From Matcha Girl to Coffee B*tch: Understanding Xiaohongshu’s mean girls at work

A new cast of workplace antiheroines is brewing on Xiaohongshu – and they’re not here to collaborate, inspire, or lean in. Through skits, memes and self-aware “story time” posts, a new language of female ambition is taking shape in China’s digital spaces. And it comes iced, steamed, and stirred with sarcasm.

The “Green Tea Girl” label isn’t new – it’s been circulating on social media since at least 2022, used to describe a girl who appears innocent but is actually manipulative, according to Vica Li, a Beijing-based social media personality who teaches Chinese words and phrases.

Other Chinese content creators echo this characterisation. New York City-based Pika Jenn, for example, creates Tiktok skits that parody Xiaohongshu tropes. In one video, she offers a quick round-up of different “tea b*tches”.

It’s all satire on social media. And it hits a nerve.

These viral “office villain” tropes aren’t just trending – they’re telling. They expose a deep cultural discomfort with female ambition, polish and power.

Psychologist Annabelle Chow explains that tropes like the Green Tea Girl or Coffee B*tch resonate because they tap into anxieties about how women navigate success.

“When someone’s rise feels murky or performative, it contradicts traditional ideas of hard work and integrity. That raises questions about how credible or deserved their success is, and invites scrutiny of their character or morality,” she says.

In a generation fluent in burnout and branding, these tropes feel almost inevitable. Each villain breaks an unspoken rule: Don’t be too composed, too visible, too strategic – too much.

Green Tea Girl, a long-standing figure in Chinese slang, weaponises innocence. The newer Matcha Girl updates the archetype, swopping flirtation for filtered wellness – yet still coded as emotionally manipulative. Milk Tea Girls are soft, sweet and (allegedly) transactional. And the Coffee B*tch? She’s efficient, eloquent, and always one Powerpoint ahead – which somehow makes her the most dangerous of all.

“I always wondered about the drinks reference,” says designer Richie Tai, 31. “It feels like an extension of how we objectify women. But in this case, it’s women critiquing each other – filtered through aesthetics and humour.”

These aren’t just drinks; they’re diagnoses. What appears to be parody masks a potent blend of aesthetic envy, internalised misogyny and generational fatigue.

From Xiaohongshu to Tiktok

Unlike classic office satire – think Parks And Recreation or The Office – these caricatures are often self-authored. The irony? Many women laugh with the joke, until they realise it’s laughing at them.

Vivien Shan Wen, a senior lecturer in Human Resource Management at the Singapore University of Social Sciences (SUSS), conducted a series of studies in 2016 showing that stereotypically communal tactics are perceived as masculine in collectivist cultures like China.

When women adopt these behaviours – especially in visibly strategic ways – they often trigger discomfort and moral condemnation. The satire stings because it’s reflexive. They reveal how deeply women have internalised the impossible expectations of likability, femininity and leadership.

According to Vivien, women like the Green Tea Girl are disliked because they appropriate relational capital – a domain culturally reserved for men – to advance their own interests.

She adds: “Internalised misogyny in the digital age manifests as women policing and enforcing gender norms on each other through memes, satire, and other forms of online content.

“This phenomenon reflects how misogynistic attitudes are not only externally imposed by patriarchal structures, but also internalised by women, who may consciously or unconsciously uphold and transmit these norms to maintain social cohesion or avoid personal backlash.”

And it seems this experience is near-universal.

Though these tropes are born from Chinese Internet culture, their emotional DNA translates globally. On Tiktok, the “Pick-Me Girl”, the burnout girlboss, and the hyper-curated #thatgirl echoes these archetypes with uncanny familiarity.

Different apps, same subtext: There’s no universally “right” way to be an ambitious woman online. Be too driven, and you’re manipulative. Too pretty, you’re vapid. Too successful, you’re fake. The metaphors may shift from the likes of beverages, but the cultural unease they stir is strikingly familiar.

“You can’t win. So a lot of us are just… performing. We build a version of ourselves we think will be tolerated,” says Amira Said, 35, a media strategist.

HR manager Manda Lim, 28, says she’s seen opinionated women at work labelled unfairly – sometimes just for asking questions in meetings. “It’s like any display of soft power is interpreted as manipulation,” she says. “The problem isn’t the women; it’s the lens we’re looking through.”

As someone in HR, Manda has learnt to intervene early. “When I hear vague feedback about a female employee – like ‘she’s difficult’ or ‘not a team player’ – I always ask: What do you mean by that? What exactly did she do? And how would you interpret it if a man did the same thing?”

She also tries to change the way people talk about women at work. “During performance reviews, I remind managers that being confident or direct isn’t a bad thing. The point isn’t to make women less outspoken – it’s to help people notice their own biases.”

“Company culture is huge,” says Helen Jailani, 37, a former office worker turned freelancer. “Once you stereotype women at work, you stop giving them the space to thrive.”

She recalls feeling boxed in by expectations that had little to do with her actual performance. “I wasn’t just doing the job – I was constantly managing how I was seen doing the job. If I was assertive, I was told to be more ‘approachable’. If I held boundaries, I was called ‘difficult’. Eventually, I realised the culture wasn’t going to change fast enough. So I left.”

Now as a freelancer, she sees how deeply those dynamics are internalised. “Even now, outside the corporate structure, I sometimes catch myself apologising for being direct. That tells you how much workplace norms shape our sense of self.”

That’s the danger – when a Coffee Queen’s competence becomes grounds for suspicion, and calling someone a “Green Tea Girl” becomes shorthand for undermining her success. It’s still sexism – just rebranded, self-inflicted, and steeped in irony.

What ambition actually looks like

What fuels these memes isn’t just misogyny – it’s a shared anxiety about performing femininity and productivity in systems that penalise both. Satire only makes it more complex.

Annabelle explains: “While satire can expose double standards, it can just as easily backfire if the message isn’t clear – reinforcing the very stereotypes it aims to challenge. Humour becomes a subtle way women police one another – driven by pressure to appear more competent or in control.”

She continues: “Self-authored satire – when women create and share caricatures that also implicate themselves – reflects the complex ways they navigate gender expectations. By engaging with these tropes, they’re often trying to manage how they’re perceived – signalling awareness of the rules while quietly pushing back against them.”

For Beatrice Soh, 34, a former fintech manager, these tensions feel personal. “I looked up to my female bosses,” she says. “They were sharp, respected, and didn’t shrink themselves to make others comfortable. That kind of confidence felt aspirational – but also, honestly, a little intimidating.”

She adds: “Not every woman wants to climb the ladder. Some just want a soft life, and maybe bake sourdough – and that’s valid too. But even when I did want more, I found myself second-guessing it.”

“Sometimes I wonder if it’s my upbringing,” she reflects. “In Asian cultures, humility is prized. You’re taught to work hard quietly – not to brag, not to stand out too much. I think that held me back from fully owning my ambition – like I was waiting for someone to notice, instead of stepping up and taking space.”

Others took a different path, and still paid the price. “I was direct, I delivered results, and I didn’t apologise for either,” says Noor, 36, a senior executive in advertising. “Guess what I got called? ‘Intense’, ‘intimidating’, and my favourite: ‘too much’. Not just by men – by other women too.”

She says things have improved in her current role, but the double standard still lingers.

“I’m in a more supportive environment now, with leadership that actually values clarity and decisiveness. But I still catch myself softening e-mails, adding smiley faces, qualifying opinions – just to seem more palatable. It’s exhausting, constantly calibrating how to appear strong without being threatening.”

This tension – between drive and doubt, softness and strength, likeability and leadership – defines the workplace reality for many women. The result is a digital hall of mirrors where ambition isn’t judged by capability, but by how seamlessly it’s disguised.

“Ambition, which ideally begins as a personal and internally motivated pursuit, can become increasingly shaped by how it is perceived by others,” Annabelle says.

“In highly visible digital spaces, women may prioritise how their goals are presented, how likeable or acceptable they appear, rather than what they truly value. Over time, this can lead to a loss of authenticity.”

As women try to align with shifting expectations shaped by race, class and age, they often end up adjusting not just how they present themselves, but their actual goals. What once felt meaningful can start to feel performative – driven more by external validation than internal purpose.

The truth is, most women aren’t trying to be villains. They’re trying to be heard. They’re navigating impossible expectations: to lead without being intimidating, to be composed but not cold, to succeed without seeming like they wanted it too much.

These memes may be funny, but they don’t exist in a vacuum. They echo in meetings, in performance reviews, in the quiet calculus of how to show up without showing off.

It’s a way to laugh at a system still uneasy with women who own their power. At the end of the day, most of us aren’t Green Tea Girls or Coffee B*tches. We’re just tired. We’re trying. We’re doing our best – while being told we’re too much.

And maybe the most subversive thing a woman can be at work isn’t agreeable, or accommodating, or even aspirational. Maybe it’s about being true to ourselves, and knowing with confidence what we bring to the table.