内卷

What does 内卷 mean?

内卷 (nèijuǎn), usually translated as 'involution', is the word an entire generation of Chinese students and workers chose to describe their lives. It borrows an obscure anthropology term (Clifford Geertz used 'agricultural involution' to describe farming that absorbs ever more labor without growing output) and applies it to modern life: when a system stops growing, the competition inside it turns inward and intensifies, so everyone must run faster just to stay in place.

The word exploded around 2020, famously alongside photos of a Tsinghua University student riding a bicycle while balancing an open laptop — crowned 卷王 (juǎn wáng), 'the king of involution'. If your classmates study until midnight, you must study until 1 a.m.; if your coworkers voluntarily work weekends, the baseline shifts and now weekend work is simply expected. Nobody gains — the exam admits the same number of students, the company pays the same salaries — but everyone burns more hours. That is 内卷.

Grammatically it is remarkably flexible. 卷 alone works as a verb: 太卷了 (tài juǎn le, 'it's so cutthroat'), 别卷了 (bié juǎn le, 'stop grinding'), and calling a hardworking colleague 卷王 is a half-compliment, half-accusation.

内卷 matters because it is the premise for a whole family of counter-slang: 躺平 (lying flat), 摆烂 (letting it rot), and 松弛感 (the aspirational 'relaxed vibe') are all reactions to an involuted society. Understand 内卷 and half of modern Chinese internet discourse unlocks itself.