The Furry You Are Following Does Not Exist: A Re-Introduction to 银碳Gintan
Editor’s Note (Updated November 3): After publication, I realized I had overlooked a detail: Gintan appears as a paid skin in PUBG Mobile. Relevant content has been added.
Can you take him out for hotpot?
That’s the question my friend asked when we saw 银碳Gintan at a convention. Not “Do you like his suit?” Not “Isn’t he famous?”
“Can you take him out for hotpot?”
Like you would with any other furry. Like you would with a real person.
The answer, we both knew, was no.
You can take photos from a distance. You can watch his videos. You can follow his accounts.
But you cannot have hotpot with him.
Because the furry you are following does not exist.
I.
When I say Gintan does not exist, I don’t mean the suit doesn’t exist. I don’t mean the videos are AI generated.
Perhaps there is indeed a real individual behind this image, but that’s not the point: this individual operates in a way fundamentally different from any genuine community member.
Let me be more direct: as a person you can know, talk to, build a relationship with—he does not exist.
No history. No “first clumsy drawing from 2015.” No story of discovery and growth that you can trace back through years of posts and community interactions.
No real social presence. You cannot DM him and get a genuine conversation. You cannot meet him at a con and grab dinner afterward.
No community accountability. When the community questions him, the response is “mind your own business.”
No accessible person. Behind layers of MCN companies and PR teams, this individual is separated from ordinary community interaction by impenetrable commercial logic. And precisely because of this opaque commercial infrastructure, the performer could theoretically be replaced at any time. No one would know, no one could verify.
He exists the way a brand mascot exists.
And somehow, this brand mascot has become “the representative” of Chinese furry culture.
We didn’t choose him. Capital did.
II.
Here’s what happened:
For twenty years, real people built Chinese furry culture.
Artists posting their first nervous sketches on Tieba in the early 2000s, wondering if anyone else out there felt the same way.
The first tiny furcons in the 2010s—dozens of people, terrified and excited, confirming to each other: “We’re not alone.”
Makers learning to sew suits by hand, one stitch at a time, with no templates, no guides, just trial and error and determination.
Writers, musicians, organizers. People who risked misunderstanding from family and friends. People who carved out space in a culture that didn’t know what to make of them.
Twenty years of slow, careful, genuine growth.
Then Gintan appeared.
Fully formed. Professional production. Mainstream TV exposure. Marketing infrastructure.
And in one two-hour variety show on Hunan TV—China’s biggest entertainment channel—he strip-mined what we spent twenty years building.
III.
On that show, Gintan was presented as “anthropomorphic animal character circle social media personality.”
Not as a person with a story. Not as an artist or creator with something to say.
As a spectacle. An animal to be laughed at, played with, petted by celebrity guests who had no interest in understanding what furry actually means.
The hosts didn’t try to understand. Why would they? They were there to package novelty for mass consumption. To offer viewers something “weird” to gawk at.
And Gintan—or whoever was in that suit—played along.
That’s what they sold: freak show tickets.
Not culture. Not understanding. Not respect. Spectacle.
And millions watched. Millions who will now “know” what furry is: that weird thing where people dress up like animals and act cute on TV.
IV.
Let’s be absolutely clear about the transaction that took place:
Gintan gained:
- Fame, followers, monetization opportunities—including becoming a paid skin in PUBG Mobile, a globally distributed commercial product
- International visibility (now perhaps the most visible “Chinese furry” to outside observers)
- Career capital that can be leveraged indefinitely
Gintan paid:
- Nothing of substance. No years building community trust. No risk of personal stigma. No emotional stake in this culture’s survival.
Real furry creators gained:
- A distorted public image that will take years to correct
- Deeper stereotypes to fight against whenever we try to explain ourselves
- A demonstration that authenticity doesn’t matter—only advertising budget matters
Real furry creators paid:
- Twenty years of careful cultural cultivation
- Future space for genuine understanding
- Attention and opportunities (attention is zero-sum; every million views he captures is visibility real creators will never get)
- The emotional devastation of watching something you love being abused, distorted, and sold as a one-time novelty
Privatized gains. Socialized costs.
This is the definition of exploitation.
V.
Think of a culture as a bank account filled with accumulated trust, goodwill, public curiosity, and the potential for understanding.
Healthy cultural exchange is like careful, strategic withdrawals:
- Each exposure is respectful and accurate
- Each interaction builds genuine understanding
- The account balance grows over time as more people develop real appreciation
What Gintan did was max out the credit card in a single night.
One massive platform. Most sensationalized presentation possible. Maximum speed, minimum depth.
He didn’t share culture. He strip-mined it for novelty value.
And novelty is a one-time consumable. Those millions who watched that variety show got their curiosity satisfied. They’re done. They won’t seek deeper understanding. They already “know” what furry is—they saw it on TV.
But it doesn’t stop there. The variety show manufactured visibility, and then a paid skin in PUBG Mobile—one of the world’s largest games with hundreds of millions of players—converted that credibility directly into revenue.
The account isn’t just at zero now. It’s deeply in the red.
We’re not starting from a blank slate when we try to build understanding. We’re starting from the wreckage of that stereotype, having to say “No, we’re not actually like that” before any real conversation can even begin.
And Gintan? He extracted the value, moved to international platforms, continued monetizing the furry aesthetic.
He can leave. We can’t.
This is our identity, not his business venture.
VI.
After the backlash, Gintan posted a response. Let’s examine what it reveals:
“I had no decision-making power”
He claims the show’s presentation wasn’t his choice—that was all the production team’s doing.
Here’s the question: If you truly cared how this culture would be presented to tens of millions of viewers, would you appear on a show where you have no decision-making power over that presentation?
Someone who genuinely cares would say: “If you’re going to present it that way, I’m not participating.”
But Gintan chose to participate. Because what he wanted was exposure, not accurate representation.
“I hope more people will like furry”
He says his intention was to make more people like furry culture.
Let’s examine the results: Did those tens of millions of viewers come away “liking” furry? Or did they consume a novelty, form a shallow stereotype, and move on?
Making people “like” something and making them “consume spectacle” are not the same thing.
“Without new blood, the community will decline”
This is a false threat.
He’s implying: either accept my methods or watch the community die.
A shameful slippery slope fallacy.
And we don’t need “new blood” that arrives for the spectacle and leaves with stereotypes intact. We need people who genuinely want to understand this culture.
“I genuinely love furry”
He spent paragraphs explaining how much he loves furry, how hard he works.
But let me ask that simple question again: Can you take him out for hotpot?
Someone who truly loves a culture integrates themselves into that community. They build real relationships with its members. They earn recognition organically.
But Gintan has never appeared to be part of the community. He is a commercial project that hovers above the community, extracting value from its symbols.
Love isn’t what you say. It’s what you do.
“The company just provides support”
He describes the company as merely offering production support, venue access, and sponsorship coordination.
But that IS a commercial operation: professional team, systematic workflow, profit-sharing structure.
The scale of this operation is unprecedented in Chinese and even global furry history: appearing on the nation’s largest entertainment channel, then licensing the IP to one of the world’s most-played games. No other furry creator has ever achieved—or even sought—this level of commercial-scale exposure.
The reason is obvious: this kind of rapid, mass-market exposure inevitably distorts.
There’s nothing inherently wrong with commercialization. Many creators monetize their work.
The crucial difference:
Real creators build community recognition first, then commercialize.
Gintan commercialized first, then sought community recognition.
Real creators’ commercial success is built on community trust.
Gintan’s commercial model bypasses the community entirely, selling furry aesthetics directly to outside audiences.
This is why he’s an industry plant.
What does this response ultimately prove?
That he fundamentally misunderstands the core issue.
Our problem isn’t “you appeared on TV.”
Our problem isn’t “you’re making money.”
Our problem isn’t “you want more people to know about furry.”
Our problem is: you used extractive, exploitative methods to sell our culture as disposable novelty to people who will never understand it, leaving us to deal with the stigma.
Our problem is: you were never part of this community, yet you occupy the representative position.
Our problem is: you can walk away. We can’t. This is our identity, not your business.
His response addresses none of these core issues. Only deflection, only “I had no choice,” only “I meant well.”
Don’t watch what he says. Watch what he does.
What he did was strip-mine furry culture’s credibility for a two-hour variety show, extracting value for himself while leaving the community to handle the aftermath.
VII.
If you’re not furry, you might think: “Why should I care about this?”
Because what’s happening to furry culture is happening everywhere.
In the attention economy, subcultures have become exploitable resources:
- Capital identifies a subculture with commercial potential
- Manufactures a “representative” who bypasses organic community processes
- Strips away complexity, packages it for mass consumption
- Monetizes quickly, exits before long-term damage becomes visible
This is the new normal: cultural strip-mining.
Today it’s furry. Tomorrow it’s any subculture you care about.
Authenticity is systematically losing to well-funded manufactured images.
If we normalize this—if we accept that money can simply purchase representative status—we’re accepting a world where:
- All culture is controlled by whoever has the marketing budget
- Real creators remain permanently invisible
- “Representatives” are chosen by capital, not communities
- Nothing is real; everything is brand
VIII.
So let me re-introduce you to real Chinese furry culture.
It’s not a single face. That’s the entire point.
It’s thousands of people you can actually have hotpot with:
- Artists who’ve been posting on DeviantArt and Pixiv for a decade
- Makers who sew suits one stitch at a time
- Writers sharing stories on Bilibili and other platforms
- Organizers who risk social stigma to run conventions where real community happens
- Countless people without “influencer” status who simply love this culture and participate authentically
It’s not “highly produced.” It’s real.
It’s not backed by marketing budgets. It’s sustained by genuine connection.
Our strength was never spectacle or production value. It was authenticity.
And that’s what we’re defending.
IX.
How to distinguish a real furry from an industry plant:
Ask one question: “Can I have hotpot with them?”
If yes—if you can message them and get a conversation with genuine emotion; if others can meet them at conventions and take photos without fighting through crowds; if people can see their history and growth trajectory, observe their real footprint within the community; if their professional competence can convince industry peers—that’s real.
If no—if you can only watch from a distance as they’re surrounded by admirers; if there’s no avenue for genuine interaction, with only other performers appearing alongside them; if someone has brought negative impact to the community but refuses community accountability; if a massive fanbase appeared overnight rather than through gradual accumulation—you’re looking at a commercial project that uses furry aesthetics, no different from any other trademark using animal imagery.
It’s that simple.
Authenticity is testable.
X.
To the furry community:
We will not be silent while our culture is strip-mined for profit.
We refuse to let industry plants represent us.
We will not share, promote, or legitimize commercial projects that bypass community recognition and accountability.
We will actively support real creators—with our attention, our commissions, our voices.
We will tell our own stories, loudly and persistently, so capital cannot monopolize the narrative.
We will build and defend spaces where authenticity matters more than production value, where real relationships matter more than follower counts.
We are the ones who can be taken out for hotpot. We are real. And we will make absolutely certain everyone knows it.
To media and platforms:
If you want to cover furry culture, talk to actual furries.
Not whoever has the biggest marketing budget. Not whoever’s team pitches you the slickest package.
Talk to creators who’ve been here for years. Talk to community organizers. Talk to people with genuine social bonds within this culture.
Your laziness—simply covering whoever is most visible—enables and rewards cultural exploitation.
Do better.
To international communities:
That “Chinese furry” you keep seeing everywhere, the most visible one?
He doesn’t represent the community. He represents a marketing team’s hypothesis about what might sell.
Real Chinese furry creators exist. They’re just not backed by commercial infrastructure and algorithm optimization.
Seek them out. Ask critical questions. Don’t let information asymmetry determine who gets to be “the representative.”
To anyone who cares about authentic culture:
This is a defining struggle of our era.
Capital versus authenticity. Marketing budgets versus real communities. Industry plants versus actual people.
The attention economy is strip-mining subcultures globally, converting them into one-time-use novelty products, leaving communities to deal with lasting damage while profit flows elsewhere.
If you care about any culture—music, art, fashion, any subculture or community—this matters to you.
Because if we normalize this, if we accept that money can simply buy representation and authenticity becomes irrelevant, we lose everything real.
The furry you are following does not exist.
But we do.
We will not let our culture be strip-mined in silence.
See us. Hear us.
We are the ones you can have hotpot with.
We are real.