That’s right, we’re not talking workouts; we’re talking wardrobes. China’s sports economy has traded treadmills for threads, spinning performance wear into a powerhouse of style and swagger. This is the story of how a nation’s fitness fervor got a fabulous fabric-forward makeover, stitching sweat into a billion-dollar boom. So in true sporty style, we’ll kick off with the warm-up: In the beginning, there was the beat…
Left, center: From factories to schools, this is 1960s tiyuguangbo (literally “sports broadcast”)—once summoning millions in identical cotton gear to move as one, a nation building its physique one synchronized calisthenics drill at a time. Images via lifestyle app RedNote, source unknown. Right: Adding a pop of color, this post-1978 (the years China embarked on its reform and opening-up journey, rewriting the economic and social narratives) propaganda poster from the late 1970s encourages people to stay active. Image via Douyin, the Chinese version of TikTok, source unknown.
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Listen. Forget the sterile hum of a Peloton. To understand the rhythm of China’s sports economy, you need to hear the crackle of a street-side loudspeaker. It starts with the stark, utilitarian beat of the tiyuguangbo (体育广播| literally “physical movement broadcast”)—once summoning millions in identical cotton gear to move as one, a nation building its physique one synchronized calisthenics drill at a time.
This was a world of uniformity, where your sports “economy” was measured in state-issued cotton coupons and your only fashion choice was the shade of your grey-blue Mao suit. The individual was invisible, absorbed into the mass.
The sweat was collective, the fabric was basic, and the only “core” was the core mandate of national strength.
Now, fast forward half a century…
The spectacle that is guangchangwu (“square dancing”) in Guangxi Zhuang Autonoous Region, summer 2025. Image via Rednote
And that same public square has fractured into a thousand scenes of self-expression. That stark, collective pulse of yore has blossomed into the swirling spectacle of guangchangwu (广场舞|“square dancing”)—where the aunties’ defiant joy is the soundtrack of a nation in motion, dancing to the rhythm of its own consuming power.
But go take a walk around and the ear will travel some more.
The rhythm is now a bass-heavy synth track blasting from a portable speaker at a riverside bootcamp, an instructor’s shouts cutting through the crisp mid-October morning air. It’s the serene pulse of a rooftop yoga session high above the Chinese capital’s Central Business District, or a rooftop in the hutongs, those narrow alleyways running through downtown Beijing, for that matter. And the final beat?
The clinking of cups at the post-workout coffee rave—believe you us, it’s a whole thing (with the hashtag “coffee rave” having raked in 230k posts on Douyin, the Chinese version of TikTok, as of October 14). This is where the new congregation gathers in their sweat-wicking finery, their headbands a badge of a very modern kind of faith.
This isn’t just a change of playlist. This is the wild evolution of China’s sports economy, a revolution written not just in policy papers, but in the clothes on its people’s backs.
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First Lap: The State-Issued Uniform
So, how did we get from the state-issued uniform to the first flicker of consumer desire?
To understand the leap, you must first grasp the gravity of the starting line. Throughout the 1950s-70s, sportswear wasn’t a purchase; it was a provision.
This was an era of utilitarian uniformity, where your athletic “outfit” was often your same old cotton trousers and jacket. To acquire even this basic fabric required precious cotton coupons, rationed by the state. The aesthetic was anonymous, boxy and unisex—deliberately so. This uniformity was the entire point. However…
The monolithic homogeneity of this era couldn’t last forever. A single policy shift would crack it wide open, letting in a gust of global air—and the first whiff of imported aspiration.
A China icon and golden “oldie:” Li-Ning. Founded in 1990, this post from the brand’s official Douyin (the Chinese version of TikTok) account celebrates its 35th anniversary.
The Door Blows Open: Logos & The First Homegrown Heroes
The year was 1978. China flipped the script. The country embarked on a journey of reform and opening-up era; and this wasn’t just a policy—it was the ultimate glow-up, launching a highly ambitious rebrand felt in every fiber of every thread.
The 1980s and 90s blew the nation’s door (and wardrobe) wide open. Suddenly, the world wasn’t just a radio signal; it was a pair of imported Nike Air Jordans, impossibly cool and astronomically expensive. They weren’t just shoes; they were wearable aspiration, a crack in the monolith of collectivism. This was the era of Nike, Adidas and Reebok—a triumvirate of foreign aspiration.
But domestic players, smartly, got in on the game early. The 1990s birthed two legends with wildly different origin stories.
Li-Ning, founded in 1990 by the Olympic gymnastics hero (yep, Li Ning) himself, was instantly iconic. It was seen as “China’s champion’s brand,” a source of pride representing Chinese excellence. It was the respected national hero on a pedestal.
Sportswear giant Anta, founded in 1991, was the pragmatic upstart. For most of the 90s, it was “the workshop,” a value brand and original equipment manufacturer (OEM) for others. It was the anonymous worker on the factory floor.
Trying to pin a precise value on China’s 90s sports economy is like trying to score a three-pointer in the dark—the stats just weren’t keeping score yet. But here’s the kicker: While the official numbers are a bit fuzzy, the game was already on. This was the era China truly became the GOAT—i.e., the Global Outpost for Athletic Threads. The entire decade was a manufacturing marathon, with the Pearl River Delta cranking out kicks for the world while domestic spending was still on the warm-up track.
The final score by the year 2000? A cool RMB 15-20 billion (some $1.7 million to $4.3 million at the exchange rates of the time), according to Chinese state media outlet Xinhua News Agency estimates.
The 2000s rolled along, and they proved anything but subtle. This was the era of “branding the body,” complete logomania, where your outfit was a walking billboard for global tribe membership.
Yet soon, the loud, external validation of a foreign logo began to feel… obvious. The next revolution would be quieter, more personal, and would seamlessly integrate into every aspect of daily life.
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The Blur: Athleisure and the Guochao Mic Drop
In the 2010s, the loud logos were softened. The real shift wasn’t about branding anymore; it was about “blurring the boundaries of life itself.” Enter: Athleisure.
This was the moment sportswear bled out of the stadium and became the default uniform for the urban jungle. The tracksuit was for a coffee run, a statement. This was the era where (looking like you broke a) sweat became a badge of honor. The Lululemon mat carried like a briefcase, the Shanghai-born Maia Active set that looked as good in a café as in a downward dog—it all signaled a new creed. You weren’t just working out; you were building a better, more stylish you.
But just as global brands like Canadian colossi Lululemon and Arc’teryx (FYI, this one made it to the top of trending topics on Chinese social media in late September—and it wasn’t exactly an ascent to be proud of) cemented their status, a homegrown earthquake hit.
The “Aha!” moment struck at Chinese tech giant Alibaba’s TMall China Day, New York Fashion Week, February 2018. Li-Ning, the brand once synonymous with PE class uniforms, stormed the catwalk with a collection that was unapologetically, defiantly Chinese. Think oversized hoodies with bold calligraphy and a gallery of red accents. Yours truly was there.
The Internet lost its mind. This wasn’t just a fashion line; it was a cultural mic drop. Overnight, the old assumption—that domestic sneakers were just cheaper—was napalmed. This was the official emergence of guochao (literally “national tiade” but referring to products, from fashion to food to toys ‘n tech, packed with traditional Chinese elements), and it proved that the deepest flex was no longer a foreign logo, but an intelligent, re-engineered Chinese one.
And just on a sidenote: The domestic sneakers are still cheaper–and offer far more variety in terms of design. Now that’s game–on.
When COVID-19 hit in 2020, the fitness world went outside. The pandemic was jet fuel for new trends, shattering the landscape into a million personalized fragments. Gorpcore, mountaincore, whatnotcore also became uniforms of preparedness—the aesthetic of looking like you just came back from a summit, even if your biggest climb was a subway staircase. But the love for the great outdoors still persists anno 2025, with outdoor styles surviving and thriving. Images via RedNote and Douyin
The Great Fragmentation: Pandemics, Podiums & Personal Tribes
But just as guochao found its footing, COVID-19 hit and the fitness world went outside. The pandemic was jet fuel for new trends, shattering the landscape into a million personalized fragments.
Gorpcore, mountaincore, whatnotcore also became uniforms of preparedness—the aesthetic of looking like you just came back from a summit, even if your biggest climb was a subway staircase.
In a fascinating counter-movement, the Dopamine Dressing, or basically wearing outfits that brighten your mood, fashion trend spilled over into the sportswear arena and emerged as a riot of saturated hues—a direct injection of joy and confidence before you even broke a sweat.
In 2022, the Dopamine Dressing, basically wearing outfits that brighten your mood, fashion trend spills over into the sportswear arena—a direct injection of joy and confidence before you even broke a sweat. The trend is still hot today. Image: AI, RedNote
As the nation adapted to this new reality, the state prepared its grand response: the 2022 Beijing Winter Olympics. This was the apex of branding, a masterclass in merging soft power with hard commerce. The state’s drive to build an ice and snow economy was met with feverish fervor from society and China’s ice and snow scene went from a gentle slope to a vertical drop.
An early 2025 report from the State Council, China’s cabinet, revealed that the country’s ice and snow industry had absolutely exploded, skyrocketing from RMB 270 billion ($37.9 billion) back in 2015 to a staggering RMB 970 billion ($136 billion) in 2024. That’s not just growth—that’s an avalanche of cash. And it’s poised to smash through the 1-trillion-yuan ($140-billion) ceiling by the end of this year.
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So, what does this mean for the wardrobe? Forget the basic ski suit of yesteryear. This boom unleashed a “slope-chic” blizzard on (and off) the pistes.
On lifestyle bible Xiaohongshu (RedNote), the hashtag “skiing style” had amassed nearly 750,000 posts as of March 5—the end of last winter season.
And brands were eager to get a slice of the warm apple pie. Take the example of Alibaba’s online retail platform TMall. In early 2025, it hosted a series of fashion shows in Altay, a popular ski resort in Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region, showcasing winter wear that promised to keep you warm and dry–an essential combo when you’re battling the elements in style.
On RedNote, the hashtag “skiing style” had amassed nearly 750,000 posts as of March 5—the end of last winter season.
According to a Beijing-based consulting firm Daxue Consulting report on China’s skiing industry, published on February 14, TMall teamed up with 24 top brands, including high-end Japanese sportswear retailer Descente and U.S. outerwear and outdoorwear brands GORE-TEX and Columbia.
But even amid the luxury vibes of, say, Descente, as seen at the Olympic skiing venue that is Chongli, Hebei Province, you’ll discover that many resorts are dotted with brand stores offering more affordable options. Think Chinese ski and snowboard gear label NOBADAY.
According the abovementioned Daxue Consulting report, this robust growth, from a size of around RMB 6 billion ($825.6 million) in 2018 to almost double that in 2023, wasn’t just a fluke. This is a sector fueled by a growing middle class ready to embrace the chill, with ski resorts transforming into pop-up playgrounds for both fashion and fun.
Left: a tennis design from the JOYCE WANG ECO label’s “REBORN” collection, Spring/ Summer 2025. Image: Courtesy photo. Right: Hashtag “tennis style” had amassed 230 million posts on Douyin as of October 13. This particular image showcases “fall/winter tennis style” inspo.
And from the slopes, we move to the courts, i.e., the tennis courts—which apparently are harder and harder to book in China nowadays.
Paris 2024 Olympic women’s singles tennis champion Zheng Qinwen told newspaper China Daily in October 2024 that “tennis has become so popular in China that players are struggling to book courts and find coaches.” And it’s not just about hitting a ball or two. The related fashion has also become a high-stakes game of hit ‘n miss. Hashtag “tennis style” had amassed 230 million posts on Douyin, the Chinese version of TikTok, as of October 13.
Designer Joyce Wang of the eponymous JOYCE WANG ECO label, is no stranger to the style and, driven by her love for the game, even included some designs dedicated to the sport in her Spring/ Summer 2025 REBORN collection.
Over the past decade, China’s sports fashion has grown from basic function needs to a lifestyle fashion trend, evolving from a market once dominated by international giants such as Adidas and Nike, to local brands like Li-Ning and Anta. With the guochao trend the past few years and new Chinese Olympic sports stars not only the millennials are solid consumers, but Gen Zs as well,” Wang tells us. “The pursuit of a healthy life style has now really taken root in Chinese society, creating a huge wave and the possibility of bigger market growth for the athleisure trend, which is very likely to be lasting as the new essential style for many more decades,” she adds.
“The REBORN athletic designs came about simply because of my tennis obsession at the time [around Paris 2024] and I couldn’t find something fashionable enough in terms of sportswear. So I decided to include a mini sports touch in this collection; also to show that ‘indie designer fashion’ can work everywhere, even sportswear,” she elaborates.
Some pumch-packing Niche Players in China’s sportswear scenery, from rockclimbing to boxing (Supreme… not so niche, but ok), to fencing and other athletic activities. These smaller brands define the uniforms for hyper-specific passions. Images: Douyin
The Olympics may have showcased the pinnacle of national branding, but the true battleground is the daily lives of consumers. This brings us to the personal tribes.
China’s sportswear market is running a whole new offensive, its own Darwinian ecosystem, if you will. The Comprehensive Giants like Anta and Li-Ning dominate the main field with pure scale and cultural clout. But the game is really being won in the specialized leagues:
- The Premium Specialists (think high-end designer sports brand Particle Fever or the earlier-mentioned premium, digital-native activewear brand Maia Active) sell a lifestyle. Maia Active (which now belongs to Anta), for one, was born in 2016 when its co-founder Lisa Ou, tired of leggings that were always failing their stretch-pectations for the female Asian body, decided to close the gap–in both waistbands and market—by designing activewear that truly fits the Asian form;
- Then there’s the Gorpcore/Mountaincore/Whatnotcore Vanguard (think Toread, KAILAS), armoring you for the great outdoors;
- Last but certainly not least, we have the Niche Players. These smaller brands define the uniforms for hyper-specific passions, from fencing to rockclimbing to pole-dancing, with Flyoga and Pacerabbit two popular players here.
China’s ambition to grow its sports industry into a RMB 7-trillion (nearly $1-trillion) powerhouse by 2030 is already being realized on slopes, courts, riverbanks, rock walls… and in makeup bags–getting that sports-proof face on. Image: Chinese make-up brand Judydoll’s official RedNote account
Fueling a Full-Blown Fit Fashion Revolution
RedNote drafts the blueprints for cool, Douyin calls the play with live-commerce hype, live-commerce being a combination of e-commerce and live-streaming—think your 90s home-shopping channel in mobile app format, and Alibaba’s shopping Walhallas Taobao and Tmall execute the lightning-fast delivery to score the winning look.
And the fuel for this entire engine? A profound cultural shift:
China’s relationship with weight is shifting fast, with 51.2 percent of Chinese adults (some 400 million people) currently overweight or obese. With updated dietary guidelines coming in straight from the top, the establishment of weight loss clinics nationwide and an overall appetite for improving quality of life,young Chinese are moving from dumplings to dumbbells, pumping up their pursuit of physical health. With a hint of viral vogue.
According to official statistics, the sportswear market hit a massive RMB 492.6 billion ($68.8 billion) in 2023 and is racing toward RMB 600 billion ($84 billion) by the end of this year.
The state is now officially betting on this boom. New national guidelines issued by the State Council on September 4 intend to grow the sports industry into a RMB 7-trillion (nearly $1-trillion) powerhouse by 2030.
This ambition is already being realized on bicycles, slopes, courts, riverbanks, indoor climbing walls… and even in makeup bags.
Jing Daily, your go-to guide for the business of luxury in Asia, recently reported that homegrown beauty heroes like Judydoll and Maogeping are launching sports-proof makeup that’s high-SPF, waterproof and totally trail-tough. The “outdoor glow” is now a year-round vibe, with RedNote’s feed currently exploding with over a million posts tagged “outdoor weekend.”
Back to clothing, the sportswear revolution has now reached its most logical—and personal—front: The gym floor itself.
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The Final Rep: The Ecosystem Closes
The rise of super popular Chinese fitness chains like Supermonkey and Lefit has redefined the workout from a routine into a curated lifestyle clan. These brands have moved beyond just selling memberships; they’re selling an identity.
With young Chinese increasingly joining gyms, this has inspired many chains to release their own athletic wear collections. These mostly sport Maia Active vibes, but one item does stand out–in the womenswear section: Workout skorts. Some fans this author talked with said it’s about reclaiming femininity in the fitness space for them, whereas others simply like to pair them with crop tops or sneakers. “It’s like athleisure 2.0,” one Lefit gymgoer in Beijing’s commercial Dongzhimen area shares with this author (who also happens to be a Lefit member). “I go to the hashtag ‘fitness skirt’ on RedNote for mix ‘n match inspo!”
By launching their own private-label athletic wear, these chains have created a powerful, closed-loop ecosystem. Wearing a Supermonkey tank top isn’t just about fabric; it’s a badge of belonging. It’s a walking advertisement that breeds both brand loyalty and social proof, turning every squat rack into a showroom.
China’s sports economy wasn’t just built in factories; it was stitched, seamed and worn on the streets, in the gyms and on the slopes. Images: RedNote
The Cool-Down
So, what’s the final takeaway? The story of China’s sports economy is too often told in numbers: Market size, GDP contribution, gym memberships sold. But the real, pulsing truth is woven into the nation’s very uniform.
That journey, from the anonymous calisthenics square to the branded rock climbing gear, isn’t just a sidebar. It is the central narrative. It maps the tectonic shift from a collective body to a nation of individual consumers, from a planned economy to a global powerhouse of desire and production.
To see it through fashion is to understand that China’s sports economy wasn’t just built in factories; it was stitched, seamed and worn on the streets, in the gyms and on the slopes. The proof isn’t just in the data…
It’s in the fit.
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Perpetually in pursuit of the greater good that is “China Fashion”, van Paridon set up The China Temper to help promote the dynamite dynamic fashion scene sprouting within Beijing, Shanghai, and China overall. Catering to anybody and everybody who reads English and/or Chinese, Temper covers all the basics and bases. From China's street style scenery to its budding photographers, internationally renowned designers, and underground quirks plus phenomena: We present one hot-hip-happening current collective weaving The New "Made in China" tag.
The term “Made in China” is undergoing the ultimate 21st Century makeover. Escorted by the increasingly strong influence of a new thinking among China’s younger generations, regarding individuality and the expression thereof, the fashion scene in the Middle Kingdom is exploding. And stretches far beyond what meets the eye. It’s appliqué, one might say.
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