Source丨Liang Jiangjun
In my years of brand consulting, I've kept a habit: while waiting for luggage at the airport, I glance at people's luggage stickers; while waiting for someone at a café, I listen to how young people at the next table talk about "internet-famous stores"; even when browsing street stalls, I notice the unique rhythm of conversation between vendors and regular customers.
Because I've always believed that the direction of the tide is often hidden in seemingly insignificant details.
Just recently, I noticed a particularly interesting change: brands are no longer keen on shooting epic advertising blockbusters; instead, they're "making a fuss" over a small milk tea receipt.
At Jasmine Milk White, a thermal receipt that would normally be thrown away has become the carrier for a serialized novel, "White Moonlight." Each chapter is only about a hundred words, but it always stops at a tantalizing point. Some people, to follow the story, really do visit the same store for a week straight—what they're chasing isn't the plot, but that sense of "being anticipated" participation. Even better, the story deliberately leaves a blank at the end, handing the pen to the consumer.
Mixue Ice City played it even more wildly. They split "The Snow King Selling Coffee in Ancient Times" into 20 chapters, randomly printed on millions of receipts. To collect the complete story, strangers spontaneously formed "chapter exchange stations" on social media, swapping duplicate chapters.
You see—without a high budget, without grand narrative, just through a piece of paper and a few lines, the brand quietly entered countless people's daily lives and social interactions. Those overlooked "scrap" scenarios are reconstructing our way of dialoguing with the world.
I encountered many such moments this year. For example, the popularity of loofah soup literature; young people no longer just obsessed with face and photo-worthy moments, but using urea bags instead of picnic mats, and delivery uniforms as a substitute for ski suits; people no longer look up to elites, but crazily cheer for non-professional players in the Su Super League...
These fragments scattered in every corner of life seem unrelated. But when you put them together, a clear thread gradually emerges—grand narratives are receding, and the power of ordinary people is quietly rising.
And those who truly understand this force are redefining the business, content, and communication methods of this era.
So, over the past few months, my team and I have been doing one thing: observing, recording, and reviewing those "ordinary moments" in content consumption, brand marketing, cultural tourism, technology, health, and other fields, and we've produced the "2026 Content Consumption Trends White Paper: The Ordinary Person Above All."
Entertainment and Content Industry
The Joys and Sorrows of Ordinary People Are the Top Traffic
1.1 Film and Television: The "List of Deities" for the Little Guy
The film and TV industry in 2025 is witnessing a shift in narrative power. The heroic epics that once required looking up to are exiting, replaced by ordinary epics where every common person can see themselves.
"Nanjing Photo Studio" doesn't talk about generals and marshals, but about a small shop owner who desperately protects negatives during the war, letting the weight of history fall on the shoulders of every nameless person.
"When Life Gives You Tangerines" tells the story of Oh Ae-sun, a girl on Jeju Island in the 1950s, growing up amid poverty and prejudice, enduring hardships with her lover, supporting each other, and ultimately enabling their daughter to leave the island and become an independent woman.
Behind this wave is the complete loss of credibility of elite narratives. When perfect entrepreneur personas collapse one after another, when workplace dramas set in luxury apartments but crying poverty trigger public ridicule, audiences have developed antibodies to any story that is out of touch. What they need is not to be lectured, but to be understood; not to be led, but to be reflected.
Smart brands have already started to turn around. McDonald's recently played "flying close to the ground"—their social media directly pointed the camera at ordinary farmers in Inner Mongolia's potato fields, but the clever part is they used Grammy-level cinematography to film the farmers harvesting potatoes. This contrasting approach of "small content, big production" is essentially the highest tribute to the value of ordinary people—your and my daily life deserves the top-level artistic expression.
For brands, rather than spending huge sums on grand TVCs showing "imperial grandeur," it's better to become the recorder of users' "ordinary epics."
A sports brand following an ordinary programmer who insists on night running in the community is more touching than sponsoring champion athletes; a travel luggage brand truthfully recording a retired teacher couple using the product to fulfill their dream of traveling around China is more convincing than covering airport billboards.
The right to write history has never been in the temple, but in every specific and minute ordinary life. The ultimate task of a brand is to learn to be the most faithful footnote to this magnificent ordinariness.
1.2 Short Dramas and Variety Shows: Emotional "Quick Fix" and Emotional "Sugar Substitute"
When the pressure of real life hits the ceiling, content consumption automatically splits—some need a strong dose to quickly recover, others crave continuous drip to maintain stability. In 2025's entertainment market, short dramas and variety shows precisely grasped the pulse of ordinary people's emotions.
Short dramas have upgraded from grassroots games to capital gambles. In 2025, "Zhu Que Tang" used a 40 million yuan investment to open a new era of micro-narratives, and even mainstream themes like "The Secret of the Beijia Garden" had to borrow the guise of short dramas to dialogue with young people.
Across the Atlantic, the plot is more radical. According to Xinmin Evening News, "Divorced Billionaire Heiress" leveraged $200,000 to generate $35 million in box office.
An extra who once served as a background for Leonardo DiCaprio is now the "Tom Cruise of short dramas" on TikTok.
People's craving for emotional "quick fixes" has driven a wave of content democratization, eroding the foundations of the traditional star-making system.
Maopu Herbal Wine was the first to jump out of the stale narrative of liquor marketing. Through the short drama "I Want My Father to Succeed in the 1990s," it lets a modern office worker time-travel back to the 1990s, seamlessly embedding the product selling point of "quick sobering, light burden" of herbal baijiu into a light father-son comedy.
On the other end of the spectrum, the emotionally stable "light person" in "Flowers and Boys" unexpectedly became popular. When the whole internet is selling emotional value, being unflappable becomes the most moving quality. Audiences' fatigue with deliberate dramatization is giving rise to a desire for "low-power socializing."
Overall, in 2025, short dramas are the explosive of emotions, completing the "dare not in reality" counterattack in three minutes; healing variety shows are the "air-raid shelter" for emotions, providing low-conflict shelter for tired souls.
For brands, a new emotional recognition capability is needed:
In the short drama battlefield, dare to apply strong medicine to users' small losses and small pleasures. For example, a beauty brand can create "Anti-PUA Illustrated Guide," embedding products into the highlight moments of workplace counterattacks; a recruitment app might try "Post-00s Rectify the Workplace," using extreme satisfaction to build emotional connection.
For variety show selection, abandon blind worship of traffic and turn to precise investment in real interactions. "Flowers and Boys" proves that audiences crave relationships with rough edges, not polished perfect scripts.
In this era of emotional inflation, the highest level of marketing is no longer loud noise, but becoming a confidant who recognizes user emotions.
1.3 Music and Podcasts: Polarized Spiritual Food
In the fields of music and podcasts, contemporary people's spiritual diet is undergoing a split:
"Bad Cat Song" and similar "demonic" melodies have been spreading virally since 2024.
Soon after, "micro-dose" entertainment like "Brave Little Sheep," "Skill Gomoku," and "Meimei Sangnei" occupy our fragmented time. They don't require deep investment, don't pursue meaning elevation, and only provide the purest instant joy.
On the other side, there are hours-long deep conversations in the podcast "Flowers in the Rock," which quickly accumulated 2 million followers. In the episode where Lu Yu talks with Zhang Chun, her words "Give your feelings back to yourself, keep your dog life to survive" became a spiritual motto for many young people.
This is not a split in taste, but the survival wisdom that ordinary people have cultivated in the era of information overload—we need both instant emotional discharge and lasting ideological endurance.
This polarization of spiritual life reflects a new strategy for ordinary people to cope with the attention economy. We are practicing a "cognitive guerrilla warfare": in fragmented scenarios like commuting and queuing, we choose "spiritual snacks" for quick charging; in whole blocks of time like late night and weekends, we actively dive into the "deep water" for "meaning replenishment." The content market has thus completely transformed from the past pyramid structure to a dumbbell shape with heavy ends and an empty middle.
In this clearly divided market, the most dangerous state is "neither fish nor fowl." Brands must make clear choices:
If providing "spiritual snacks," then maximize it.
Like the creation logic of demonic songs, complete emotional detonation within 15 seconds. A snack brand can create a series of demonic short videos, using extreme fun to seize users' fragmented moments; a trendy toy can also leverage the spread momentum of "Brave Little Sheep" to achieve cross-border resonance of IP.
If providing "ideological replenishment," then have the courage to sink down.
Like in "Flowers in the Rock," where Lu Yu and guests have hours-long deep conversations, a high-end home appliance brand can create a "life philosophy" series of dialogues, naturally embedding product concepts while discussing the essence of living; a reading app can also hold offline literary salons to establish deeper spiritual connections with users.
Business, Retail, and Consumption
Refusing to Be "Old-Fashioned," Partnering with Ordinary People
Consumers in this era are voting with their feet, kicking brands that still talk to themselves out of their lives.
When "brand old-fashionedness" became a hot topic across the internet, a clear signal was lit: brands still speaking in a paternalistic tone don't deserve a place in young people's shopping carts.
2.1 Marketing: "Micro-Touchpoint" Creativity and "Anti-Routine" Authenticity
The marketing battlefield has long shifted from app launch screens to the receipts in your hand.
Mixue Ice City split "The Snow King Selling Coffee in Ancient Times" into 20 chapters, randomly printed on receipts, making consumers visit the store for a week straight to complete the story.
Jasmine Milk White left a blank at the end of the CEO novel, directly handing the pen to consumers: the ending of the story must be completed by you. McDonald's Mai Mai Island Exploration Certificate played even more cleverly—they gave each receipt a unique number, turning consumption receipts into social currency that young people scramble to collect.
Heinz Tomato Ketchup printed real family stories on tens of thousands of eggs, making every egg-cracking moment in the kitchen an emotional touchpoint. These overlooked "scrap" scenarios are reconstructing the dialogue between brands and consumers.
In an era of scarce attention, marketing should no longer be an interruption, but an easter egg. Every touchpoint where you connect with consumers has the potential to become a place for marketing creativity.
Behind this is a complete return to marketing philosophy: true connection lies not in the volume of voice, but in the warmth of touchpoints; not in the depth of routines, but in the concentration of authenticity.
Yili invited Ni Ping to appear as "Mother Ni" on Mother's Day, breaking conventional visual presentation and using persona contrast to quickly go viral. This elder who says "It's normal that you're not interested in work; after all, we didn't send you to interest classes when you were little" became the "mouthpiece for mothers," speaking in a way closest to young people, saying something nutritious on Mother's Day.
These seemingly small changes hide a profound revolution in marketing philosophy—brands no longer preach from on high, but communicate truthfully with every user.
Speaking of which, we must mention Yili's recent ad—"Good Grass, Good Cow, Good Yili." Yili wanted to do the most traditional "quality traceability," telling everyone why their milk is good. The old way would be blue sky, white clouds, and grassland, or a grand narrative of high-tech production lines. But they chose the most unusual path, partnering with Zhang Xingchao, who became popular with the unique rhythm of "suddenly giving two punches."
Even more commendable, they didn't just rehash existing memes like "Skill Gomoku," but seriously studied Zhang Xingchao's comedic traits, co-creating "new content" with the "old persona," giving the potentially boring traceability story of "good grass raises good cows, good cows produce good milk" more freshness for users, bringing real and effective interaction.
The ad went online and netizens immediately said "Yili wins big," and the topic #Ad with 200% Completion Rate# trended naturally.
Why? Because it completed the transformation from "I want you to watch" to "I want to watch"—the ad itself became content worth consuming. This gives us a precious insight: the best "anti-routine" is not rebellion for its own sake, but truly understanding users and telling stories they care about in ways they like.
Looking back, from a receipt to an ad, these successful cases all tell us the same truth: the marketing battlefield has long shifted from prime-time TV ads to the most everyday life scenarios. Here, sincerity is more important than budget, and cleverness is more effective than volume. Brands that know how to resonate with users in details can truly enter people's hearts.
This revolution requires brands to restructure budgets, shifting from grand scenes to small blessings, to capillary-level touchpoints in users' daily lives. Receipts, packaging, after-sales follow-ups—these scraps are becoming the best soil for building emotional connections.
In communication logic, shift from preaching to dialogue, like Mother Ni who doesn't say correct nonsense but speaks grounded human language, daring to let founders or spokespersons be the mouthpiece for consumers, even exposing their own shortcomings—in this era of frequent collapse of perfect personas, slightly flawed authenticity is safer.
The most fundamental purpose behind this is the reshaping of role perception: brands must transform from life instructors to companions. Mixue Ice City's receipt literature isn't selling milk tea but providing entertainment; Heinz's egg story isn't selling ketchup but conveying warmth; Yili's Mother Ni isn't selling milk but offering understanding.
When consumers start to repeatedly purchase for receipt plots, are moved by stories on eggs, and smile knowingly at Mother Ni's nagging, the new rules of the business world are clear: either become a companion in consumers' lives, or be classified as an old-fashioned brand to stay away from. In this era of the ordinary person above all, the smartest brands understand—only by squatting down can you do business longer.
2.2 Consumption Trends: Shabby Aesthetics and Heretical Wisdom
Once, consumerism told us: expensive is good, refined is high-class. But young people in 2025 are writing a new consumption manifesto with urea bags, delivery uniforms, and Yakult.
In city parks, the trendiest picnic gear is no longer lace tablecloths and imported snacks. Young people carry urea bags costing a few yuan, hold iron lunch boxes, and munch on steamed buns with spicy strips on the grass. They calmly spread out express cardboard boxes as picnic mats and use plastic bags to hold homemade dumplings. This isn't about not being able to afford it, but not wanting to pay for the performance of "refinement."
The same wisdom extends to the kitchen. Heretical cooking is overturning traditional cooking rules: marinating char siu with Yakult turns out unexpectedly tender; making tea eggs with iced black tea tastes just like the ones from the breakfast shop at the door; and pairing pork liver with potato chips and garlic creates a new dish, "crispy liver with garlic chips"...
These seemingly unconventional methods are essentially young people's rebellion against standardized life.
The most dramatic scene appears on the ski slopes. While professional ski suits still boast thousand-yuan prices, savvy outdoor enthusiasts have discovered the best substitute—delivery rider uniforms. At three to five hundred yuan, with warmth performance at minus five degrees, the yellow and blue rider uniforms have become the new favorite on the slopes. Cycling veterans even study the differences between rider uniforms from various platforms—one platform's style resembles F1 McLaren, another's is similar to Ferrari. They aren't settling; they're using wisdom to deconstruct brand premiums.
This trend of shabby aesthetics reveals a deep psychological shift in contemporary consumers: the sense of achievement in consumption has shifted from "I can afford it" to "I know how to buy." Young people are not refusing consumption, but refusing to be defined and kidnapped. They use creative solutions to tell brands: stop trying to harvest us with the concept of refined living.
Facing such consumers, brands need to completely change their thinking: redefine the sense of value—not only high prices can demonstrate value; making users feel it's worth more than the price is the true value.
For example, sports brands can hold equipment modification contests, food brands can launch basic versions plus creative recipe combinations...
When young people take pride in heretical methods, when shabby aesthetics become the new fashion, smart brands should understand that this generation of consumers isn't saving money, but redefining the meaning of consumption with creativity. Rather than educating consumers, it's better to learn to appreciate their wisdom, even join their game.
It's almost certain that in 2026, we will witness a profound return of value: those vivid people without quotation marks are the most magnificent source of creation in this era.
For content creators, this means: sincerity is more important than refinement, resonance is more valuable than traffic. Whether your content can make an ordinary person feel "this is me" determines its true vitality.
For brands, this means: there is no middle ground, only two outcomes—become a "one of us" in users' lives, or be classified as an "old-fashioned" brand to stay away from.