The spectacular high-altitude stunt was meant to pay tribute to nature and was a collaboration with pyrotechnics artist Cai Guo-Qiang, but it unleashed widespread outrage instead over its potential ecological damage to Tibet’s fragile ecosystem and prompted the Chinese authorities to swiftly launch an investigation.
The controversial fireworks display by Chinese pyrotechnics artist Cai Guo-Qiang and outdoor apparel Arc’teryx in Tibet. PHOTO: SCREENGRAB FROM BONDWITH_OFFICIAL/INSTAGRAM
Around the same time, Chinese restaurant chain Xibei also faced significant blowback over its use of frozen and pre-cooked ingredients after celebrity entrepreneur Luo Yonghao criticised the company on social media, describing the food as “expensive” and “disgusting”.
The controversy snowballed into a broader debate about food authenticity and transparency in Chinese restaurants, ultimately pushing Xibei to issue a public apology.
These two incidents, although unrelated, are the latest examples of how far Chinese consumer behaviour has evolved – from being passive recipients and admirers of global brands to becoming a formidable force, capable of bringing multinational corporations and home-grown businesses to their knees.
This redistribution of power in the world’s second-largest economy has come on the back of a rising, more discerning middle class, ubiquitous social media connectivity, and hyper-competition for the consumer dollar.
Demanding respect
The growing power and influence of Chinese consumers have bred a sense of entitlement that extends beyond quality concerns.
Consumers have demonstrated they will punish brands not just for poor products or services, but for perceived slights to national dignity, cultural insensitivity or failure to align with their values.
And in the past decade, global brands, especially, have found themselves navigating an increasingly sensitive space where one wrong move could get you cancelled and lose, for many, the most lucrative market in the world.
In 2018, Dolce & Gabbana famously suffered the wrath of Chinese consumers after its promotional videos showing a Chinese model struggling to eat Italian food with chopsticks was called out for being racist.
Major Chinese e-commerce platforms pulled the brand, celebrities ditched it, and consumers filmed themselves burning and destroying their D&G products.
To make matters worse, co-founder Stefano Gabbana was caught insulting China in leaked Instagram chats, although he claimed his account had been hacked.
Sales plummeted and the company’s founders were forced to release a video apology, but the Italian fashion house was still haunted by the debacle three years later, when Hong Kong singer-actress Karen Mok angered Chinese netizens for wearing a Dolce & Gabbana outfit in her music video.
China already accounts for about a quarter of the global luxury market, according to 2024 research by Tencent Marketing Insight and Boston Consulting Group (BCG).
By 2030, Bain & Company projects that Chinese consumers will represent 35 per cent to 40 per cent of global luxury spending. By then, middle-class and affluent Chinese are also expected to account for 40 per cent of the country’s population, says BCG. That’s 560 million people and that’s the sort of buying power no international brand can afford to ignore.
Yet, similar fates have befallen other global giants who have run afoul of Chinese nationalistic sensitivities.
Swedish fast-fashion brand H&M faced widespread boycotts in 2021 after expressing concerns about forced labour in Xinjiang to produce cotton, with the company’s products disappearing from Chinese e-commerce platforms and physical stores shuttered.
Nike and Adidas have received similar treatment for saying they will not use Xinjiang cotton.
The message was clear: Challenge China’s narrative and face exile from the world’s largest consumer market.
Closer to home, Japanese and South Korean businesses have found themselves in the cross hairs when geopolitical grievances spill over: Japanese restaurants were attacked and Honda and Toyota car dealerships burned down at the height of the Diaoyutai/Senkaku Islands dispute in 2012.
Lotte Group was among the worst-hit South Korean companies when it became a main target for providing land to build a controversial US defence missile system.
Beijing’s anger over Seoul’s decision to deploy the US Terminal High Altitude Area Defence anti-missile system triggered “fire safety inspections” and boycotts of hundreds of Lotte hypermarkets. With its Chinese operations haemorrhaging money, Lotte finally decided to withdraw from China in 2018, writing off billions in investments.
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This consumer militancy – oftentimes sanctioned and even fuelled by official channels – reflects a broader psychology of the Chinese middle class: having achieved prosperity, they now demand respect.
And today’s consumers see their economic clout as a tool for national dignity, just as the authorities see it as a geopolitical weapon.
The result is that the Chinese consumer has evolved from passive buyer to active enforcer, setting de facto standards of behaviour for corporations.
At its worst, consumer entitlement in China has descended into bullying tactics, with businesses threatened with bad reviews and food delivery riders abused over minor delays.
With razor-thin margins for error, companies terrified of losing market share or access capitulate quickly.
As Chinese consumers embrace guochao – the “national trend” favouring home-grown labels – foreign brands have been compelled to localise their products, aligning with a market that increasingly prizes its own cultural heritage.
Positive enforcement
Yet, this consumer power isn’t entirely destructive. China’s middle-class consumers have raised standards in food safety, corporate accountability and environmental protection.
The rise of Chinese social media influencers and commentators has created new accountability mechanisms. When Luo Yonghao criticised Xibei’s practices, he wasn’t just expressing personal displeasure, but channelling broader consumer frustrations about restaurants charging premium prices for reheated industrial food masquerading as fresh, quality fare.
Food safety has long been a sore point, with horrific scandals involving tainted milk, gutter oil and fake meat shaking public trust over the years.
Consumer pressure has also driven innovation in sustainability, labour practices, and product safety across industries. Companies invest in corporate social responsibility in part because discerning Chinese consumers are now increasingly shopping based on their values, and businesses tout their green credentials to appease a more climate-conscious public.
And in the digital economy, consumer watchdogs on social media have exposed scams, fraudulent advertising and exploitative practices.
Companies that once operated in opacity now find themselves forced into transparency.
Such accountability through market mechanisms has emerged as one of the few spaces where ordinary Chinese citizens can exercise genuine political power. And that might help to explain their assertiveness.
Their power cuts both ways. It can be weaponised in jingoistic outrage or harnessed to push companies to do better. Arc’teryx has stumbled through its own tone-deaf misstep, and Chinese consumers have reminded it where the line is drawn.
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Tan Dawn Wei is a senior columnist at The Straits Times. She was the paper’s China bureau chief based in Beijing from 2018 to 2025.
