China’s ‘OK Boomer’ Makes No Sense — And That’s the Point
You’ve heard of leaving someone on read. But sometimes — say, over the holidays, when your whole extended family crams around the dinner table — avoiding uncomfortable topics isn’t as straightforward.
That’s why a growing number of Chinese are adopting a new strategy: “replying at random.”
Imagine you’re asked an uncomfortable question about your personal life. Rather than answer directly — or politely shift the conversation to safer ground like the weather — you instead respond with nonsensical wordplay. For example, when asked that perennial favorite, “Do you have a boyfriend?” you might answer, “Yes, a few.”
This quirky approach, known as yidu luanhui in Chinese, went viral on the country’s social media platforms in 2024 as a meme-friendly way to push back against the often condescending, patriarchal communication style of parents and elder relatives.
Nowhere is this conflict more pronounced than around the Spring Festival holiday, when young Chinese return home to face a family skeptical of their life choices — especially those involving marriage and children. Typical yidu luanhui exchanges may look something like this:
“When will you get married?”
“Maybe at noon, maybe at night.”
“Why don’t you want a baby?”
“I don’t want to live with a stranger.”
“Why don’t you want another child?”
“I prefer odd numbers.”
More recently, employment status has also become a sensitive topic that young Chinese prefer to dodge. But rather than simply refusing to answer their parents’ questions, they try to keep them off-guard and unable to press for details.
Underlying this behavior is a widespread belief among young Chinese that the older generation will not — and cannot — understand the way the country has changed since their own young adulthoods. According to the civil affairs authorities, the average age of first marriage in China has risen by more than four years since 2000, while the fertility rate has dropped to record lows. For young Chinese, marriage and parenthood are now approached with more caution, as they prioritize their emotional needs, careers, and personal goals — an approach that contrasts sharply with the older generation’s view of these milestones as inevitable life stages to be progressed through as quickly as possible.
They’re also navigating a changed economy. While young professionals earn more than their parents did starting out, income growth has stagnated, and their financial security is increasingly dependent on themselves. Not without reason, many young people feel their parents’ experiences of social mobility and a strong welfare state no longer apply.
This sense of generational disconnect might resonate with America’s Gen Z, who shrug off criticism from their elders with a cutting “OK, boomer.” The motives, too, are similar. As Joshua Citarella pointed out in The New York Times, “Gen Z is going to be the first generation to have a lower quality of life than the generation before them,” as they grapple with rising costs, inequality, and climate crises — issues many blame on baby boomers’ politics.
However, unlike the aggressive tone of “OK, boomer,” yidu luanhui is a more passive way to defuse intergenerational conflict. Rather than confronting their elders directly, young Chinese use indirect responses to signal a need for personal space. They are simply asking for some privacy.
This reflects not just a generational divide in lived experience, but also a shift in attitudes toward privacy and kinship. For many Chinese, bianjie gan — personal boundaries — are an essential aspect of a healthy social life and a necessary firewall against intrusive friends, gossiping colleagues, and overbearing relatives. Consider this classic of the yidu luanhui genre:
“What will you do when you’re old (with no kids or spouse)?”
“Stick my nose into other people’s business like you.”
This need for boundaries can be a tough pill to swallow for parents and older relatives, and the resulting conflicts have led some members of the younger generation to cut ties with unwelcome family altogether — a practice known on Chinese social media as duanqin. A 2022 survey led by Nanjing University associate professor Hu Xiaowu found that the majority of 1,200 respondents under 30 “rarely” or only “occasionally” contacted relatives.
Still, it’s important to note that neither duanqin nor yidu luanhui necessarily signal a complete rejection of family ties on the part of young Chinese. Yan Yunxiang, an anthropologist at UCLA who has researched Chinese family and kinship for decades, believes that tactics like duanqin are often directed primarily at relatives who assert authority over the younger generation based on patriarchal traditions. In this context, duanqin represents a shift toward personal agency and authenticity. While some connections may be severed, doing so can also allow the core bonds between parents and children to grow stronger — provided the two sides can reach a detente.
This is exactly the point of yidu luanhui: By forgoing rigid, confrontational approaches to securing their independence, China’s younger generation is signaling its desire for a new language grounded in equal and authentic relationships. It may sound weird to their parents, but that doesn’t make it unreasonable.
(Header image: Visuals from Alex Mathers/Getty Creative/VCG, reedited by Sixth Tone)
