For over ten hours, TikTok went dark. Influencers posted tearful goodbyes, and sellers scrambled to manage stranded shipments—all triggered by a ban that was only paused at the last minute by US President Donald Trump.
For sellers targeting overseas markets who maintained their faith in the platform, this gamble has, for now, paid off.
Even just five days before the divest-or-ban order was set to take effect, TikTok’s recruitment fair in Shenzhen went ahead as scheduled. The event was packed with sellers and service providers, but sellers recalled to 36Kr that nobody at the fair discussed the impending ban. “Everyone was talking about how to prepare for peak season and build content strategies,” one seller said.
No matter how dire the news was, overseas sellers sought to selectively focus on the bright side.
Even as a blurry, unverified screenshot circulated within the community—claiming three senators and one congressman had introduced legislation to extend the deadline—it turned out to be nothing more than an ineffective appeal.
This optimism may also be fueled by deliberate morale-boosting efforts within TikTok. When asked about the ban, a TikTok account manager reassured a seller that there was no internal concern whatsoever, adding that TikTok’s leadership had set ambitious growth targets. Inspired by this confidence, one seller decided to stock up on promotional inventory for 2025, aligning with the company’s bold aspirations.
Still, there was an air of defiance as sellers seemed to be willfully ignoring the looming threat. One of them said:
“Honestly, there’s nothing we can do to change it. All we can do is wait.”
The persistence of business owners may very well lie in this simple mantra: hold out until the last possible minute, and make the last possible cent.
In China where retail sales are growing at less than 3%, TikTok offers e-commerce sellers an invaluable opportunity.
In the first three quarters of 2024, according to estimates from China’s General Administration of Customs, cross-border e-commerce imports and exports grew by 11.5% year-on-year, outpacing the overall trade growth of 6.2% during the same period. Platforms like Temu, TikTok Shop, AliExpress, and Shein achieved a combined gross merchandise value (GMV) of over USD 100 billion. Such results have led the media to dubbed these four platforms China’s “four little dragons” of cross-border e-commerce.
One Amazon seller, who also operates on TikTok Shop and Temu, told 36Kr: “There won’t be another cross-border e-commerce giant that goes from zero to one in the next decade while offering this kind of traffic support for sellers. You have to seize this early-stage opportunity.”
Inspired by this potential, the seller even convinced her younger brother, who previously worked at a state-owned enterprise, to try his hand at Temu. Within a month, he was generating five figures (RMB) in sales. “In just six months of cross-border e-commerce, he earned more than he did in years at his previous job,” she added.
A wave of Chinese sellers is following the four key players into the global marketplace. They believe that no matter the geopolitical tensions, the high value and competitive prices of Chinese goods will always find a market.
However, beneath the frenzy of cross-border e-commerce lies a shifting narrative of global ambitions and mounting challenges. TikTok’s repeated close calls with US bans serve as a microcosm of the challenges facing this generation of Chinese companies trying to globalize.
One should not forget that the figure many sellers now see as TikTok’s savior— Donald Trump—left behind a legacy of tariffs, isolationism, and aggressive opposition during his previous term. Just five years ago, it was Trump who signed the first executive order targeting TikTok, igniting a relentless campaign to ban the platform.
The era of unchecked expansion has ended. By 2025, any Chinese company aspiring to globalize must learn to navigate a world fraught with hostility, restrictions, and opposition—dancing with the world while bound by constraints.
Temu and Alibaba as driving forces
Take seller Lin Feng (pseudonym), for instance. When his order count on Temu surged to 20,000, he was stunned.
It was completely unexpected. For years, Lin Feng had been selling on Amazon, making a stable but modest income. But in 2023, when unsold inventory became a headache, a friend suggested offloading it on Temu. To his surprise, the product became a bestseller. “On Amazon, I might sell 1,000–2,000 units a month, but on Temu, sales increased tenfold,” he told 36Kr.
The cross-border e-commerce landscape has reached levels of growth over the past two years that were previously unseen. Amazon used to dominate the sector with steady, predictable growth. However, under the dual pressures of weak domestic consumption and stricter regulations for internet companies, giants like ByteDance, Alibaba, and Pinduoduo have since entered the market with unprecedented levels of talent, ambition, and capital.
In 2021, when Jiang Fan was reassigned to lead Alibaba’s international business, the division was still peripheral to the company’s core operations. Under his reorganization, AliExpress introduced a game-changing model in late 2022: fully managed services.
For sellers, the model was straightforward: simply stock inventory in the platform’s domestic warehouse, and the rest (operations, fulfillment, and customer service) will be handled by the platform.
This model emerged from insights gained during the pandemic. When global reliance on Chinese manufacturing surged, many sellers experienced record sales but were hampered by logistical challenges. Ships stuck at overseas ports and skyrocketing freight prices became defining images of that time.
However, fully managed services required the platform to assume significant risks. Despite this, Alibaba’s cross-border business entered a new growth phase. According to Alibaba’s financial reports, its International Digital Commerce Group recorded a 24% year-on-year increase in orders in Q4 2023, with revenue soaring by 44%, thanks largely to the growth of AliExpress Choice, its fully managed channel.
Not far behind, Pinduoduo’s overseas platform, Temu, also promoted its own fully managed model through bold marketing campaigns. In February 2023, just five months after entering the North American market, Temu spent around USD 230,000 per second to advertise during the Super Bowl—a bold yet calculated move to stake its claim in the global e-commerce market.
For seasoned sellers, it’s evident that major players are propelling a new surge in cross-border e-commerce growth.
During the rapid expansion of the “four little dragons,” Temu sellers reported massive growth, with a product on Temu possibly reaching the same sales volume in half a day that would typically take three to six months on Amazon. “It’s truly a gold rush. You can throw anything up, and it will sell. It’s ridiculous,” one seller said.
For decades, the cross-border e-commerce landscape in Western markets had already solidified, with Amazon reigning supreme and generating nearly USD 600 billion in global sales—leaving other competitors far behind. However, Chinese players like Temu have disrupted this monopoly, entering as aggressive challengers.
These new entrants brought with them China’s relentless efficiency and a hunger for global growth. For example, Temu’s early leadership team came from Pinduoduo’s grocery delivery arm, Duoduo Maicai. These veterans of cutthroat domestic competition initially lacked cross-border experience. “In the beginning, even the leaders had to ask lower-level staff how to handle product certifications or barcode standards,” a source close to the industry told 36Kr.
Sellers were swept up in this surge. Those who attended Temu’s recruitment events would receive follow-up calls from account managers at all hours of the night. “At 3 or 4 a.m, sellers would get calls asking if they had stock or if they were considering joining. These managers sounded like they never needed sleep,” one seller said.
Data from Similarweb shows that by the end of 2023, Temu had 467 million unique monthly visitors, making it the second most-visited e-commerce site globally. Meanwhile, Sensor Tower indicates that by August 2024, Temu’s global user base had reached 91% of Amazon’s.
Temu’s promise of sales is undeniably attractive. But once the dopamine rush of skyrocketing orders wears off, sellers often realize that profitability isn’t guaranteed. For example, Lin Feng found himself perplexed when he discovered that despite Temu orders outnumbering Amazon’s by tenfold, overall profits were lower.
The reason lies in Temu’s strict pricing controls. Temu requires sellers to offer prices lower than what’s available on platforms like 1688 or Pinduoduo. If a product becomes a hit, the system continuously prompts sellers to lower their prices through pop-up notifications in the backend. Sellers are reluctant to reduce prices but often have no choice if they want to maintain traffic and sales volume.
At a Temu recruitment event, when a seller referred to the platform’s pricing requirements as “threats,” the account manager smiled and replied:
“How is this a threat? You’re free to stop lowering prices if you want to exit the game.”
But for sellers with large amounts of inventory already in Temu’s warehouses, particularly in highly commoditized categories, they are forced to comply to clear stock.
The only way to avoid this trap is by offering unique products. “If you’re just selling standardized goods, it’s a vicious cycle of competition. But if you focus on creating products that are hard to find in the market, you’ll have an edge,” Lin Feng said.
While visiting Anhui for research, Lin Feng sat down for dinner with four factory owners who specialized in cross-border trade. These business owners operated on Alibaba.com, focusing on B2B sales. Some of them even ran sizable overseas factories. When the topic of Temu came up, the factory owners were baffled: “What’s that? Never heard of it.”
This realization gave Lin Feng a sense of opportunity. “These factory owners wanted to pivot to new markets, so I offered to handle product development and Temu operations while they took care of production,” he said.
Lin Feng began traveling back and forth between Ningbo and the factories, brainstorming ways to develop products that couldn’t easily be found on the market. Often, this required only minor tweaks. “For example, we took a regular bicycle tail light and added a Bluetooth module. The overall cost barely increased, but it brought the item’s value way up,” Lin told 36Kr.
By focusing on products that were not run-of-the-mill, Lin, despite having no control over pricing, managed to secure a net profit margin of 8–12%. With Temu waiving commission fees, Lin found that life was better than it had been on Amazon. Over time, he scaled down his Amazon business to focus solely on Temu.
Lin thought he had found a comfortable niche for the long term. “I’m just a small seller, making enough to support a small team. It’s manageable, and I’d like to keep it this way,” he said.
But, as he soon learned, there’s no such thing as easy money that lasts forever.
Temu’s rapid growth was largely fueled by its aggressive promotion of the fully managed model—a system with extremely low entry barriers. This model attracted not only seasoned sellers but also individuals with little to no experience in operations or fulfillment. Even amateurs could jump in and try their luck.
However, the fully managed model came with inherent limitations. Delivery times of seven to ten days left many US consumers—accustomed to two- to five-day deliveries offered by Amazon’s Fulfillment by Amazon (FBA)—feeling dissatisfied. Moreover, the logistics and warehousing under the fully managed system were entirely coordinated by the platform. As Temu scaled, the strain on logistics and warehousing only intensified, resulting in bottlenecks.
Additionally, fully managed products primarily relied on air freight and were generally limited to lightweight, low-value items, which restricted product diversity.
The platform’s hands-on, all-encompassing service was always meant to be a temporary solution. By 2024, virtually all major cross-border e-commerce platforms, including Temu and AliExpress, began transitioning from fully managed to semi-managed models.
36Kr learned that many platforms had shifted their recruitment teams and category buyers to focus on semi-managed operations. At Temu recruitment events, account managers openly acknowledged that platform traffic support would increasingly favor semi-managed sellers.
For Lin Feng, the impact of this transition was immediate. If one of his fully managed products competed with a similar item from a semi-managed seller, his sales could drop by as much as 30%. Like Lin Feng, other early adopters of Temu’s fully managed model also found themselves falling out of favor as the platform adjusted its priorities.
Unwilling to take on the risks associated with warehousing inventory overseas, Lin continued to rely on the fully managed model. However, pricing controls became increasingly stringent. At one point, Temu’s system suggested a price that was 40% lower than his production cost. This forced him to start exploring alternatives, such as Amazon’s discount store model. “Temu makes it easier for me to earn money right now, but I’m not sure how long this will last,” Lin said.
Meanwhile, sellers transitioning to the semi-managed model faced their own set of challenges, particularly with Temu’s overseas infrastructure.
For example, a leading Amazon fishing gear brand decided to test the waters on Temu. Much of its stock was stored in the warehouse of one of the “four little dragons.” However, that warehouse refused to fulfill orders for Temu and even blocked the seller’s contact details, causing multiple delivery failures.
Such tactics became increasingly prevalent among competing platforms. As a result, the fishing gear brand was fined five times its original shipping fees. After a month of disputes, the problem remained unresolved, and the products listed on Temu were essentially unsellable.
One often-overlooked fact is that China boasts a highly mature and cost-efficient logistics infrastructure. It’s the foundation on which e-commerce giants like Pinduoduo, Taobao, and JD.com have thrived.
By comparison, logistics in overseas markets—especially last-mile delivery networks—are riddled with inefficiencies. While Chinese logistics companies operate seamlessly year-round, international delivery systems face numerous challenges. For example, some platforms require sellers to upload logistics tracking information within 48 hours, a task that is relatively easy in China but far more complicated in overseas markets.
The logistical differences between China and North America are striking. In China, once a courier picks up a package, a tracking number is generated immediately, giving sellers real-time control over delivery timelines. In North America, however, couriers typically drive to warehouses to pick up goods, transport them back to sorting facilities, and scan packages individually. Delays often occur due to the varying distances between warehouses and delivery hubs.
If a courier’s shift ends before all packages are scanned, processing may be postponed until the following day—or even later, depending on operational priorities. These incremental delays can quickly pile up.
According to 36Kr, some couriers reportedly accept bribes to expedite scanning at warehouses, but many prefer to avoid overtime, even if it means earning less.
Missed deadlines often result in penalties. “Some clients handle 300–500 orders daily, and if they exceed the 48-hour shipping deadline, they could be fined anywhere from USD 10,000–80,000,” a manager at an overseas warehousing company told 36Kr.
Despite relentless pricing pressure and the constant risk of penalties, many sellers remain loyal to Temu.
The reason? Temu is still pouring money into traffic generation and advertising.
In the past, sellers running independent websites had to spend up to 50% of their revenue on marketing. By joining Temu, they can offload operational responsibilities to the platform. While Temu’s penalties and pricing controls may be strict, the savings in advertising costs make the overall equation more favorable.
Temu’s account managers often emphasize the platform’s substantial investment in advertising when pitching to sellers. In Q2 2024, external reports identified Temu as the fifth largest digital advertiser in the US, up from 11th in 2023. Morgan Stanley projected that Temu spent around USD 3 billion on advertising in 2024. This level of investment even led Meta employees to quip that Temu deserves a high-value gift card as a token of appreciation.
One seller added that Temu’s internal advertising strategy doesn’t prioritize metrics like return on investment. Instead, the mandate is to use the budget fully within a set timeframe:
“The goal is simply to spend all the allocated money.”
Despite Temu’s focus on low-price goods, the seller managed to sell products priced as high as USD 400. He dismissed complaints from fellow merchants who often criticized Temu’s policies. “A lot of sellers just complain without doing the math. Temu saves them from the massive advertising costs they used to incur with multiple suppliers. Now they only need to rely on Temu, which spends a lot of money advertising products on their behalf,” he said.
Temu denied the claims and figures described above when 36Kr reached out for comment.
TikTok’s race against time
“Doing TikTok is a must!”
In early 2024, service provider Luis (pseudonym) repeatedly heard this sentiment from clients. He understood their urgency. Inspired by Douyin’s proven success in China and TikTok’s reach—already covering half of the US population—sellers believed the sooner they joined the platform, the better their chances.
In 2023, as TikTok CEO Shou Zi Chew defended the platform before the US Congress, the company poured USD 500 million into launching TikTok Shop in the US within just eight months. Many sellers fondly recalled its early, highly generous subsidies. “You had warehousing subsidies, shipping subsidies, and traffic subsidies—basically, eating up those subsidies was extremely satisfying,” one seller said. A large portion of sellers’ profits at the time, as much as 50% in some cases, came directly from TikTok’s financial incentives.
But TikTok’s urgency in the US market wasn’t just about competing with platforms like Amazon and Temu—it was also about survival. Observers believe that TikTok’s accelerated push to grow its merchant and creator ecosystems in the US was designed to build leverage in the geopolitical arena. By binding itself to local livelihoods, TikTok aimed to create a scenario in which its ban would result in widespread economic fallout. Recently, TikTok claimed that 7 million US merchants depend on the platform, and their combined revenue loss in the event of a ban would exceed USD 1 billion within a month.
Despite the looming threat of the divest-or-ban legislation, TikTok aggressively ramped up its e-commerce goals for 2024. According to 36Kr, the company aimed to double its GMV to USD 50 billion and launched a series of initiatives to lower entry barriers for sellers. This made TikTok a highly accessible platform, attracting everyone from experienced entrepreneurs to complete novices. “Nowadays, even college students work during the day, then swipe their credit cards and spend USD 5,000 to start a business on TikTok at night. How can anyone not feel the pressure?” seller Zhang Huwang (pseudonym) told 36Kr.
According to analytics platform FastMoss, the total number of TikTok stores in the US grew by 47% in the first half of 2024. “Anyone doing independent websites or Amazon, anyone with even a small presence—or even people who weren’t doing anything at all—were diving headfirst into TikTok,” said Zoey (pseudonym), who is a seller in the consumer electronics category.
This influx of Chinese sellers also presented an unprecedented opportunity for US influencers. “The number of sellers far outstrips the number of influencers,” one insider claimed. Influencers are seen as critical to TikTok’s e-commerce ecosystem. But by early 2024, demand for US-based influencers was outpacing supply. Zoey recalled that influencers’ email inboxes were overflowing:
“In the past, we could send samples and expect videos within a week. Now, it takes at least a month. They can’t keep up with the volume.”
The costs of doing business on TikTok were also rising. Beyond influencer fees, sellers needed to account for advertising costs and expensive sample shipping. Zoey estimated that sellers needed at least USD 100,000 in liquidity to sustain operations. “Starting in 2024, if you don’t have the capital, don’t play this game. It takes three to six months of losses to break in. If you can’t handle that, you shouldn’t even bother,” she said.
While major brands wrestle with TikTok’s challenges, smaller white-label sellers—those selling unbranded goods—have carved out success by betting on viral products. These sellers thrived in TikTok Shop’s chaotic early ecosystem, where luck often determines success.
Each month, Zhang Huwang launches over ten products, fully aware that most will fail and leave him with unsold inventory. However, one or two successful bets on trending products can offset the losses. For instance, one of his haircare products earned USD 1 million in a single month. “That was expected,” he said. But he also lost millions on a yoga clothing line that flopped unexpectedly. “The factory connection was easy to secure, but ultimately, all the leftover stock had to be dumped on Temu.”
TikTok Shop’s e-commerce model revolves around discovery through organic content, creating both opportunities and risks. Product lifecycles on TikTok are astonishingly short, often measured in weeks. Sellers must rely on a mix of guesswork, intuition, and luck to anticipate trends in overseas markets.
This unpredictability also applies to TikTok’s attempts to replicate Douyin’s success with live streaming. Douyin’s live streaming capabilities are a proven sales driver in China, and TikTok has sought to fast-track the same strategy by prioritizing traffic for influencers’ live streams. As of May 2024, live streaming contributed nearly 20% of TikTok’s US GMV, up from just 5% the month prior.
Despite this growth, many sellers doubt whether TikTok can achieve the same live streaming success abroad. “It’s just not the same,” one seller said. “In China, live streaming is a well-oiled machine—a space where consumers are primed to buy. In the US and Europe, it’s still a niche activity.”
Cultural and legal differences add further complexity. For example, strict privacy regulations in Western markets prevent TikTok from collecting detailed user data, unlike Douyin in China. This limitation hampers TikTok’s ability to offer granular ad targeting, leaving its advertising capabilities underdeveloped.
It wasn’t until the second half of 2024 that TikTok introduced more advanced tools, like ad optimization features driven by artificial intelligence, but these came with higher costs. “Doing TikTok now is more expensive than Amazon. If you’re only selling on TikTok, you probably won’t make money,” Zoey said.
A seller specializing in outdoor products tested the waters in TikTok’s UK market and ended up losing the equivalent of a Ferrari. “European consumers are extremely set in their ways—they don’t like trying new forms of marketing,” he said. Live commerce was simply too unfamiliar for them. They were more comfortable using Amazon, independent websites, or shopping at brick-and-mortar stores, but they rarely made impulse purchases in live streams.
Although sellers are eager to break into TikTok’s ecosystem, the results aren’t entirely within their or TikTok’s control. In January 2024, Bloomberg forecasted TikTok’s US e-commerce sales for the year to reach USD 17.5 billion. However, a report by Momentum Works and Tabcut revealed that TikTok Shop’s 2024 GMV in the US was around USD 9 billion—just over half of the projected figure.
In an environment where time feels limited and uncertainty looms, TikTok has been forced to rapidly adjust its platform policies. A seller said TikTok Shop’s rules were constantly changing, with roughly one small change every week and a big adjustment every month.
In the first half of 2024, fully managed sellers faced significant policy changes. Previously, TikTok allowed sellers to retain 30% commissions and work directly with influencers for product promotions. Suddenly, the platform required these sellers to use TikTok’s in-house affiliate system through its centralized backend. Many sellers were left scrambling to find new influencers.
A source close to TikTok told 36Kr that the changes were meant to better support merchants by making influencer collaborations more efficient. TikTok encouraged sellers who had the capacity and motivation to build direct relationships with influencers and organically drive sales. However, the source clarified that these changes did not include specific requirements around commissions, nor was TikTok’s backend affiliate system opened exclusively to fully managed sellers.
“At first, the rules were pretty lenient, so you’d start stocking up inventory. But once you’ve prepared a large amount of goods, snap—the rules change, and you’re stuck with excess stock,” one seller said. He added that early entrants to TikTok Shop would likely face significant losses:
“The first wave of sellers is probably going to crash and burn.”
However, the seller also sympathized with the platform, acknowledging that these changes were a byproduct of TikTok’s growing pains.
Who are Shein’s true rivals?
Before Temu burst onto the scene, Shein attracted the most attention in the cross-border e-commerce market.
Its disruption left the fast fashion industry defenseless. In 2023, Shein’s sales surpassed those of Zara’s parent company, Inditex, for the first time. At that time, industry commentators declared: “Zara’s golden era is over—this is now Shein’s time.” The company, riding high, was even preparing for a potential IPO.
However, Temu’s meteoric rise and aggressive expansion disrupted Shein’s momentum.
At one point, Shein employees frequently heard Temu’s name in internal discussions. “Some teams were benchmarking Temu’s strategies, including its product selection and pricing policies,” a former Shein employee told 36Kr.
The rivalry even spilled into the courtroom. Shein accused Temu of using fake accounts on X (formerly Twitter) to impersonate Shein and divert customers to Temu’s website. In retaliation, Temu alleged that Shein was abusing its market dominance by forcing suppliers to sign exclusivity agreements and barring them from working with Temu.
Caught in this fierce battle, Shein began transitioning from a vertically integrated fast fashion retailer into a comprehensive cross-border e-commerce platform.
“Shein’s self-operated model is straightforward—it only needs to manage its own brand costs. But transforming into a platform requires external merchants to contribute GMV and commissions, which involves substantial upfront investment and subsidies,” an industry insider said.
Yet, both sellers and employees have noticed Shein’s cautious approach to this shift.
Unlike Temu, Shein carefully validates each move. It relies on rigorous A/B testing tools, with leadership closely analyzing data to determine the impact of new initiatives. For instance, if Shein launched a new product category, executives would test it by adjusting traffic allocations to see how different levels of exposure impacted sales, inventory, and seller engagement.
However, this cautious approach has its drawbacks. By the time Shein reaches a conclusive result, market conditions may have already changed, and fast-moving competitors like Temu could seize the opportunity.
One insider told 36Kr that while new sellers on both platforms might see 1,000 monthly orders on Shein—a volume that places them in Shein’s top 20%—on Temu, similar sellers would often see five times that amount.
Another challenge Shein faces is its comparatively limited financial resources. Unlike Temu, which has Pinduoduo’s capital backing its aggressive spending, Shein operates without support from a major parent company. Although Shein secured a round of financing in 2023, its road to an IPO has been fraught with delays.
This prioritization of profitability over growth was evident in Shein’s cautious response to market conditions. During Black Friday in 2023, when global logistics costs surged, Shein’s executives issued strict orders to preserve profit margins instead of pursuing aggressive sales growth.
The same mindset was reflected in Shein’s pricing policies. Starting in 2023, Shein centralized pricing authority and started limiting discounts. Even when sellers presented screenshots of lower prices on competing platforms, Shein’s representatives reportedly refused to match them.
But Shein’s strength lies precisely in its discipline. “Shein has never lost money. And it’s incredibly fast at settling payments with merchants. This enables Shein to maintain tight control over its supply chain,” one industry insider said.
Still, in its competition with Temu, Shein has faced both financial and strategic constraints. According to external reports, Shein’s revenue growth in the first half of 2024 slowed to 23%—down from 40% in 2023—while profits declined by over 70%.
Ultimately, Shein appears to be refocusing on what it does best: fashion. Based on 36Kr’s observations, Shein’s product pages and promotional campaigns in 2024 have increasingly focused on clothing categories. Promotions for new or expanded categories, like home goods or electronics, have become less visible, and major sales events continue to prioritize fashion items.
Even within its semi-managed operations, Shein has set clear boundaries to protect its core business. Early semi-managed onboarding focused on bulky, hard-to-ship products weighing over 400 grams, such as home goods and wigs, while core categories like apparel remained off-limits. It wasn’t until July 2024 that Shein opened semi-managed onboarding to apparel sellers, and even then, it was restricted to niche segments such as plus-size items and activewear.
In 2024, Temu set an ambitious goal to triple its GMV, while Shein aimed for a more modest 40% growth. Industry observers argue that Shein’s conservative strategy makes sense. “Shein’s moat in fashion is already deep. Temu won’t beat them there,” one insider said.
However, despite the competition between these two giants, some in the industry believe their biggest threat isn’t each other but the increasingly hostile geopolitical environment.
TikTok’s position in the US remains precarious. While Trump delayed the ban, the Supreme Court has ultimately ruled that the platform cannot continue operating in the US under ByteDance’s ownership. Trump’s latest demand—that TikTok sell a 50% stake—poses an existential challenge for the Chinese giant. Given the public sentiment in China, it’s unlikely such a compromise would be acceptable.
For the “four little dragons,” the biggest threat is not their competition but the increasingly fractured state of globalization itself.
Sellers are particularly concerned about policy changes to duty-free exemptions for small packages. Previously, packages under EUR 150 (USD 157.4) in the EU and USD 800 in the US were exempt from duties. However, in July 2024, the EU eliminated these exemptions, and by September the same year, the US announced plans to follow suit.
In response, Temu has been scaling back its reliance on the US market, aiming to reduce its GMV share from 60% to 30% while accelerating its expansion in Europe.
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Over the past few decades, many Chinese cross-border sellers have built their fortunes by capitalizing on an open global trade system. In Shenzhen, 36Kr heard these sellers still passionately discussing bold strategies to defy the odds and rewrite their futures. However, many seem unaware that the road ahead is likely to be far more arduous than the one they have traversed so far.
One Chinese seller vividly recalled an experience at a trade show in the US. While TikTok’s official team was filming promotional footage, several US brands outright refused to associate with TikTok in any form. They declined to appear on camera or be linked to the platform in any way.
As much as people in China are moved by “TikTok refugees” sharing their struggles on Xiaohongshu (also known as RedNote), they may overlook a harsher reality: the world is increasingly divided. “People in the US are deeply split in their attitudes toward TikTok,” the seller told 36Kr. “Some fully embrace it, seeing it as their community. But others distrust it completely—they will believe any wild rumor they hear about the app.”
The efforts of cross-border platforms and sellers are only part of the equation. Larger forces, like the progression of history and geopolitical dynamics, also play a critical role. “This isn’t something we can control. We can only wait and see,” one seller told 36Kr.
KrASIA Connection features translated and adapted content that was originally published by 36Kr. This article was written by Leslie Zhang and Yuan Silai for 36Kr, with contributions from Hu Yiting.