Q&A: What is “老登lǎo dēng” and Why It's Everywhere
Trigger warning: 以下内容登味很重 the content below contains a heavy dose of “deng quotient”
Hi all,
I’ve been a little obsessed with the buzzword 老登 (lǎo dēng) recently. As I wrote in “From 忮忌 zhì jì to 老登lǎo dēng: How Chinese Feminists Are Rewriting Language to Challenge Patriarchy,” feminist buzzwords like lao deng have, in recent years, entered the public sphere, spreading through memes and evolving into full-on pop culture. It’s now one of the trendiest labels online (and offline) for men dripping with 登味 (dēng wèi, “deng flavor”) but totally unaware of it.
From lao deng came the spin-offs: 中登 (zhōng deng, middle deng) and 小登 (xiǎo deng, young deng).
If you read it by age, the logic is simple: anyone who picks up the patriarchal “skill set” early is basically a little lao deng in training. By that standard, you could even imagine a 幼登 (yòu deng, baby deng) still in diapers, but already flexing symbolic privilege.
But it gets more fun when you interpret it through power dynamics. Take the school system: a xiao deng might be the student who uses a teacher-appointed role to lord over classmates while fawning over the teacher. A zhong deng could be the teacher who, freshly promoted, cracks the whip on students to meet performance metrics while groveling to the principal. And the lao deng? That’s the administrators—forever deferential to the even bigger bosses above them.
The appeal of lao deng is that it’s a meme with teeth. It distills diffuse, often invisible power imbalances into a mockable caricature. And once something has a name, you can challenge it.
I had the chance to talk with Yaoyao Song, who has done a comprehensive study on the word lao deng, about the magic of this word and how it’s reshaping pop culture through the female gaze. Here’s our conversation:
Q: How did you first hear about the word Lao deng?
A: I’m from the Northeast. I didn’t hear the word “lao deng” all the time growing up, but I definitely heard it somewhere—can’t recall exactly where. Because “lao deng” carries a cultural lineage for me, it feels familiar. Then one day the internet—especially the groups I follow on Xiaohongshu and Douban—suddenly filled up with “lao deng.” I saw the term blow up and wasn’t sure why. I came across a post saying that on Douban people were rating films by how much “lao deng content” they had—50%, 75%, even 100%. The post explained what counts as a “lao deng film.” I thought the usage was brilliant: a dialect word repurposed inside a feminist frame. As the term spread online, it started describing all sorts of people and situations—like someone who loves to lecture others or constantly points fingers; people would call him someone with “lao deng thinking,” so, he’s a “lao deng.” I think that’s great. This word flips the gaze: women become the subjects who look back at men and name them. Historically, only men gazed at women, naming women as this type or that. Women rarely named men negatively. So I like “lao deng” a lot. It’s an anti-gaze term, and when women use it, it’s empowering.
Q: Your study also notes “lao deng” is versatile: it shows up in serious contexts and in ironic/funny ones. How does it balance ridicule with serious social critique?
A: The interesting thing is that the term wears humor on the surface. After all, it’s a Northeastern expression with a comic feel in use and sound. In mixed settings, men and women, older and younger when an older man starts giving a “lao deng speech,” people can pivot the topic into a “lao deng” riff. It defuses tension, softens the edges, while taking the sting out of the discomfort that kind of speech causes. But at its core, the term is serious. The shell is humorous; the kernel is not. The pronunciation and mouth-feel are a little goofy, sure, but this isn’t just name-calling—it carries a critique of patriarchal structure and of authority more broadly. The target isn’t any random person; it’s the person who holds the most resources, power, or money in a family or in society. Traditionally, those people were beyond ridicule. Now we have a word that takes direct aim at them. That makes it, essentially, a critique of male dominance and patriarchy.
When women say things like “this film is pretty ‘deng’” or “that comment is ‘deng’,” they’re not only calling out a man; they’re calling out the gendered logic we’ve all internalized about who gets to speak, whose stories get seen, and whose voices get ignored. Humor plus satire gives sharp critique more punch; it travels faster, farther, and resonates more. “Gender equality” used to feel abstract and unspoken; the humor dissolves the hostility, lowers the bar to entry, and more people join in. “Lao deng” delivers serious social criticism in a light register—it becomes laughable, sayable, and shareable. That “laughable” quality makes it more sayable and more shareable. That’s the balance.
Q: Building on that, how would you define “lao deng”? Can you give examples, like a “lao deng moment”?
A: Not sure if you’ve watched the stand-up comic Zhang Jun—his set went pretty wide a while back. It was the first time I saw a guy on stage talk plainly about patriarchy. Of course, he got flamed on Bilibili, but on Xiaohongshu there was a lot of supportive discussion. He said patriarchy is like nuclear radiation: if you’re exposed, especially men, you’ll get “patriarchy cancer.” Some don’t show it as badly, but it’s a matter of degree.
So to your definition question: in a patriarchal society, men more or less absorb some “lao deng” mindset. If someone’s upbringing and self-reflection are strong, you’ll see fewer “lao deng” behaviors, never zero. If he lacks reflection and thrives inside patriarchy, you’ll see a very typical, even aggressive, “lao deng” style.
Take some of Wu Jing’s (the film star who’s often over-the-top patriotic, macho, and dramatic in interviews, gestures, and voice) public comments—classic examples. I’m not saying he’s malicious or that he means to attack or hate women; he probably doesn’t. He’s just someone who swims effortlessly in a patriarchal system. Society gives men all the leeway and affirmation; you grow up surrounded by that and you naturally assume everyone and everything revolves around you. People like that almost can’t not say or think “lao deng” things—which grates on women and is hard to hear.
We were long trained to listen to men, to speak less, be gentle. Now women’s self-awareness is stronger; we hear these comments and feel irritated. So we name them—we call it out—sometimes until you stop talking like that. As I said, under patriarchy, it’s almost impossible for men not to think this way. My husband is highly educated and very empathetic, especially towards women. He’s a good man and a good partner. Yet he still unconsciously shows “lao deng” thinking and behavior at times—even with some feminist ideas under his belt. Because he’s a man, he inevitably empathizes with men.
So what counts as “lao deng”? In practice, men, no matter whether Chinese or foreign, will show some version of it. If we use a pejorative frame, any speech or act that makes women feel uncomfortable fits: unsolicited lecturing, ordering women around, assuming women are inferior, etc. More broadly, many men see themselves as fundamentally different from women—“men are more rational, more logical; better suited for STEM; better suited for X.” That’s “lao deng.” It’s tired. Humans should have equality—men can do the job, women can do the job. The moment you claim “we’re different” to gatekeep, you’re drifting into “lao deng.” That’s how I see it.
Q: Agreed. Even self-styled feminist men still can’t fully empathize 100% with women. Next: how has “lao deng” spread across platforms and, in doing so, helped push back against misogyny?
A: The film Her Story (《好东西》) is a relatively gentle feminist film that inevitably drew debate, and it’s a good film. But some men dismissed it as “just a chick flick.” You can hear the disrespect baked into that term: it trivializes. So male critics labeled it “a chick flick.”
That’s how the discussion first fermented on Douban. People started ranking the Top-200/250 Douban films by their “lao deng quotient”—20%, 25%, 30%… all the way to 100%. The punchline: the top 250 are basically “lao deng films.” These are male-centric: plots, character arcs, and settings all serve male growth. A classic trope is the “dead woman”—the wife or mother dies to fuel his career or determination. Using the “lao deng quotient,” people relabeled these as “lao deng films.”
Literature followed. People started mapping “lao deng films” logic onto novels. You find that a lot of celebrated modern and contemporary Chinese literature is male-centered. Much of what’s famous is “lao deng literature.” Suddenly it clicks: we live in a world that praises and normalizes “lao deng”—it’s everywhere. No wonder the term exploded.
It spreads because it’s flexible, handy, and lets people express dissatisfaction with patriarchy and misogyny in a relaxed register. As we said, the term is humorous. But its platform life differs. On Weibo, it piggybacks on hot incidents. Some public figure says something with heavy “deng-flavor,” and boom: trending. People retweet like mad. Users quickly tag the behavior “lao deng,” comment, ridicule, remix—it concentrates attention fast.
I also mentioned a case in my paper: last year at Beijing Institute of Technology, a male professor exploited other grad students in order to “protect” his favored male student. From a feminist view, you see classic patriarchal oppression—despite the professor having a wife and child. What’s more telling is the bystanders—the audience socialized under patriarchy—praising the professor’s “deep affection” for that student. Complex person, mixed behavior—but if you wrap it all up: that’s a “lao deng.” The term is broad and risks over-generalization, yes, but it’s useful and forceful; it quickly conveys where people stand.
Across platforms the functions diverge: on Douban it anchors long posts and reviews, forming a framework for critiquing “lao deng films/literature,” waking people up to how art reproduces patriarchy. On Xiaohongshu it’s more everyday and pragmatic—“avoid these ‘lao deng’ advisors/schools,” with comments listing “red flags” (disrespecting female students, making students run errands, etc.). Patriarchy is, at bottom, an oppressive structure—oppressing both men and women in different ways. So while the platforms differ, “lao deng” is generally powerful: it turns abstract patriarchy and misogyny into a tangible, mockable object, lowers the barrier to speak, and helps more women voice their experiences and anger. That’s a big step forward for feminism in China.
Q: Loved that, super comprehensive. Compared with other terms like “nan-bao” (“baby man”), what unique symbolic or cultural edge does “deng” carry? Can you sum it up?
A: Though both “nan-bao” and “lao deng” tease men, they’re very different. The targets differ. “Lao deng” is a jab—and demystification—of the most authoritative. Sociologically, we’ve learned that the “halo of success” around many grown men isn’t purely personal—it’s the convenience granted by a male-first era, on top of their own effort. As I said, an era when families threw all resources behind sons; society assumed positions and resources “belonged” to men. Under those conditions, men had an easier path to success than women of the same cohort, and they came to feel entitled to instruct everyone else—that classic “high-from-a-low-place” posture.
“Deng” is clever because it punctures the aura of the “successful middle-aged man.” However successful you are, you’re still a self-important, lecture-happy middle-aged guy with no right to point fingers. If you do, expect to be labeled—“zhong-deng” (mid-deng) or “lao deng.” Either way, straight to the trash heap if you spout something tone-deaf.
“Nan-bao,” by contrast, is mostly a tease and hits patriarchy only glancingly. “Nan-bao” types don’t actually hold power; they enjoy early-stage patriarchal perks—the entry-level “patients” of patriarchy cancer. “Lao deng” hits harder: it targets the group with the most resources, power, and voice. Literature has long sculpted these figures as “glorious leaders, gentle fathers, caring husbands.” The veneer has been peeled back; their essence—and the “nice bits”—are being examined. With feminism’s rapid spread as context, the rise of “lao deng” is like a scalpel slicing open a structure many have tried to seal tight. It lets ordinary people—even those not keen on feminist theory—glimpse some glaring symptoms of patriarchy. Different placement than “nan-bao,” fundamentally.
Q: Any other buzzwords in the same orbit?
A: I saw a paper on “nan-de” (male virtue)—very interesting. Also “pǔxìn-nán” (average-yet-confident men). I like these—they center women’s subjectivity. There’s also “female gaze” (女凝) as a counterpart to “male gaze”; women claim the right to look and define from our standpoint.
Some reclaimed words flip old slurs into power. For example, “niang-menr” (once derogatory, “girly”)—you’ll see comments on Xiaohongshu like “太娘们了” under a woman’s achievement. In that speech community, it’s praise—she is powerful the way we imagine women can be.
“March 8” and “fu-nü” (woman/women) also used to carry a gray, bureaucratic feel; now on International Women’s Day people greet each other and talk about “half the sky” energy. And I love “Old Sky Granny” (老天奶) as an answer to “Old Sky Grandpa” (老天爷)—a cheeky switch that rolls off the tongue and calls out how patriarchy oppresses women; it invokes a different divine.
Q: Wordplay—homophones, character play, punning—clearly matters. How does this linguistic play operate as a strategy for promoting feminist discourse in China?
A: First, define it. In Chinese internet culture, wordplay often means homophones, character-splitting, recombination, double meanings—clever new forms for critique. Good wordplay becomes a “meme,” so it spreads.
Take Yang Li’s “pǔxìn-nán”—a clipped compound that mocks male superiority under patriarchy. Once it goes viral, people get a concrete handle on an abstract structural problem. Patriarchy produces “pǔxìn-nán”—we don’t need long academic definitions. The shorthand gives us language—and power—to take back subjectivity. When men shift from gazers to the gazed-upon, they feel unsafe, injured, invaded; backlash grows. That shows how powerful wordplay is.
Homophones matter too. Opponents twist “nü-quan” (women’s rights) into “nü-quan” (punching), sneering “the fairy girls are here to punch again.” That stigmatizing play made many feminists realize how crucial discourse power is. If men can define our pursuit of equality as “bad,” why accept that? Many feminists then reclaimed “punching” as strength—breaking through patriarchal blockages takes force. Within feminist spaces the “quan” (fist) reading has been neutralized—even embraced: “Time to ‘punch’ and call out injustice.” Language is powerful; wordplay increases the spread of egalitarian ideas. The wider the spread, the deeper the impact. A girl who grows up hearing “women are powerful; we seek equality” lives in a different world from the older generation raised on “sons over daughters.”
So, wordplay boosts diffusion and diffusion builds power and reach.
Q: Final question. Many of our “sisters” mainly use Xiaohongshu (I’m rarely on Weibo). A lot of women are educating the public—unpacking how everyday Chinese words encode misogyny and promoting more equal terms. One fun example is keyboard input: some avoid writing the male radical “他” and instead write “ta” to refer to a generic person. What’s the point of practices like that?
A: I also work as a Chinese teacher, so language is unavoidable—proverbs, texts, analysis. It’s often painful: I make a living on this, but I’m constantly split—right brain vs left brain. Still, I think this matters. It shows what many people hope feminist change could look like. Will it succeed? Hard to be optimistic. Feminism abroad has had years to evolve; English itself is male-centered—male vs non-male—and that hasn’t fundamentally changed. If Chinese is to change, who knows when. I’m pessimistic and hopeful. If no one does anything, nothing will change. If no one speaks up, it stays the same.
As a teacher, I smuggle “equality” into class where I can. If there’s a text or a profession discussed, I ask: why is the nurse pictured as a woman? Why did the author choose a woman? Students had never thought about it. That little nudge matters. What these women are doing—starting from tiny details—passes more equality-friendly thinking to the next generation.
*Images courtesy of July and Seenderellaon RedNote
What a stupid thing