The Meaning of Idols

For a moment, the answer almost seemed to be a “yes”.

It was because of two girls.

First, Wang Ju, or, as fans like to call her, the beloved Sister Ju (菊姐).

The Chinese Internet turned Ju-crazy in late May/early June.

Ju was a Produce 101 contestant who, at the first sight, doesn’t look like a Produce 101 contestant at all. She was “old” (25 years old), “inexperienced” (worked as a model manager, never been professionally trained or signed by entertainment agencies), and, most importantly, looked different to all the other girls on the show. Her skin is glowingly tanned, her figure being relative curvy (or healthy-looking by us normal people standard), and instead of being “cute” and “sweet” as the majority of girl contestants were, she was unapologetically confident, and openly ambitious.

To some, Ju was unconventionally odd. To the others - in particular, people from LGBTQ communities and those who have longed for a more diverse aesthetic standard to emerge in China - Ju was the one that gave us hope. All of a sudden, the act of voting for a contestant in a reality TV competition was given new meanings; it became an act of rebellious declaration, an expression of dissent, and a celebration of uniqueness and difference. By the first week of June, Ju’s popularity ranking had climbed to No.2 in the show, beating a pool of pretty, young, well-trained idol-to-be girls who were supposed to be more “reasonable” and “correct”.

When Ju rose to No.2.

“The power to redefine China’s female idol groups is right in your hands.” In an episode of Produce 101, Ju declared to the camera, her tone filled with assertive confidence and determination.

Yan and I were both sold. Ju quickly became our favorite contestant of all, and we were thrilled to notice that public discussions around her had expanded to include various important social topics, from body image, beauty standard to feminism and womanhood in China. Within a few weeks, Ju had transformed from a misfit, marginal contestant to virtually the greatest online sensation; everyone, including my friends who had never watched the show, were now asking about her, discussing her and using her as a creative outlet for content creation (remember all those Ju-themed memes that swept across the internet?).

Although Ju eventually didn’t make it to the final 11, the fact that she remained on stage until the last episode was already a triumph of hope. It proved, even just temporarily, that there was still room for diversity and change in China’s entertainment industry, a place where highly-standardized, bland pop stars have dominated in recent years.

And then there was Yang Chaoyue, the girl with a delicate doll face who generated as much public discussions as Ju, only for completely different reasons.

Produce 101 was not short of talents. Before coming to the show, many girls were already being trained for years, some even had debuted as pop stars or members of girl bands. From singing, dancing, rapping to manner and expression-management, the majority of contestants were equipped with professional strengths at least in one of these areas.

Yang Chaoyue had none of those. Her singing was horribly inconsistent. She could never keep up with the beats when she dances. Her poses and facial expressions were always awkward, and her speech often illogical and absurd. Even worse, she virtually cried in every single episode of the show.

Some of Yang Chaoyue's breakdown moments that went viral online. 

To people who think along these lines, Yang Chaoyue was literally like a joke. Every time she performed, hateful comments would emerge all around Weibo to trash both her stage acts and personality. Yet the more she was trolled online, the better her voting results were; in the end, Chaoyue ranked no.3 out of the 11 wining contestants.

Why on earth would people vote for a girl who presents zero talents to be an idol?

Yang Chaoyue's rankings had been consistently high throughout the show.

Growing up in the countryside in Jiangsu Province, Chaoyue had a family origin humbler than everyone else on the show. She didn’t go to high school, worked various low-paid jobs from restaurant waitress, comic convention showgirl to livestream host on Kuaishou. In fact, according to Yang Chaoyue's claim, she decided to come cast for this show simply for two reasons: the 2,000 RMB advertised salary, and free accommodations.

Yang Chaoyue working as a comic convention model before joining Produce 101.

In the eyes of Chaoyue’s fans - largely young, straight guys coming from rural villages or small towns - it is these details that matter. The bitter her backstory, the more they want to protect her and to make her rise. Urban netizens might find her to be alienating or even stupid, for those who come from a humbler background however, Yang Chaoyue's story is their own story too.

“I come to this show carrying the hope of my entire village. I want to make everyone in my village proud”. Says Yang in an early episode.

From appearances, personalities to values, what Wang Ju and Yang Chaoyue displayed to the camera were contrasting to say the least. Such contrast nonetheless is exactly why Produce 101 was a hit; instead of forcing industrialized homogeneity (something idol shows tend to do), it presented an array of individuals with different attitudes and talents. Moreover, by setting up the audiences as  "producers" (aka who has the power to make decisions through voting), Produce 101 really managed to construct a dreamy, pink fantasy that swept across the entire nation. For a while, the girls' dreams became our own dreams, and our stories became part of these girls' stories, too.