Once niche and underground, anime, comic, and game collectibles are now a $23 billion force shaping China’s next consumer wave.
Her child asleep and the house finally still, Tina Li ends most of her time alone hunched over a table, “eating gu,” hunting for baji, and occasionally, calculating her “cooking power.”
In China’s rapidly growing anime, comic, and game (ACG) fandom, that’s shorthand for buying merch, opening blind boxes for badges, and a measure of how much a fan can spend on the characters they love.
The terms may sound like Gen Z slang, but the culture behind them has become a billion-dollar force in China — one centered around guzi, a fandom term adapted from the English “goods” and shaped by Japanese fan culture.
It’s also a play on gu, the Chinese word for grain, comparing the joy of collecting small merch to harvesting tiny, satisfying rewards. “Eating gu” is ACG-speak for subsisting on badges, posters, acrylic stands, and plush toys, especially when their favored series stops releasing new content.
“‘Eating gu’ is more of a spiritual joy for me,” says 39-year-old Li. “It allows me to feel a sense of pure happiness that I used to have when I was younger, beyond just being a mom.”
Once a niche subculture, China’s broader ACG scene had 503 million adherents in 2024 — a number projected to reach 570 million by 2029, according to research firm iiMedia. Within that world, fans navigate limited editions, blind boxes, resale markups, and algorithm-driven livestreams, blurring the line between passion and product.
On social media, the fandom moves fast. In recent months, photos and videos of young collectors showing off gu hauls or filming unboxings have flooded feeds. On Xiaohongshu, known globally as RedNote, a related hashtag has drawn more than 4.7 billion views, while on Douyin, China’s version of TikTok, “eating gu” has racked up 6.6 billion.
Last year alone, China’s guzi economy was worth 168.9 billion yuan ($23.5 billion). By 2029, it’s projected to nearly double, a scale reshaping how China consumes. Shopping malls are retooling around character merchandise and immersive fan experiences to build loyalty and draw foot traffic. Pop-ups, specialty stores, and anime-themed events now fill spaces once dominated by fast fashion and food courts.
Fans browse and buy goods at the Bailian ZX Creative Park in Shanghai, April 2025. Wu Huiyuan/Sixth Tone
Experts believe it’s fueled by a shift in what younger consumers value. In an uncertain era, many are choosing meaning over status, and self-expression over pure utility. That shift is driving demand, and a consumer economy built around emotion, identity, and story.
As brands chase relevance and retailers scramble to decode what consumers want, that story is the new product. And guzi is how a generation is writing its own.
Catch ‘em all
Growing up in anime-obsessed ’90s China, Li was raised on “Fullmetal Alchemist,” “Naruto,” and “One Piece.” She even collected figures for a while, until full-time work, family, and a child pushed it to the margins.
Last year, that same child, now 11 and obsessed with Pokémon, pulled her back in. While buying a plush toy, Li shared the moment on Xiaohongshu, evoking an unexpected 600 likes and 170 comments.
Then the algorithm took over. Her feed was wall-to-wall guzi: shopping vlogs, collector displays, and livestreams selling merch from “One Piece” and “Hunter x Hunter.” As she scrolled and watched, the old fandom feelings returned. Before long, she was “eating gu” again.
Li started posting her own hauls and unboxing videos on Xiaohongshu, quickly picking up over 1,300 followers, and with them, a growing circle of younger fans who shared her obsession.
“In real life, I don’t really have people to talk to about this stuff,” Li says, using a pseudonym to protect her privacy. “Having an online community with shared interests gives me a sense of belonging and identity.”
Unlike traditional anime figures that can cost hundreds or even thousands of yuan, everyday merchandise like badges and acrylic stands is far more affordable. Most are either from Chinese or Japanese franchises, with the latter typically priced higher: 10 to 30 yuan for domestically made items, 30 to 60 yuan for imported ones.
With more disposable income — or “cooking power” in fandom slang — than many younger fans, Li initially gravitated toward the more expensive Japanese merchandise, drawn by the intricate designs and sense of nostalgia. “At first, I bought a lot more than I do now because I had nothing and wanted to collect everything,” she says.
Li once spent around 5,000 yuan on blind boxes in an attempt to collect a full set of 100 acrylic blocks featuring “One Piece” characters. Each box, priced at 65 yuan, came with two random designs. Even after buying 70 boxes, she had to turn to secondhand e-commerce platforms to fill the gaps.
“There was a time when I was completely hooked, desperately trying to pull my favorite character,” she says. “I kept drawing again and again.”
Tina Li’s guzi collection. Courtesy of Li
That’s part of the business model in the collector economy.
For many fans, what starts as love for a series is quickly fueled by marketing tactics like limited editions, blind boxes, and exclusive collaborations. The thrill of the chase drives repeat purchases, especially when favorite characters are just out of reach.
As the market grows, value is increasingly tied to scarcity. “When others can’t get their hands on it, whoever has this collectible can set the price and sell it for a higher amount,” Li says.
Yuan Meng, a 25-year-old fan of otome games — story-driven romances centered around animated male leads — knows the system well. At one point, a gift box from her favorite game, “Light and Night,” was rumored to be worth more than 100,000 yuan on secondhand platforms.
“If you don’t speculate on collectibles, someone else will,” she says. “Where there are people, there’s a market. And where there’s a market, there’s this kind of behavior. There’s no way around it.”
Yuan Meng’s guzi collection. Courtesy of Yuan
One of Yuan’s prized purchases was a badge from a collaboration between “Light and Night” and another popular franchise, “Sanrio,” which cost her 70 yuan — double its original price. Li, too, once paid 400 yuan for a vintage badge of Killua Zoldyck from “Hunter x Hunter,” only to see its value drop to 160 after reproductions flooded the market.
Though she considers herself more restrained these days, Li still places three to five orders a week — usually small items, she insists. But over time, the numbers have added up. Her collection now includes more than 1,000 badges and acrylic stands.
Buying joy
For many collectors, the value of those badges or acrylic stands is more emotional than material. Several tell Sixth Tone that the small objects offer comfort, routine, and a quiet sense of control, especially in a high-pressure world.
“Young consumers now prioritize self-expression, emotional satisfaction, and cultural identification over purely functional products,” says Zhu Jialiang, an assistant professor of economics at Xiamen University, in eastern China. “They’re more willing to pay for items with distinct personal or emotional significance.”
A recent survey by Shanghai’s Fudan University and short video platform Bilibili found that young Chinese consumers are increasingly balancing thrift with emotional indulgence; in lieu of luxury goods, they prefer low-cost items that offer joy, identity, or comfort.
“While they prioritize budget-friendly spending overall, they don’t hesitate to splurge in areas they care about,” the survey noted, calling emotional investment a growing priority.
Neither Li nor fellow collector Yuan sees much practical use for the merchandise they buy — but that’s not the point. The happiness it brings, they say, justifies the cost. And with most items priced low, it’s an affordable way to buy a little joy.
For Li, that joy often comes late in the evening. While her child does homework, she slips into livestreams to reconnect with old favorites, and with a part of herself she thought she’d left behind.
“When a beloved character is turned into something you can touch and see,” she says, “it becomes a kind of companion, a quiet emotional presence by your side.”
Fans browse an anime-themed store at New World City department store in Shanghai, April 2025, 2025. Wu Huiyuan/Sixth Tone
Yuan, 25, feels a similar connection, though hers is more intimate. Since college, she’s played otome games. Each month, she spends about 300 yuan on character-themed collectibles tied to the ones she’s emotionally attached to.
“I dedicate myself to one character in one game, and two in another,” she says. “It would feel inappropriate — almost disloyal — to buy things tied to anyone else.”
She keeps them close: on her desk, her dining table, her TV stand. Seeing them in her daily life, she says, makes the virtual feel more real. “It’s not just about the story anymore. These things enrich my everyday experience.”
Some fans even carry their collections out into the world. They fill tote bags or backpacks — dubbed tongbao or “painful bags” — with rows of neatly arranged badges and pins, often all devoted to a single character.
The name is a playful nod to the emotional and financial toll of fandom: these bags can cost hundreds of yuan to build, but often spark instant recognition from strangers who share the same obsession.
Brick and merch
And increasingly, there’s space for it. Across China, shopping malls are moving beyond just selling merchandise, turning fandom into an experience. Pop-up cafés, themed events, and entire floors of character shops now fill spaces once dominated by fast fashion and food courts, all tailored to the growing tastes of ACG fans.
Li sees it too. About once a month, she visits malls to hunt for ACG-themed pop-ups. At a recent event in a Shanghai mall, she browsed “Jujutsu Kaisen” merch at a coffee shop while sipping an anime-themed drink — one of several fandom stops that now share floor space with chain stores.
But the shift caught much of traditional retail off guard.
“Products haven’t kept up with how younger generations actually want to spend,” says Wang Xingquan, a researcher at the Shanghai Academy of Social Sciences. “The rise of guzi indicates that cultural products are occupying an increasingly significant portion of the economy.”
Banners for an anime pop up store at a shopping mall in Shanghai, April 2025. Ding Rui/Sixth Tone
In response, many traditional malls are moving away from outdated formats and leaning into ACG culture with themed events, specialty shops, and immersive fan experiences.
“Since the pandemic, shopping malls have struggled,” says Wang. “Traditional formats no longer resonate with young people. They don’t match their energy or sense of identity.”
According to Zheshang Securities, more than 60 major malls in China’s first- and second-tier cities are now building dedicated spaces for ACG consumption. Shanghai leads the trend in the number of character-themed stores.
One sign of that shift is Bailian ZX Creative Park, a shopping complex in downtown Shanghai that rebuilt itself around fandom. Opened in early 2023 in a repurposed department store, it now houses more than 40 anime-themed shops, making it one of China’s largest retail hubs for ACG culture.
At the Bailian ZX Creative Park in Shanghai, April 2025. Wu Huiyuan/Sixth Tone
At the Bailian ZX Creative Park in Shanghai, April 2025. Wu Huiyuan/Sixth Tone
At the Bailian ZX Creative Park in Shanghai, April 2025. Wu Huiyuan/Sixth Tone
At the Bailian ZX Creative Park in Shanghai, April 2025. Wu Huiyuan/Sixth Tone
At the Bailian ZX Creative Park in Shanghai, April 2025. Wu Huiyuan/Sixth Tone
At the Bailian ZX Creative Park in Shanghai, April 2025. Wu Huiyuan/Sixth Tone
At the Bailian ZX Creative Park in Shanghai, April 2025. Wu Huiyuan/Sixth Tone
At People’s Square in Shanghai, April 2025. Wu Huiyuan/Sixth Tone
The bet is paying off. In the first three quarters of 2024, the complex reported an 84% surge in sales and a 40% jump in foot traffic. “ACG culture is becoming more commercialized,” Li says. “Before, people just watched anime or read manga. Now, that passion has become something you can collect, display, and touch.”
None of this would scale without social media. Platforms like Xiaohongshu and Bilibili have turned niche fandoms into visible, viral communities. “Short video and recommendation algorithms have accelerated the spread of niche cultures,” says Zhu, the economics professor. “And a more open cultural climate gives guzi room to grow.”
And with domestic ACG industries mature — from homegrown anime series such as the wildly popular “Ne Zha” series to games by companies like Mihoyo — fans are starting to spend more on characters made in China.
“It’s all connected,” says Wang. “As more high-quality domestic content gains popularity and matures, we’ll witness a significant boom in domestic ACG consumption.”
A woman holds “Ne Zha 2” merchandise at the Bailian ZX Creative Park in Shanghai, April 2025. Wu Huiyuan/Sixth Tone
For fans like Yuan, her parents never quite understood that connection, but she doesn’t mind. “Everyone has things they don’t get,” she says. “There’s no need to explain. As long as no one criticizes me, it’s fine.”
Li agrees. At 39, she’s older than most in the fandom, but says shared obsessions bridge any gap. Sometimes, she even ends up calling a high school fan “teacher” — a playful term of respect in the community.
“No matter how old you are, your love for ACG can be something you share — or something deeply personal,” she says. “Even if you’re just quietly eating gu alone, it’s really not a big deal.”
Editor: Apurva.
(Header image: ACG merchandise vending machines at stores in Shanghai’s People’s Square, April 2025. Wu Huiyuan/Sixth Tone)