Scrolling through a popular forum, you see a question: ‘Why does the AI named ‘Bean Bun’ keep getting called ‘Sugar Bun’? Did they never intend to be taken seriously?’ The top response? A picture of a crying college student captioned with a meme about his mother. It gets 10,000 upvotes. A second question: ‘Why can’t we just abolish pediatrics and send kids to different adult specialists?’ The answer is two images—one a child’s head, one an adult’s—side by side. No explanation. Another 8,000 upvotes.
This is the content that owns the internet. And it’s not low-quality. It’s a masterpiece of social engineering.
We’ve been trained to believe that viral content must be useful—informative, actionable, insightful. But the most viral content on platforms like Zhihu, Reddit, and Twitter is the exact opposite: it’s deliberately useless. It refuses to answer the question. It derails with absurdity. And that’s exactly why it spreads.
Belonging beats information every time.
When you see a joke that only makes sense if you’re already part of the community, you feel a jolt of recognition. You’re in on the secret. The question serves as a trap—a filter that separates the outsiders from the insiders. The ‘correct’ answer isn’t the factual one; it’s the one that signals shared irreverence.
Take the ‘Sugar Bun’ AI. The original name ‘Bean Bun’ is a pun in Chinese that sounds like ‘dumb’. Calling it ‘Sugar Bun’ is an inside joke that mocks the AI’s perceived uselessness. The community doesn’t care about the actual naming rationale. They care about the shared laugh at the expense of the AI’s creators. The most irrelevant reply is the most relevant to the community.
Or the pediatric question. The two images of child vs. adult skulls are a brutal visual punchline: children aren’t just small adults. The answer is so obvious it’s absurd to even ask. The community’s laughter is a collective eye-roll at the questioner’s naivety. It’s a ritual of establishing who belongs.
This is the ‘Mimeng’ principle in action: emotion first, logic second. The emotion here is the relief of not having to be serious. The joy of being in on the joke. The pride of participating in a group that values cleverness over correctness.
Then there’s the guy who bought ‘miniature gourd seeds’ online, smuggled them to Germany, grew them for months, and ended up with massive, cartoonish gourds. The post is a self-deprecating epic fail. But it’s not a failure—it’s a gift to the community. Every commenter can share in the absurdity of someone’s wasted effort. Failure is the new currency of online belonging.
Platforms love this content because it’s engagement-efficient. A single absurd reply generates hundreds of replies, shares, and screenshots. It’s a self-perpetuating machine. The algorithm amplifies it because it keeps people scrolling, laughing, and feeling connected.
So stop trying to be valuable. Stop writing ‘Uses of X’ or ‘Guide to Y’. Neutrality is death. Controversy is a cubicle. Absurdity is the throne.
The next time you create content, ask yourself: does this make people feel like they’re part of something? Does it reward insider knowledge? Does it make them want to forward it to a friend with a ‘you have to see this’? If not, you’re just adding noise. The internet is already full of information. What it craves is belonging—and nothing builds belonging faster than shared nonsense.
Embrace the absurd. Your community is waiting.
FAQ
Q: Isn't this just low-effort content that lowers the quality of discussion?
A: Yes, but that's the point. The community doesn't want discussion; they want shared identity. The low effort is a signal that you're not trying to be useful, you're trying to be part of the tribe. The 'quality' they value is not accuracy but cultural resonance.
Q: How can I apply this to my own content strategy?
A: Stop trying to be informative. Start being absurd. Create inside jokes that only your audience gets. Use specific references, callbacks, and self-deprecating failures. The more exclusive the humor, the stronger the bond. Measure success by how many people say 'I feel seen' rather than 'I learned something.'
Q: Isn't this just a fad? Will people eventually tire of nonsense?
A: Nonsense has been a pillar of human culture since ancient times—from court jesters to memes. It's not a fad; it's a fundamental social need. The format changes, but the desire to share absurdity never dies. The platforms that embrace it will thrive; those that try to enforce 'value' will wither.