China’s younger generation didn’t simply inherit their parents’ version of Chinese medicine, they redesigned it. But when a 2,000-year-old medicine is repackaged for the feed, what becomes more accessible, and what becomes less trustworthy?
There’s a phrase young people in China use that is half joke and half confession: punk wellness or 朋克养生. It refers to goji berries dropped into beer; a cigarette in one hand; a thermos of jujube tea in the other. They call their bodies 脆皮 or crispy, a tongue-in-cheek reference to how easily it breaks, aches early and catches everything. It sounds like satire until you notice what it represents: a generation negotiating with a medical tradition more than two millennia old, in its own idiom. They are offsetting late nights and stress with small acts of self-care.
The striking thing about traditional Chinese medicine’s (TCM) renewed visibility among younger consumers is not that it happened, it’s the terms and conditions surrounding it. This generation bypassed the apothecary counter and rebuilt the entrance in formats that fit a handbag, an office drawer or a phone. Think bottled herbal drinks in convenience-store fridges, granule powders that dissolve like instant coffee, tea bags, gummies, snack bars, subscription supplement packs. One level up, you’ll find online consultations with registered practitioners and AI tools that analyse photographs of your tongue.
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Above TCM has long been associated with an apothecary and bitter herbs (Photo: Getty Images)
“The TCM people grew up with was made up of bitter herbs, hours of brewing and wisdom that felt intimidating to access,” says Stephanie Tan, founder of TCM supplement brand Nooci. “Many younger consumers believe there is value in that heritage, but they want it delivered in forms that fit their lives.”
I work across nutrition, longevity and, increasingly, the technology side of Chinese medicine, and the pattern I see most often is reduction: TCM shrunk to an ingredient, a remedy or a ritual. So the real question isn’t whether TCM can modernise. It’s this: when a system built around individual assessment is repackaged as drinks, gummies, apps and AI tongue scans, what becomes more accessible and what becomes less trustworthy? Does modernisation make TCM easier to understand, or merely easier to sell?
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Here’s one useful way to navigate the new shelf. Ask is this a ritual, a retail product or a treatment? A latte, a tea, a snack is mostly ritual; it offers pleasure, comfort, cultural familiarity and asks nothing of you. A gummy, capsule or concentrated powder with a suggested daily dose behaves like a supplement—so ingredients, concentration, quality and interactions with your medicines become your homework.
Saying something is herbal does not mean it’s harmless. Active constituents can cause side effects or interact with medication, and contamination and inconsistent manufacturing are documented problems in the market’s unregulated corners. Format alone doesn’t decide the category either. The same powder can be an everyday beverage mix or a prescribed formula. Treatment is the tier where someone else takes responsibility: selected for you by a registered practitioner after individual assessment, adjusted as you change.

Above Chinese youths increasingly want TCM delivered in convenient formats like guidance via a mobile phone (Photo: ChatGPT)
AI tongue scans sit in the ambiguous middle. In TCM, the tongue’s colour, shape, moisture and coating are classical diagnostic signs, read alongside your history and, traditionally, your pulse. The apps photograph your tongue, use image recognition to identify features—coating, fissures, tooth marks—and map them to a constitution type with general wellness suggestions. Genuinely interesting technology, still limited by inconsistent lighting, camera variation and small, non-standardised datasets. It’s definitely a conversation-starter, perhaps a preliminary screen but not, by itself, a diagnosis.
The commercial accessibility is real, and the region’s biggest players have noticed. In 2024, Eu Yan Sang, the Singapore-founded TCM house established in 1879, was acquired by a consortium involving Japan's Rohto Pharmaceutical and Mitsui, in a transaction valuing the company at approximately S$800 million. It demonstrates heritage medicine, priced as a serious consumer-health asset.

Above In China, the younger generation use the term 亚健康, or sub-healthy, to describe someone who is functional outwardly but hasn’t felt fine in years (Photo: Getty Images)
And the customer has a name for themselves: 亚健康 or sub-healthy. It’s a cultural description of someone whose test results look fine and is functional but underneath it all hasn’t felt fine in years.
What changed wasn’t necessarily the medicine, it was the fit. Younger patients aren’t rejecting tradition; they’re looking for practitioners and products that can work with contemporary routines like the late nights, the travel and the coffee. “It wasn’t until I found practitioners who accepted that traditional methods can evolve that I saw TCM fitting into a modern girl’s routine,” says Leanne Lam, model and founder of The Blu Journal.
The heritage, suddenly, is the flex. Institutional trust is being built too. The Chinese Medicine Hospital of Hong Kong began its phased launch on December 11, 2025, starting with outpatient and day-patient services. Integrated Chinese–Western medicine services now run in 26 public hospitals across 67 designated service points; and on December 18 the government released its first Chinese Medicine Development Blueprint, a long-term plan spanning clinical services, regulation, research and international collaboration. Scale, however, is not the same as fidelity.
“What’s genuinely different is not that younger people are interested in TCM, it’s how they enter it. It’s through drinks, food, social media and digital services rather than a clinic,” says Elizabeth Yau, registered Chinese medicine practitioner. “That makes the tradition more accessible, but it can also reduce TCM to a list of fashionable ingredients. Goji berries, ginseng or red dates do not have one universal benefit for everyone. Their use depends on the person, preparation, dose and broader pattern of symptoms. A TCM-inspired latte may be enjoyable, but it should not be confused with individualised treatment.”

Above TCM can modernise and still work as medicine, but only if individual assessment stays part of it (Photo: Getty Images)
So here is the practical takeaway: treat food and drinks as rituals unless the label suggests otherwise. Do your homework on supplements, especially if you take medication, are pregnant or breastfeeding, have a chronic condition or are preparing for surgery. Tell both your doctor and your Chinese medicine practitioner everything you take. And when a symptom is persistent, recurring, worsening or interfering with your life—sleep, digestion, cycles, energy, pain—that is the moment for individual assessment, not another product on the shelf. New, severe or unexplained symptoms belong with a medical professional, not a wellness app.
The dividing line is not traditional versus modern. It is whether the individual assessment survives. Modernisation that preserves assessment, professional oversight and honest limits can make TCM more accessible without stripping away what makes it a system of treatment. Modernisation that keeps only the fashionable ingredient makes it merely easier to sell. A herbal latte is a vibe, not a prescription. And this generation may be getting better at recognising the difference.




