The recently concluded Gaokao (National College Entrance Examination) is a momentous event for millions of families across China. Held every June, it is a pivotal test that can shape a student’s entire future. Unsurprisingly, the intense pressure surrounding the exam often spills over to the parents, who become deeply anxious during this period.

This anxiety has even fueled a quirky trend: The popularity of certain symbolic items believed to bring good luck. For instance, some mothers dress in traditional qipao to escort their children to the exam venue, drawing on the phrase “qikai desheng”—which literally means “to win from the very start.” Fathers may wear a magua (a traditional jacket), as a nod to the phrase “madao chenggong”, or “instant success.”

This phenomenon offers a glimpse into one of the most enigmatic and culturally nuanced aspects of marketing and branding in China—what I call Auspicious Semiotics. It is a uniquely Chinese blend of symbolism, language, and superstition.

Deeply embedded in both written and spoken Chinese, its interpretations can become even more layered and diverse due to the country’s many dialects. In fact, the same symbol can carry vastly different meanings across regions.

A personal example

Let me share a personal example. I’m originally from Hong Kong, where Cantonese is my native language. I relocated to Beijing in my thirties and have lived here for over three decades, now primarily speaking Mandarin.

In Beijing and much of northern China, shop names often feature the character “鑫”—composed of three “金” (gold) radicals—symbolizing wealth and prosperity. But in Hong Kong and other Cantonese-speaking regions, this character is rarely used. It’s not only difficult for Cantonese speakers to pronounce, but also visually complex.

Instead, southern businesses tend to favor the character “发” (fa, meaning “to prosper”) or the number “8,” both of which sound like “making a fortune” in Cantonese.

Another example comes from the world of watches. In Cantonese regions, many self-made entrepreneurs from older generations wear gold Rolex watches—not necessarily as a display of wealth, but because the nickname “金劳” (Gold Rolex) sounds like “襟捞” in Cantonese, which conveys the meaning of “continuously being able to get business”.

This kind of phonetic symbolism can also work against a brand. Before the smartphone era was dominated by iPhone, Samsung, and Huawei, brands like Nokia, Ericsson, and Motorola were household names. However, Motorola faced resistance in Cantonese-speaking markets because its name sounded like “无得捞啦”—which roughly translates to “no more business” or “no work to do”— An ominous connotation for superstitious users.

Taking a “hotpot” approach

Given how deeply rooted and complex Auspicious Semiotics can be—shaped by dialects, traditions, and even foreign cultural influences—some marketers in China take a “hotpot” approach: Mixing multiple symbolic cues to appeal to as many audiences as possible. Take the building where my Beijing office is located, for instance. It’s a 30-plus story tower with four elevators divided for high and low floors.

The cut-off point is the 18th floor—the highest stop for the lower elevators—chosen because “18” sounds like “certain to prosper” in Chinese. The upper floors symbolize rising success.

If you look closely at the elevator control panel image above, you’ll notice that there’s no 4th or 14th floor—since the number “4” sounds like “death” in both Mandarin and Cantonese, and “14” even more ominously resembles “sure to die.” Interestingly, there’s no 13th floor either, in keeping with Western superstitions.

This seamless blending of Chinese and Western cultural sensitivities illustrates just how intricate—and at times bewildering—the world of Chinese consumer psychology can be.