There’s a phenomenon in the Chinese hip-hop scene: some rappers copy a foreign artist’s style, flow, cadence, even melodies and beats and vocal delivery, wholesale. All they do is sing in Chinese. People used to call them “localization tailors”; these days there’s a more precise term — “clones.” The word is blunt and easy to get. It describes exactly what’s happening: full-on imitation of someone else, to the point of copying and cloning. If the language were the same you’d just call it plagiarism. But it’s not quite plagiarism — it’s arguably worse than plagiarism. Most clones copy only the flashy surface, never the substance. The result is clumsy and ridiculous and doesn’t bring anything new, whereas plagiarism at least lets you appreciate the original by proxy. This isn’t limited to hip-hop. Every scene has them. Even the visual novel scene — a sunset industry that’s been pronounced dead for years — has its clones, especially in the “Chinese-made” corner we’re all familiar with. Honestly, most Chinese visual novels are clones. The story is set in Chinese daily life, but nothing about it feels Chinese; the phrasing and every joke come straight from Japan. This is the “can’t talk like a normal person” anime-speak I’ve been complaining about for years. It’s deeply infected most Chinese gacha games too, making a whole bunch of Chinese voice actors sound painfully awkward, and then everyone blames the VAs’ skills and “mother tongue shame,” plus the purified fanbase that forms once these VAs get idolized and turned into streamers, all rushing to defend them. Peak postmodern structural carnival.