This morning, the Guardian’s Amy Hawkins offers a delightful split-screen portrait of global consciousness, highlighting two trends playing out in parallel on US and Chinese social media.

• On US platforms like TikTok and Instagram, “young people are diving into the joys of Chinese culture — from drinking hot water to playing mahjong — all under the banner of ‘Chinamaxxing,’” she writes.
• On the Chinese internet, meanwhile, “the US is losing its decades-long grip on soft power, and is instead being replaced by a darker trend: the kill line.”

Hawkins explains that Chinese social media, blogs, and academic journals have lately taken to depicting “a vision of the US as a dystopian capitalist hell,” governed by what a Chinese news presenter called “a ‘kill line’ in American society where the middle class plummets into the underclass.”

The kill line “exposes America’s dual nature: the winners achieve ultimate success, while the losers fall into an abyss from which there is no return.”

The backstory:

The latest trend started in November, when a Chinese student living in Seattle posted a five-hour-long stream to the Chinese video-sharing website BiliBili. In the video, which has since attracted more than 3m views, he describes seeing hungry children at Halloween and the harsh realities of life for disadvantaged people in the world’s biggest economy. Soon, the term “kill line” took on a life of its own.

The meme has so captured the Chinese imagination that at a press conference at Davos in January, Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent was repeatedly asked to comment on the kill line by a Chinese state media journalist.

“I don’t understand the question,” he replied. (No kidding.)

Bernie Sanders never tires of pointing out that 60 percent of Americans live paycheck to paycheck, which infuriates a certain type of online wonk for some reason. When I posted about the phenomenon last year, I illustrated the point with the chart below, which shows that while the rich in the United States have been stockpiling ever-larger cash buffers as a percentage of income, the rest of the population has been unable to follow suit:

As it turns out, Americans are uniquely incapable of building savings buffers from their incomes.

You can see this in the chart below, which plots disposable income against non-retirement financial assets for households at each decile threshold of the income and asset distributions, from the 10th to the 90th percentiles, in nine countries. (The data are taken from the Luxembourg Wealth Study, which harmonizes the numbers to make them comparable across countries. For data mavens, “non-retirement financial assets” corresponds to “financial assets” (FIN) minus “quasi-liquid retirement accounts” (RETQLIQ) in the Fed’s Survey of Consumer Finances.)

All data are from 2018 or 2019 (except for France, which is from 2014).

So, for example, while the median Australian household has 12 percent less disposable income than its American counterpart, it has 60 percent more in financial assets. In Canada, the numbers are 5 percent less income and 43 percent more assets. In Denmark it’s 19 percent less income and 74 percent more assets. In France it’s 28 percent less income and 41 percent more assets.

One clue as to why this may be the case is supplied by the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development’s (OECD) technical manual for disposable income statistics, which I quoted from in my last post:

As the manual puts it, disposable income excludes “goods and services provided by government that benefit individuals but which are provided free or at subsidized prices,” which “generally include education, health, social welfare, transport and cultural services” . . .

This omission “presents difficulties when the provision of such services differs greatly” between countries because in countries where such public expenditures “are relatively sparse, a higher income will be required to support a particular standard of living than in a country where a wide range of benefits are provided, all other things being equal.”

But statistical exegesis is of little comfort to America’s destitute and house-bound TikTok teens, who can only gaze longingly at Chinese savoir-vivre through their tiny internet portals:

While internet users in China are gawking at the idea of a US riven by poverty and chaos, for their American counterparts it is quite the opposite.

With “Chinamaxxing”, American teenagers are reveling in traditional Chinese lifestyle hacks such as drinking hot water or wearing slippers indoors. The trend’s slogan? “You’ve met me at a very Chinese time in my life”.