張文捷

In a quiet corner of the internet， 223，686 “corpses （尸體 sh～t@）” abjectly declare themselves to be “dead.” They share the stories behind their demise in forums titled “Corpse Cremation Section?（尸體火化區(qū) Sh～t@ Hu6hu3q$），” “Corpse Removal Section （尸體搬運區(qū) Sh～t@ B`ny&nq$），” and “Corpse Mourning Section （尸體默哀區(qū) Sh～t@ M7`iq$），” while those still showing signs of life seek last-minute advice in the “Dying Words Section （臨終遺言區(qū) L！nzh4ng Y！y1nq$）” on how they might save themselves.

Dont panic！ This is not a horror film. The Social Death Group （社會性死亡小組 Sh-hu#x#ng S@w1ng Xi2oz^） is a community on Douban， a youth-oriented social networking site. Here， users discuss various embarrassing gaffes from their daily life， such as listening to music in the library with their headphones unplugged or accidentally calling their boss “baby.”

Social death， or 社會性死亡 （sh-hu#x#ng s@w1ng）， is a sociology term referring to outcasts from mainstream society. Chinese youngsters， however， have developed a new understanding of it—to do something so embarrassing in public that they momentarily wish they were dead.

One “corpse”on Douban recalled a time when she farted loudly during a quiet examination. Deeply humiliated， she continued writing， and hoped everybody would ignore it， until the invigilator came over and demanded， “Give it to me”—apparently， he believed that the noise has been made by her phone. “I died a social death right there” （我當(dāng)場社會性死亡 W6 d`ngch2ng sh-hu#x#ng s@w1ng），” she wrote.

The buzzword is sometimes abbreviated as “社死 （sh-s@）.” Someone might say of a humiliating faux pas， “I was so embarrassed that it was nearly the scene of my social death （我太尷尬了，這簡直是我的社死現(xiàn)場 W6 t3i g`ng3 le， zh- ji2nzh！ sh# w6 de sh-s@ xi3nch2ng）.” It can even be used as a verb， like： “I socially died immediately （我直接社死了 W6 zh！ji8 sh-s@ le）.”

During the Covid-19 pandemic， online meetings became scenes of many grisly social massacres. Xiang， a “corpse” in the Douban group， recounted that he accidentally unmuted his microphone during a Zoom meeting. Thus， while his boss was giving a speech， 30 colleagues heard him playing the ukulele and singing in the background. Numerous users wrote that they mistakenly sent private messages to their colleagues， work chats， and even their boss.

Social death can be understood as a modern update to the expression “l(fā)osing face （丟臉 di$li2n），” which means feeling humiliated or ashamed. Though the feeling is not exclusive to China， a cooperative culture and Confucian traditions stressing rites

（禮 l@） have established many social norms， and flouting them can be considered a huge offense， known as “l(fā)osing ritual （失禮 sh～l@）” or， colloquially， “hugely losing face （丟臉丟大了 di$li2n di$ d3 le）.”

Career novices， who have just entered the job market， seem particularly susceptible to social death. Comparing themselves to 社畜 （sh-ch&）， or “corporate livestock，” they are saddled with banal tasks at work and feel intimidated by their more experienced colleagues. Without much power， and low on the corporate ladder， they worry about making basic mistakes and attracting criticism that could set them back in their career.

In this situation， it can be a relief to join the online ranks of the socially dead. By sharing ones stories with strangers and laughing at their misfortunes in turn， discouraging moments are put in perspective and transformed into jokes. If nothing else， its reassuring to know that others have it worse.