In Taiwan, the surging popularity of Chinese social media platforms like Xiaohongshu and Douyin has ushered in a new cultural export: Chinese slang. But many in Taiwan refuse to use the slang, recognizing it as a potential threat to Taiwanese identity and sovereignty.
Yu-Ching Chien, a Taiwanese journalist based in London, said that whenever she uses Chinese slang, “it feels as if I’m becoming one of them.”
Wendy Hung, a Taiwanese graduate student, prefers using Taiwanese Hokkien, calling it “a way of showing our uniqueness.” Hung also avoids using traditional Chinese characters. “I don’t identify as coming from China, so I avoid anything related to China,” Hung remarked.
One Taiwanese social media user compiled a list of “the top five most disliked expressions being used in China.” They included:
- Quality (質量 zhí liàng)
- Video (視頻 shì pín)
- Bus (公交車 gōngjiāochē)
- Family, Bros, Siss (家人們/小哥哥/小姊姊 jiārénmén/xiǎogēgē/xiǎojiejie)
- Delivery (外賣 wài mài)
There are two types of Mandarin slang from China, according to an article by Yan, Bu for Initium Media. The first refers to popular Chinese terms arising from current trends but lacking direct equivalents in Taiwanese Mandarin, such as “Skr” or “666,” which convey “cool” or “impressive” and are roughly equivalent to “屌 (diǎo)” in Taiwan. Scholars observe that these terms are not directly interchangeable, having developed within unique cultural contexts.
The second type involves words that have direct counterparts in Taiwanese Mandarin, akin to differences between British and American English. For example, “出租車” (chūzū chē) means “taxi” in China, while in Taiwan, the term is “計程車” (jìchéng chē), and in Hong Kong, “的士” (dik si). These variations—similar to “trainers” in British English versus “sneakers” in American English—often spark debate on Taiwanese social media, with some asserting that Taiwan’s unique terms should be preserved over adopting words from China.
In general, linguists recognize that language is fluid, and that its development inherently involves absorbing elements from different nations and cultures. Indeed, both Taiwan’s Mandarin and Hokkien languages have incorporated words from other foreign locales such as Japan.
But Chien worries about the political intentions behind Chinese slang, calling it “a form of cultural invasion.” Hung went so far as to call Chinese slang a form of “cognitive warfare” against Taiwan. Both Chien and Hung recognize language as central to identity, reflected in their deliberate choice of words to assert a distinct Taiwanese identity. For instance, they prefer “Taiwanese Mandarin” over “Chinese” to describe their language and avoid terms like “the Mainland” to refer to China, as these imply Taiwan is part of China.
While Hung remains cautious of potential political motives behind Chinese slang, she believes that using the terms occasionally or jokingly in entertainment or niche communities isn’t necessarily problematic. “It really depends on the context or motivation,” said Hung.
Chien has noticed that younger social media users are more prone to use Chinese slang, which often appears in short video content. “The younger generation might not even realize their origin and use them as if they were common terms,” said Chien. Chien said Taiwanese adults are better able to spot the slang, “then adapt them into Taiwanese Mandarin.”
Chien said his news organization avoids using Chinese slang, as media outlets in Taiwan are sensitive to appearing politically aligned and may be seen as endorsing China’s position by adopting its expressions. To address this, her organization is considering a glossary of Chinese and Taiwanese Mandarin expressions for media reference. Chien, mindful of criticism her colleagues have faced, has also grown more cautious in her own writing.
“I don’t want to be misrecognized, especially overseas, for being Chinese,” said Chien.
