What’s happening on RedNote? A media scholar explains the app TikTok users are fleeing to – and the cultural moment unfolding there

TikTok refugees fled by the millions to RedNote, a Chinese app, in response to the TikTok ban, which went into effect Jan. 19, 2025. The company shut down the app shortly before midnight on Jan. 18 but restored service the following day. The app was unavailable to download from the Apple and Google app stores on Jan. 19.

Through cat memes, shared jokes about the ban and honest conversations about usually avoided topics, former TikTokers and RedNote natives are bridging years of U.S.-China digital separation. This spontaneous convergence recalls the internet’s original dream of a global village. It’s a glimmer of hope for connection and communication in a divided world.

I’m a researcher who studies Chinese and transnational digital media. I’m also a Chinese person who lives in the U.S. I’ve been a RedNote user since 2014.

On Tuesday morning, Jan. 14, 2025, my usual RedNote morning scroll revealed a transformed For You Page. Mixed in with my typical TV drama, celebrity and makeup content were new posts from self-proclaimed “TikTok refugees,” with U.S. IP addresses. As I continued scrolling, the recommendation algorithm flooded my feed with more and more of these posts from new U.S. users seeking to rebuild their community on RedNote.

Rapid influx

The phenomenon exploded rapidly: within 24 hours, the hashtag #TikTok Refugee# on RedNote had garnered 36.2 million views and sparked millions of discussions. RedNote topped Apple’s App Store’s free app charts.

According to these TikTok refugees, with the Jan. 19, 2025, ban looming, users feared losing not just their platform access but their content and income streams as well.

Rather than switching to U.S.-based alternatives like Meta’s Instagram or X, they chose to flee to another Chinese platform as their protest against U.S. tech giants, whom they blamed for lobbying for the ban. Their platform of choice was RedNote.

This unexpected shift largely stems from TikTok influencers like @whattheish recommending RedNote as the new TikTok. Given that the app Douyin is China’s version of TikTok, the exodus to RedNote might seem surprising. However, most other Chinese apps, including Douyin, are only available in Chinese app stores and require Chinese phone numbers to register. RedNote is uniquely accessible to users outside China through app stores in various regions, without requiring a Chinese phone number.

Instead of segregating users by geographical regions with different versions as TikTok’s parent company, ByteDance Ltd., did, RedNote – called Xiaohongshu in Chinese – provides access to the same platform globally. ByteDance is based in China but launched TikTok as a U.S. subsidiary in 2015. TikTok partnered with Oracle in 2022 to handle Americans’ user data to address data security concerns. In contrast, RedNote owner Xingyin Information Technology Ltd. is a Shanghai-based company and so remains free from direct U.S. oversight.

RedNote’s global accessibility

This global accessibility aligns with the original vision for Xiaohongshu. The name Little Red Book – its literal English translation – often leads people in the West to draw parallels with Mao’s revolutionary text, suggesting a communist focus. Yet the platform’s true aspirations couldn’t be more different.

The app, created in 2013, emerged with a rather bourgeois focus. The app’s founders, Qu Fang and Mao Wenchao, met while shopping in the U.S. They positioned Xiaohongshu as a platform that combined social media, lifestyle content and e-commerce, all centered around global travel and shopping.

Though RedNote has evolved to attract a broader demographic, its core user base remains international students, Chinese overseas communities and international travelers. Its name shows the platform’s promise to be a “red” – meaning popular in Chinese – guide for foreign travel and shopping. It functions as both a travel bible for Chinese tourists and a fashion curator of glamorous foreign lifestyles.

The app has been influential in transforming lesser-known locations into Chinese tourist destinations. It turned Düsseldorf, Germany, into a foodie destination for Chinese tourists in 2023 and highlighted hip scenes and public restrooms in Paris during the 2024 Olympic games.

For me, as a native Chinese person living abroad, RedNote has become an essential daily platform for searching reviews, sharing life’s moments and staying connected with Chinese communities. Even before the TikTok refugee influx, Xiaohongshu had attracted users from Taiwan, Singapore, Malaysia and other Sinophone communities.

From memes to open dialog

I nervously lurked in the discussion sections, watching for potential friction and conflicts between TikTok refugees and RedNote natives, or “red sweetpotatoes” as they call themselves. Yet the first encounters were surprisingly heartwarming and playful.

Following word-of-mouth advice, TikTok newcomers posted cat pictures as their first move after opening new accounts. They jokingly call this paying their cat tax. Chinese RedNote users responded with compliments or by sharing their own cat photos in return. This is how they broke the ice despite language and cultural barriers.

When TikTok refugees posted introductions without pets, RedNote users would respond with a meme: a cat holding a gun with the caption “Hello, I am a spy. Show me your cat.” This joke caught on quickly. “Chinese spy” soon became another way to say “Chinese friend.” TikTok refugees even asked “do you want to be my Chinese spy?” as a playful conversation starter.

Through cute memes and witty jokes, both groups ridiculed the TikTok ban. They mocked how the ban twists data privacy issues into dated narratives of Cold War rivalry and espionage, rather than treating them as shared digital age challenges that all humans face together.

After these greetings, RedNote natives and TikTok refugees often exchanged questions on various topics. Some of these topics worried me because they could easily turn into conversation-breakers. For example, A TikTok refugee asked about LGBTQ life in China, and a RedNote native inquired about U.S. incomes.

But instead of creating awkward tension as I feared, these exchanges led to meaningful dialog. Chinese users explained their questions about U.S. income: they were curious because Chinese “American dreamers” – Chinese who talk of moving to the U.S. – often paint an exaggerated picture of American salaries and living standards. Americans were surprised to learn that while same-sex marriage remains illegal in China, the city of Chengdu is known as the country’s “gay capital.”

Recalling the internet’s lost promise

As I documented these interactions, they continued to grow and evolve. What started as text discussions extended into livestreaming conversations. This rare moment of direct interaction between American and Chinese social media users reveals that they’re not as different as they might have thought. Online, they were sharing the same interests: cute memes, “thirst traps” and funny comments. Offline, they face similar daily struggles to make ends meet.

How might this end? Will TikTok refugees leave once their enthusiasm fades, or will regulators from either side step in? As someone who has researched U.S.-China media exchanges for years, I’m struck by this moment’s significance, however temporary it may be. This represents a meaningful reconnection between U.S. and Chinese internet users after years of digital separation.

That separation was caused and reinforced by Google’s withdrawal from China, China’s Great Firewall and the U.S. forced segregation of ByteDance’s U.S. and Chinese platforms. In addition, digital platforms and recommendation algorithms increasingly trap people in their own information bubbles.

To me, the moment recalls the utopian vision once shared by California’s internet pioneers and Chinese tech innovators and users: a digital agora and global village.

It’s also a silver lining in the cloud of global divides. Even in a world increasingly fractured by platforms, misinformation and political divisions, unexpected connections can still blossom. Seemingly impossible linguistic, cultural and digital divides can be crossed when people approach each other with respect, sincerity, a touch of humor – and perhaps the aid of AI translators.