From head-to-toe concert transformations and “itabags” to fan-funded “pain cities,” China’s youth are scripting a new fan fashion manifesto. Beijing-based reporter Layla Zhang dives into the culture where die-hard is the only dress code.
Customized fans to fill up your goodie bag. Image: lifestyle bible slash e-commerce app RedNote
The Middle Kingdom’s fan armies have moved far beyond glowsticks and lyric chants.
Today, devotion demands a full aesthetic overhaul—a head-to-toe, street-to-skyline transformation where your idol’s color becomes your uniform, their iconography becomes your city’s landmark, and your passion is worn, carried and built for all to see.
Welcome to the era of wearable worship, where fandom is the most powerful fashion code of all.
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Glowstick to Glow-Up: Concert Core
This October, 23-year-old Li Wanqing and her boyfriend embarked on their long-awaited pilgrimage to Shanghai for a Jay Chou (referred to as the King of Mandopop) concert. But this was no ordinary night out. Li arrived transformed: her hair a cloud of pink curls (superstar Chou’s official fan color), her hands clutching custom-made lace-edged feather fans, her face adorned with glitter and gems courtesy of an RMB-380 (USD-53) professional styling session near their hotel. They had also splurged at the “Zhou Tongxue” pop-up store, snagging limited-edition merch featuring the singer’s anime avatar.
She proudly displayed her fan, a glittering tapestry of ribbons, stickers and Chou’s name in glowing calligraphy, ordered two months prior from an artisan she’d found on Alibaba’s online shopping Walhalla that is the ubiquitous Taobao app. “For me, it’s about completing the look—matching my pink hair, the face paint, the hoodie, everything. It’s a full-blown ritual.”
As Li suggests, this head-to-toe transformation is the new non-negotiable. A Jay Chou concert in China is no longer just a musical event; it’s a city-wide fashion spectacle and a collective identity parade. This fervent sartorial devotion, however, stretches far beyond real-life idols, weaving through the realms of anime, gaming and literature.
China’s youth are crafting a bold, wearable lexicon of love–wearing their hearts on their sleeves. And you may take that to the letter.
A pop-up store for “Zhou Tongxue,” popstar Jay Chou’s anime alter ego, in Shanghai this October. Image: RedNote
Tees Out, Total Transformation In
Li, a seasoned concert goer at this point, recalls somewhat “tamer” times in the 2010s, when fan fashion peaked at graphic T-shirts, stickers, posters and bag charms.
“My first concert was (that of Canadian singer) Avril Lavigne in Shanghai back in 2014,” Li ponders. “I used her iconic guitar image to customize a plain white tee; nothing fancy or official, I literally just had the picture printed on an old T-shirt. I also decorated a light board with cutouts from posters and photobooks—guitars, stars, skulls—and hung them as bag charms alongside some generic glowsticks from Taobao. That was considered pretty stylish back then when many fans showed up completely unprepared. And now, what I’ve done for Jay has become the new normal, search for social media posts hashtagged “concert preparations” and you will be amazed.”
Curious, this reporter followed Li’s suggestion and searched lifestyle bible and e-commerce app RedNote for “concert core.” The variety was staggering: temporary face tattoos and stickers (RMB 15-100 (USD 2-14), depending on the design), custom fans, light boards, and tote bags (RMB 50-200, based on size and decorations), personalized badges (around RMB 50 each), and professional makeup services near venues (RMB 150-700 (USD 20-100) depending on complexity).
Nearly all these items shared one common feature: representing the star’s official fan color. This chromatic coding forms the foundation of celebrity fan culture in China. Chou’s “pink ” or singer Wang Yuan’s “green ” might have been the icon’ personal preferences in the first place, and now they’re collective identity markers of the fan collectives.
“We want the singer to see a sea of their color,” Li explains. “We assume it makes them happy. Meanwhile, fans recognize each other through these colors. On my way to Shanghai, I spotted another pink-haired girl with a pink bag, and we immediately bonded over our shared fandom.”
This fashion wave has created new opportunities for beauty entrepreneurs.
Official concert core makeup looks incorporating the artist’s color (purple, in this case). Image: RedNote
“Beijing hosted concerts almost monthly last year,” Wang Chenfei, a freelance concert makeup artist and RedNote vlogger, tells us. “On concert days, I’ll start taking appointments near venues from 11 AM until showtime at 7 PM. I can see about 10 clients in that time, charging RMB 150 each.”
Wang’s friend operating a nail salon near Beijing’s massive Wukesong HUIVE Live venue has seen a similar biz boom. “During concert weekends, her daily revenue could surpass RMB 800 (USD 113)—all from fans,” Wang notes. “She barely got any other customers for equally complex regular designs. I suggested she create some fan-themed designs and promote them online, which basically saved her business.”
Concert makeup, Wang continues, is an amplification. Designed for the stage’s blaze, it’s a game of light and dimension. The goal isn’t faithful replication, but dazzling effect: Heavy contouring defies flattening lights; eyes become layered, glittering constellations; liner and lashes elongate the gaze into something electric. Lips are fuller, shinier—all engineered for maximum expressiveness under the spotlight.
Accessories complete the transformation, requiring the same thematic coherence as the makeup.
“I originally made Lolita-style fans and umbrellas,” shares a RedNote store owner surnamed Chen specializing in custom fan designs with the author. “Switching to fan merchandise wasn’t a huge shift technically, given the procedures and materials are quite similar. But business has definitely improved. The designs follow similar patterns: the star’s image on front with cute elements like clouds, stars, flowers, or memes, their name in fancy font on back, surrounded by decorations, with ribbons and laces tied to the handle. I make a roughly RMB-70 (USD-9) profit per fan.”
“Some fans who would like something to use in daily life as well will go for a customized bag. We don’t live in Victorian times and nobody carries around a laced-fan wherever they go anymore. But totebags still work,” Chen adds. In these cases, she dyes the bag’s main body with oils and pigments, and decorates the remainder with small ornaments such as ribbons and badges.
All these trendy must-haves—fans, nail art, makeup and bags—seem to be customized by the fans themselves. But of course, celebrities aren’t about to let such a golden business opportunity slip away. And that, dear reader, is where pop-up shops and merch stores enter the glow-up game.
You’ll usually find these set up at concert venues or in nearby malls, hawking all kinds of official goodies: Tees, hoodies, keychains, mugs, card holders, plush toys—you name it. In the concert scene, official merchandise is now a major fashion statement. Fans often shop for it a day or two in advance so they can debut their looks live at the venue.
But doesn’t all this preparation prove exhausting?
“It’s absolutely time-consuming, but I enjoy every minute,” Li admits. “The anticipation extends the happiness. Ordering the fan two months early meant two months of looking forward to the concert.”
Nevertheless, as far as she’s concerned, staying extra days to visit all the Jay Chou pop-ups means having memories and merch to enjoy for weeks and months to come.
Welcome to the wonderfully transparent world of “itabags.” The term “itabag” (痛包| tòng bāo, literally meaning “pain bag” in Chinese) was born from the Japanese itai (“painful/embarrassing”), capturing the pride of public obsession. Hashtag “tongbao” on RedNote had garnered almost 3 million posts as of December 4. Image: RedNote
“Itabags,” “Goods” and Cosplay Conquests
You might assume such elaborate preparations are reserved for real-life celebrities, but that’s far from true. For fans of “two-dimensional” characters from anime, games and novels, their virtual idols deserve equal sartorial devotion.
Step into the realm of erciyuan (二次元|èr cì yuán), the “2D” world of anime, gaming and novel characters. Here, devotion is curated, collected… and, of course, worn.
The erciyuan fan culture revolves around three key elements: “itabags,” “goods” and cosplay.
The term “itabag” ((痛包| tòng bāo, literally meaning “pain bags” in Chinese) was born from the Japanese itai (“painful/embarrassing”), capturing the pride of public obsession. Essentially, it’s any bag with a transparent panel or mesh pocket that gets stuffed with badges, acrylic stands, keychains, and other “goods”—transforming an ordinary accessory into a mobile shrine of personal passions.
“Goods” (谷子| gǔzi), derived from the English word–talk about stating the obvious (insert wink), refers to all official merchandise. Common items include badges, acrylic stands, laser-printed tickets and figurines, typically sold through pop-up stores or official websites, with new collections for popular Japanese anime released annually.
Unlike custom-made concert bags, itabags function more like display cases. Fans simply buy a transparent-paneled bag and stuff it with their cherished items—presto, instant fandom statement. A Taobao search reveals options ranging from RMB 30 to 260 (USD 4-36) based on size and material.
“The bag itself isn’t the expensive part—it’s what goes inside,” explains Wang Yun, an anime fan. “My RMB-70 bag holds six Hachiware keychains and six badges worth over RMB 1,000 (USD 141).” Wang assembled her itabag during a trip to Guangzhou City’s Chiikawa pop-up store last October.
(Hachiware is a viral Japanese character from the ultra-popular Chiikawa manga and media franchise–Ed.)
Paper turns permanent bag–screenshot from a RedNote DIY tutorial
This highlights a key difference in 2D fandom: Without concerts or premieres to meet their icons, pop-up stores become the sacred destinations.
“The best part isn’t just shopping—it’s seeing the themed decorations, wall paintings, giant character statues,” Wang said, showing a photo of herself posing with a Hachiware standee. “That’s as close as I will ever get to meeting my idol, so I dress up my itabag and take photos with it.”
Beyond pop-ups, brand collaborations offer another treasure trove for collectors.
“IP (intellectual property) collaborations with bubble tea and coffee chains are everywhere now. Last year, I scored four collabs I loved—it’s like Christmas for fans,” Wang enthuses. “Regular official goods are expensive, but these collaborations cost only RMB 20-30 along with the drinks. This month’s CoCo x Sanrio’s Kuromi collab got me a keychain, magnet, badge and doll bag, and they are all displayed in my kuromi itabag now.”
(CoCo is a major bubble tea chain from Taiwan; Sanrio is the iconic Japanese entertainment and design company famous for creating some of the world’s most beloved kawaii (“cute”) characters–Ed.)
RedNote is flooded with DIY posts whenever new collaborations drop. When Chinese Kpop singer Song Yuqi partnered with milk tea brand Molly Tea in October, featuring her official anime avatar (a red rabbit named Gigi) on limited edition paper bags, one fan immediately posted her transformation tutorial—reinforcing the bag, adding a plastic cover, attaching ribbons and charms. A free bag from an RMB-30 milk tea purchase became a concert accessory that creamed the competition.
Then there’s the ultimate form of tribute: cosplay. Short for “costume play,” it involves embodying fictional characters through clothing, hair, props and makeup. Cosplayers strive for maximum accuracy in appearance, mannerisms, and spirit—essentially becoming their beloved characters.
Cosplay demands far greater effort than assembling an itabag. It’s a full-body transformation.
The makeup, for one, is a translation: from 2D character design to 3D human canvas. Every detail—eye shape, brow arc, lash type—is a strict adherence to source material. It employs saturated pigments and graphic lines to replicate animated artistry; faces are contoured to paper-thin proportions, and eyes are reconstructed with colored contacts, faux-crease lines, and dramatic lashes to mimic that iconic erciyuan gaze, according to Wang.
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“Clients are very particular about wig quality and accuracy,” explains Liu Xuewei, a Taobao shop owner specializing in cosplay wigs. “They often ask about texture, color accuracy, length and whether it’s made from real hair.”
“Custom hairdos for game characters—often long and in silver, white or gold hues—need to be ordered at least two months in advance and will set you back over RMB 500 (USD 70),” she adds.
“Most cosplay outfits are mass-produced for popular characters,” Wang continues. “Tailor-made pieces are very expensive. We usually buy standard sets and adjust them ourselves or hire what we call ‘handmade ladies’ in Chinese, tailors specializing in costumes, to add accessories.”
The makeup presents another challenge altogether, often requiring specialized artists.
“Anime makeup is completely different from everyday makeup. It’s more exaggerated and refined,” Wang explains. “We often hire artists to come to our hotels. That way, we check in as ourselves and emerge as our characters—it makes the transformation feel magical. I’d never travel in costume to get my makeup done; that would just feel awkward.”
Shi Menglu, a popular “coser” (China’s social media terms for “cosplayer”) on RedNote, at the gathering in honor of the fifth anniversary of video game Honor of Kings. Image: RedNote
The grand stage for all this effort? Comic conventions, where cosplayers can showcase their creations and meet fellow enthusiasts.
For those who have never been to comic cons: Imagine stepping into a venue that feels like a portal to another dimension: Loid Forger from Spy × Family on your left, Tanjiro Kamado from Demon Slayer on your right, and nearly bumping into a three-meter-tall mecha—this is business as usual at Chinese comic cons. Whether your cosplay is meticulously screen-accurate or a heartfelt amateur attempt, you’re guaranteed enthusiastic compliments and photo requests.
In 2024 alone, over 100 major anime/gaming conventions were held across nine cities nationwide, including Beijing, Shanghai and Guangzhou, featuring events like the CCG Expo, ChinaJoy and COMICUP. The economic impact is staggering—during BilibiliWorld 2024, BiliBili being China’s YouTube equivalent, hotel searches near Shanghai’s National Convention Center surged 360 percent, with many properties selling out completely. This is just a glimpse into the purchasing power of the fans supporting their beloved erciyuan characters and…
How much they’d spend to meet them.
One section of the Chiikawa “pain city,” when the manga and media franchise opened its pop-up in Shanghai this August. Image courtesy of Layla Zhang
“Pain Buildings” & “Pain Cities”
If you think the ultimate fan flex is a personal glow-up, think again. This wave of aesthetic dedication has long since overflowed the individual. When a major concert or convention hits town, it doesn’t just dress the fans—it redesigns the zip code.
Take Shanghai’s Xuhui TPY Center, which earlier this year was transformed into The Lost Tomb, a popular Chinese web novel and online series. This is a format called “pain building” (痛楼| tòng lóu), a concept in Chinese fan culture to describe an entire physical building that has been completely transformed and decorated to celebrate a specific fandom. Rather than a “simple” pop-up stall, the entire mall, from exterior banners and atrium installations down to elevator handrail decorations, became part of the narrative. Visitors felt transported into the story itself.
“Pop-ups are limited to small areas,” Wang comments. “Like the Chiikawa pop-up that only used part of the mall’s first floor. I’d love to see a full Chiikawa ‘pain building’ someday—how cute would that be?!”
“Us daomi (fans of the web novel) visited daily during the event,” shares one fan holding an itabag. “The whole building felt like our clubhouse. Even coffee cup sleeves and elevator displays were themed. You didn’t need to hunt for photo ops—they were everywhere. It was more than shopping; it was an experience worthy of decorating an itabag.”
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The “pain building” concept has evolved from commercial promotions to fan-funded extravaganzas. At Shenzhen’s MixC World shopping mall, a fan who goes by the online moniker “Erqi” spent RMB 600,000 (USD 84,780) to blanket the mall’s interior and exterior with ads for her favorite otome game character, Qi Yu from Love and Deep Space. The overhaul included 11 digital screens, entrance glass wraps and escalator banners — staying up for several days.
Just FYI: Love and Deep Space (恋与深空| Liàn Yǔ Shēn Kōng) is a popular Chinese romantic adventure mobile game and represents the next generation of the otome (female-oriented romance) genre in China. Now you know.
However, many of you reading this may wonder: Is this extreme devotion, shrewd brand-building or something altogether more personal—the kind of act that invites psychological deep dives rather than fashion commentary? Especially as Chinese authorities have actively sought to rein in such “irrational” fan spending in recent years. A question for another time, perhaps. (Just thinking out loud here…)
The inner circle at the very least appears to approve and appreciate it all: “This might seem extreme to outsiders, but in our circle, it’s not unheard of,” commented another Qi Yu fan online. “He gives me so much emotional support. Seeing his image covering the building gave me indescribable happiness.”
Guangzhou, capital of GuangdongProvince, turns into a five-day “pain city” in honor of this year’s May Day holiday (May 1-5). Image: RedNote
When “pain building” scale expands further, merging with city tourism campaigns, it births the “pain city” (痛城| tòng chéng) phenomenon—typically during A-list celebrity events like Jay Chou concerts.
During Chou’s most recent Shanghai stint, his Zhou Tongxue avatar appeared everywhere from the Oriental Pearl Tower to Meiluo City pop-ups, turning Shanghai into a massive theme park. Fans followed daka (打卡| dǎkā) maps between landmarks, their pink outfits and itabags forming a moving panorama of devotion.
Another FYI: Daka (literally “punching a card”) means taking one’s photo in a picture-perfect place to then show off on social media. Daka tourism in recent years has become a trending Chinese phenomenon slash hardcore industry.
“I’ve visited Shanghai many times, but tracking down all the Zhou Tongxue spots showed me angles of the Oriental Pearl Tower I never knew existed,” explains Li, showing photos with different installations and her RMB-600 (USD-84) merch haul.
The commercial potential here hasn’t escaped a host of businesses; they are eager beavers ready to secure a piece of the ever-growing pie.
In Jinan, capital of Shandong Province, the Zhou Tongxue pop-up reportedly generated tens of millions of RMB (millions of USD) in revenue this fall, while in Guizhou Province, Guiyang’s Wanda Plaza created over 10 daka spots, including five-meter-tall cartoon figures and signature walls for singer Zhang Jie’s fan meet, successfully converting fan enthusiasm into sales.
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Passion Made Public
From a single badge on a bag to a building wrapped in adoration or even an enitre urban makeover, China’s fan fashion is a breathtaking spectacle of passion turned inside out. It’s a generation declaring that a following’s love is not a private affair but a shared, experiential and beautifully over-the-top public statement.
“I guess the reason behind this large-scale makeover is that we are no longer afraid or embarrassed to show our feelings,” Li reflects. “Ten years ago, this was a concealed subculture. Fan fashions or acts of devotion were not widely accepted by our parents, teachers and society at large. Now, even though economic development plays a big part in this and people have more money to do what they like, what matters most to us fans is that we can dress like diehards and not be seen as weirdos. We see waves of people like us on the streets. We even get the whole city to dress up with us.”
The message is clear: This is the new semiotics of the street. In China, fandom has transcended accessory status to become the primary text—authored on the body, published across the urban canvas.
The dress code is devotion.
FEATURED IMAGE: collage of fan fashion-related posts on lifestyle bible and e-commerce app RedNote — the life-sized cuddly toy is getting a little push to help get them into the subway car
Contact Layla Zhang at yz7048@nyu.edu
Edited by Elsbeth van Paridon
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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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