In a quiet hutong alley in Jinhua, where the scent of simmered stewed meat spills from a doorway, a stencilled notice warns of imminent “urban renewal.” A few miles away, at the foot of the glittering, neo-futurist skyscrapers of Hangzhu and West Lake, young people queue for reimagining the old dynasty landscape. This is the new front line in China’s great urban transformation: the battle to build a city brand. For China’s metropolises, competitiveness is no longer just about GDP growth, foreign investment, or infrastructure. It is a more subtle, profound contest over narrative.
It is about weaving six distinct threads—space, time, environment, scene, character, and festivals—into a compelling story that can attract talent, capital, and the favour of the central government. The management of space is the most visceral of these narratives. For decades, the story was one of demolition and spectacular new construction. The Shanghai skyline, a forest of neon-lit towers, became the definitive image of China’s economic miracle. But a pivot is underway. The narrative is shifting from pure modernity to “modernity with Chinese characteristics.” This means a fraught negotiation with the past.
In Xi’an, the preservation of the city walls creates a powerful spatial narrative of historical continuity. In Shanghai, the gentrified Shikumen terraces of Xintiandi perform a similar function, albeit as a sanitized, commercialized version of history. Yet, in countless smaller cities, the wrecking ball still swings, replacing lived-in neighborhoods with replicas of those very neighborhoods—a paradox that speaks to a deep anxiety about authenticity. The spatial narrative is now a carefully curated blend of the ultra-modern and the nostalgically reconstructed, designed to project both power and cultural confidence.
The temporal narrative in Chinese cities is uniquely potent. It is not a neutral progression but a directed journey. The past is often framed not as something to be preserved for its own sake, but as a foundation for a future ordained by national rejuvenation. Museums, like the stunning Hangzhou Museum, are not mere repositories of artefacts; they are architectural statements that place a local history firmly within a forward-looking, global context. High-speed rail stations and tech hubs are temples to this future-oriented time, promising efficiency and innovation. The story told is one of a 5,000-year-old civilization that has seamlessly mastered the 21st century, using its deep past as a springboard into a technologically advanced destiny.
Just a decade ago, the environmental narrative was one of crisis—the “grey rhino” of suffocating smog that was an inescapable part of urban life. Today, that narrative is being aggressively rewritten. “Ecological civilization” is now a core tenet of national policy, and cities are its primary showcases. Small towns or cilites like Jinhua’s fleet of fully electric buses and personalized scooties, the re-wilding of riverbanks in Chengdu, and the proliferation of “pocket parks” in major metropolises are not just infrastructure projects; they are branding exercises. They signal a city that is liveable, sustainable, and attractive to the high-skilled workers who can choose where to settle.
The competition to be a “sponge city” or a “low-carbon pilot” is a fierce new arena for urban rivalry, turning a former weakness into a potential strength. If space is the city’s skeleton, the scene is its skin and clothing—the curated aesthetic of daily life. Chinese cities have become masters of manufacturing “instagrammable” moments. The minimalist restaurants, teahouses and shopping plazas nestled in Jinhua, the coffee shops in random old towns of, the curated bookstores in Hangzhou—these are not accidental.
They are part of a deliberate strategy to create a “scene” that appeals to the burgeoning middle and creative classes. This scene cultivates an image of sophistication and what the Chinese call ‘wénqīng’ (literary and refined) sensibility. It tells young professionals that their lifestyle aspirations—for artisanal coffee, independent design, and curated leisure—can be met, making the city not just a place to work, but a place to ‘live well’. In a nation with hundreds of major cities, having a distinct character is paramount.
The central government’s homogenizing influence is real, but local governments are adept at finding niches. Chongqing brands itself as the “8D魔幻 city” (8D Magic City) for its mind-bending, mountainous topography. Hangzhou is the “digital capital,” home to Alibaba and a tech-savvy populace. Chengdu markets its slow-living, hipster-friendly “chill” culture (巴适, bāshì). This cultivation of character is a direct response to the competition for talent. A city must offer a personality, a unique emotional and professional proposition that distinguishes it from its rivals.
Finally, festivals provide the rhythm that brings the city brand to life. These exist on a spectrum. On one end are state-orchestrated mega-events like the Beijing 2022 Winter Olympics or the annual National Day celebrations, which project an image of power, unity, and flawless organization. On the other are more organic, yet often commercially co-opted, cultural festivals: the cherry blossom season in Wuhan, the music festivals that flock to a city’s parks, or the food festivals celebrating local cuisine. These events create a sense of vibrancy and temporal excitement, drawing tourists and generating positive media coverage. They demonstrate that the city is a dynamic stage for both national pride and contemporary cultural consumption.
Ultimately, the crafting of these six narratives serves a dual audience. Externally, it is for global investors and the world’s gaze, a signal of China’s sophistication and stability. Internally, however, it is for the Chinese people themselves—and, crucially, for the party-state. A successful city brand is one that fosters local pride, maintains social stability by offering a vision of a prosperous future, and aligns perfectly with the national narrative of the “Chinese Dream.” In telling the story of their spaces, their time, and their character, China’s cities are competing for the most valuable resource of all: the right to define the next chapter of the nation’s story.
