gender Studies Programme at the Chinese University of
Hong Kong. She is a sociologist researching the intersection of gender, digital platforms, and
nonprofit organizations. E-mail: linghan@cuhk.edu.hk
Yue Liu is a PhD student at the School of Media Arts and Studies, Ohio University. Her research
interests are digital feminist activism, popular culture, fandom and youth culture. E-mail: eva­
liuyue@gmail.com

ORCID
Ling Han http://orcid.org/0000-0002-1496-106X
Yue Liu http://orcid.org/0000-0002-6011-8970

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