This summer, two young women named "Tao" dominated the screens, capturing the attention of audiences worldwide. Their stories, while vastly different in production scale, both center on the universal quest for survival and love in a modern world fraught with challenges.
One is Shang Zhitao, a girl from an ordinary family in the northeast who lands a job at a top advertising agency in Beijing. She secretly dates a high-earning creative director for six years, a narrative featured in "Early Spring Sunny," a series that quickly climbed to number two on Netflix's global non-English TV chart. The other is Fang Taozi, an aspiring model from a small town who moves to the fictional metropolis of "Shangnancheng" to chase her dreams, desperately trying to escape the ever-present threat of being "laid off" or discarded. She is the star of "The Laid-Off Girl," an AI-generated short drama with no real actors, no live-action shooting, and a remarkably short production cycle, crafted by a small team.
Both hit shows belong to the "female growth" genre, using a young woman's struggle to "make a living and find love" as their primary theme and narrative driver. Interestingly, while the high-budget live-action drama faces criticism for being out of touch with reality and sparking debates about its values, the AI-generated show, devoid of any human actors, has successfully struck a chord with viewers everywhere. The second season of "The Laid-Off Girl" drew some criticism, but the first season was widely praised for its authenticity and realistic portrayal, avoiding tired cliches within the female growth genre.
The first season premiered in June, with the second season concluding at the end of August, amassing over 400 million views. The virtual leads, Fang Taozi and Zhou Yiheng, have even launched their own social media accounts to share their daily lives. Fang Taozi has proven to be a powerful influencer, attracting over 500,000 followers on Douyin. As one of the first generation of AI stars, she has graced the cover of a fashion magazine's digital edition.
This success is less a triumph of AI technology and more a victory of storytelling, or more precisely, of the human element. If Fang Taozi were only a pretty face generated by AI, if her story were just another common tale of a CEO falling for a girl or a quick-revenge fantasy, she might have gained views but not loyal fans. Ultimately, viewers have come to appreciate and love her because they are touched by her character and her journey. As a newcomer in the workplace, she is unafraid to acknowledge her ambition, a trait that resonates with many young female viewers. Her refusal to be "laid off" and cast aside echoes with a broad audience's own fears.
The term "laid off" in the title is a powerful, expansive central metaphor. It signifies not only being removed from a group photo but also being overlooked and excluded in social circles, lacking recognition and position in an industry, being marginalized in a city, and facing the constant threat of replacement in one's job. This imagery is so accurate because it stems from the creator's real-life experiences. The screenwriter and director, Feifei Fei, spent seven years as a model and was eliminated from the industry at the age of 27. Many of the show's details are drawn from the "rain" she personally weathered.
The fear of being "laid off" is a common plight and anxiety for many in contemporary society. Many have experienced similar moments in their careers and social relationships. Watching Fang Taozi grow from being easily deleted and removed to developing her own roots and becoming as sturdy as a tree mirrors the viewers' own emotions, desires, and dreams. A common flaw in many current female growth dramas is equating the display of "success" with "growth." A protagonist's promotion, pay raise, or business venture, her finer consumption habits, or a more accomplished boyfriend are often misconstrued as signs of growth. But these are just outcomes on a checklist.
Because they are results-driven, many "big female lead" dramas fail to seriously portray the process of growth. The heroine is either already independent, intelligent, and resourceful from the start, or she is just one betrayal away from becoming so. Fang Taozi's independence and clarity, however, are not innate. She doesn't achieve them through a sudden epiphany after a setback. Initially, she is vain, seeks shortcuts, uses cunning, and doesn't even realize the importance of independence, believing that standing behind or beside someone powerful is the key to reaching the "center." Only after a series of trials does she come to understand that "every opportunity has a price, even the gentleness others direct at you."
Rather than watching her climb the corporate ladder, the audience follows Fang Taozi as she gradually forms her own judgment. This acumen is embedded within her dialogue and narration, as seen in lines like: "Beauty is not a pass; it's just a crack in the door people are willing to open. Without a guide, beauty can be laid off at any time; with a guide, it can be replaced at any time." She also vows, "To stay, I can't continue being just 'the girl someone brought.'"
As a drama about "making a living and finding love," romance and intimate relationships are a crucial theme in "The Laid-Off Girl." Compared to "Early Spring Sunny," which uses the workplace as a mere backdrop for a love story, this series handles the "love line" with much better balance. Even by the end of the second season, the wealthy male lead isn't presented as a "medal" for her growth as a woman. Faced with temptations from a fashion magazine editor, a luxury brand director, and a rich second-generation heir, Fang Taozi experiences real romantic feelings but ultimately resists these attractive prospects, choosing to first grow into an independent tree.
On the issues of power dynamics and boundaries in intimate relationships, the AI character Fang Taozi shows more prudence and clarity than Shang Zhitao, the live-action character in "Early Spring Sunny." A major discomfort in "Early Spring Sunny" is how the power imbalance between a superior and subordinate is romanticized into emotional tension. This kind of love relationship, defined by an inherent status difference, has unavoidable boundary issues: the male superior objectively controls the female lead's project resources, career reviews, and promotions, entangling power and professional boundaries beyond redemption. The series never escapes the old script where a woman's value is certified by a man in power, both emotionally and professionally.
Shang Zhitao appears to rebel against her male lead's arrogance, yet she constantly seeks his approval and is most upset by his lack of recognition. In contrast, Fang Taozi never relies on love to validate her self-worth. Furthermore, in this traditional narrative, help and support from elite men are often framed as romantic gestures and a girl's good fortune, rather than a power dynamic that warrants scrutiny. For example, "Early Spring Sunny" ends with the male lead making phone calls to secure business deals for the female lead, a gesture meant to show his care, but which glosses over the underlying power structure.
In "The Laid-Off Girl," a crucial lesson for Fang Taozi is learning to critically assess the resources and help offered by men and to understand the hidden price behind their "preference." While conventional female growth dramas cling to the tired template of needing an elite man's love to "stamp" a woman's success, this series moves the needle forward. Of course, "The Laid-Off Girl" has its limitations. Fang Taozi's fight is to avoid being laid off and to secure her place in the city's center. She learns to choose her position within the existing system, but she does not question the system itself. As a line in the show poses: "You can walk out of this office, but can you walk out of these rules?"
In response, Fang Taozi compromises. This choice is understandable and realistic, but it lacks a spirit of questioning and resistance. She remains susceptible to the whims of capital, power, platforms, algorithms, and public opinion. The second season shows a significant regression in its narrative and themes. In the first season, the "antagonist" was clearly the entire structure—industry rules, power relations, and unequal resource distribution. Audiences could empathize with her struggle to survive in the cracks. However, the second season is more focused on a single, tangible villain: the scheming female rival Gu An'an, who frames her and smears her reputation online. Consequently, the conflict shifts from "an individual's struggle within a structure" to the trope of "defeating the villain." While this increases the entertainment value, it weakens the show's critical edge.
This may be due to the production pace; the second season was produced and aired in under a month. Using a villain to create conflict is easier than deeply exploring structural issues and quickly delivers the "thrills" that short-drama audiences prefer. "The Laid-Off Girl" may not constitute a full-blown breakthrough for domestic female growth dramas, but its merit lies in offering fresh variations on familiar elements like the small-town girl in the big city, the career climb, the elite male, and female solidarity. It effectively revises a highly formulaic narrative. It's not just noteworthy because it uses AI; at its core, technology has lowered the barrier for content creation, but what remains truly precious is a good story and compelling characters. AI can help a creator generate an image or a video segment but cannot decide who belongs in the frame. Technology can generate countless cityscapes but cannot judge how a girl should stand within them. Ultimately, it is people who make these choices and judgments.
Image source: Screenshot from the AI short drama "The Laid-Off Girl"