入赘
释义 DEFINITION
“入赘”这个词在中文里是个带着传统与现代碰撞的“文化标签”！它由“入”（加入）和“赘”（赘婿，附属于女方家庭的男人）组成，传统上指男人嫁入女方家庭，改随女方姓氏或住在女方家，承担女方家庭的责任。现代语境中，“入赘”常被赋予新的含义，夹杂着调侃、争议和性别话题的火花。
- 语义1：传统婚姻。指男性在婚姻中“倒插门”，成为女方家庭的一员，常见于女方家庭地位高或需延续香火的场景。比如知乎上会讨论：“入赘的男人是不是很委屈？”这种用法带着传统婚姻的厚重感。
- 语义2：现代调侃。在网络文化中，“入赘”常被戏谑为男性在经济或地位上“依附”女方，比如微博吐槽：“他入赘富婆家，天天炫豪车！”这种语境与“软饭男”有几分相似，带着嘲讽或羡慕。
- 语义3：文学与流行文化。受网文和影视影响，“入赘”常指“赘婿”逆袭的爽文剧情，比如B站弹幕刷：“入赘后开挂，爽到飞起！”这种用法充满戏剧化和励志感。
在当前互联网语境中，“入赘”最常见于情感话题、婚姻讨论和网络文学圈，尤其在知乎、抖音和B站，网友用它来探讨性别角色、经济压力或爽文幻想。它像个“文化放大镜”，折射出传统观念与现代价值观的碰撞。不过，这词用不好可能显得刻薄，毕竟“入赘”背后可能是爱情、责任或无奈的故事！
词源故事 ETYMOLOGY
“入赘”的网络流行，堪称中文互联网传统与现代观念的“化学反应”！这个词的根基深植于中国封建社会，早在古代，“入赘”就是一种婚姻形式，常见于女方无子嗣或家境优越，男方“入赘”以延续女方家族香火。男人通常得改姓、住女方家，地位较低，常被视为“低人一等”。2000年代初，论坛如天涯、猫扑上开始出现“入赘”话题，网友分享农村“倒插门”的故事，比如“某男入赘后被岳家使唤得像长工”，引发热议，带着点八卦和同情。
“入赘”真正成为网络热词，是在2010年代中后期，网络文学和影视剧的推波助澜功不可没。2015年左右，网络小说《赘婿》爆红，主角宁毅作为“入赘”女方家族的“废柴”女婿，通过智慧和胆识逆袭成商界霸主，爽点拉满。小说改编成电视剧后，B站和抖音上“赘婿”梗火遍全网，弹幕刷屏：“入赘又怎样？逆袭才是王道！”这波热潮让“入赘”从传统婚姻的“贬义”标签，变成了“励志反转”的代名词。与此同时，现实中的明星八卦也为“入赘”添柴加火，比如某男星被传“入赘”豪门，微博热搜爆了，网友调侃：“入赘富婆，人生开挂！”
到2020年，“入赘”进一步演化为社会话题的“引爆点”。疫情期间，经济压力让婚姻中的性别角色更受关注。知乎上“入赘婚姻的利弊”讨论火热，有人支持“入赘”体现平等，有人吐槽“入赘男就是高级软饭男”。抖音上，“入赘”成了搞笑素材，比如博主扮演“入赘女婿”，假装被岳母催生、被老婆管钱，评论区笑称：“入赘的我，钱包比脸还干净！”2021年，日本“婿養子”（入赘女婿）文化通过B站传播，网友发现“入赘”在东亚都有类似争议，跨国吐槽让话题更热。甚至X平台上，也有外国网友讨论中国“rù zhuì”现象，感叹“比西方上门女婿还复杂”。
为啥“入赘”这么火？它精准戳中了传统“男尊女卑”观念与现代性别平等的矛盾点。在经济压力下，男性“入赘”或依赖女方不再是稀罕事，但社会期待仍在拉扯，“入赘”于是成了探讨婚姻、财富和尊严的“试金石”。它还自带“故事感”，从古代的屈辱到网文的逆袭，总能勾起好奇。加上幽默属性，网友用“入赘”既能讽刺，也能自嘲，堪称多功能梗。不过，这词也有争议，有人觉得它强化了性别刻板印象，或忽视了“入赘”背后的家庭压力；也有人认为它让女性承担了“养家”的道德负担。未来，“入赘”估计还会继续火，毕竟只要婚姻和金钱的话题不过时，它就是网友的“八卦发动机”！
例句：
- “他入赘豪门后，天天晒游艇，网友直呼羡慕！”
- “这剧男主入赘后逆袭成大佬，爽到让我想穿越！”
DEFINITION
“Rù zhuì,” or “matrilocal marriage,” is a Chinese term with deep roots, literally meaning a man “entering” his wife’s family, often taking her surname or living with her kin. In modern internet slang, it’s a spicy mix of tradition, shade, and pop culture flair, used to describe guys who “marry in” and sometimes lean on their wife’s wealth or status.
- Meaning 1: Traditional setup. Refers to a man joining his wife’s household, historically for her family’s prestige or lineage. Zhihu threads might ask, “Is being a rù zhuì guy emasculating?” It’s heavy with old-school vibes.
- Meaning 2: Modern jab. Netizens use it to tease men “marrying up” or living off a richer wife, like Weibo quips: “Rù zhuì into a tycoon’s family—now he’s flexing sports cars!” It’s half-roast, half-jealousy.
- Meaning 3: Pop culture trope. Fueled by web novels and dramas, it’s a “son-in-law” underdog story where the guy flips the script. Bilibili comments cheer, “Rù zhuì to riches—plot twist of the century!” Pure escapist fun.
On Zhihu, Douyin, or Bilibili, rù zhuì sparks debates on love, money, and power, plus fuels fan love for “rags-to-riches” stories. It’s like Reddit’s “trophy husband” gossip or Twitter’s “underdog glow-up” hype, but with a Chinese lens on family and status. Tread lightly—mocking too hard can hit sore spots!
ETYMOLOGY
The viral surge of “rù zhuì” (matrilocal marriage) is like a cultural ping-pong match between China’s ancient traditions and modern hot takes. Rooted in feudal times, “rù zhuì” described a man marrying into his wife’s family, often changing his surname and living under her clan’s roof to preserve their lineage. It was a raw deal—guys were seen as “lesser,” tethered to the wife’s status. By the early 2000s, forums like Tianya and Mop buzzed with “rù zhuì” tales, like rural men “marrying in” and slaving away for in-laws, sparking gossip laced with pity.
The term exploded in the mid-2010s, thanks to web novels and TV dramas. Around 2015, the novel Son-in-Law (Zhui Xu) blew up, with its “rù zhuì” hero Ning Yi flipping from loser son-in-law to business titan. Its 2021 TV adaptation sent Bilibili and Douyin into a frenzy—comments screamed, “Rù zhuì? More like king of the comeback!” The trope turned “rù zhuì” from a mark of shame to a “zero-to-hero” fantasy. Real-world scandals helped, too—think tabloid rumors of a male celeb “rù zhuì-ing” into a tycoon’s family, prompting Weibo quips like, “Rù zhuì hack: marry rich, win life!”
By 2020, rù zhuì was a cultural flashpoint. The pandemic’s economic strain put marriage dynamics under a microscope. Zhihu debates on “rù zhuì pros and cons” raged—some championed it as gender-progressive, others sneered it’s “soft rice man 2.0.” Douyin creators leaned in, spoofing “rù zhuì life” with skits of henpecked husbands begging for allowance, earning laughs like, “My rù zhuì wallet’s emptier than my pride!” Japan’s “mukoyōshi” (adopted son-in-law) tradition hit Bilibili, showing “rù zhuì” wasn’t just Chinese, fueling cross-cultural roasts. Even X users chimed in, marveling at “rù zhuì” as “wilder than Western trophy husbands.”
Why’s rù zhuì a phenomenon? It’s a tug-of-war between old-school “men lead” norms and today’s economic realities, where women outearn men more often. It’s a lightning rod for marriage, class, and ego debates, with a storytelling hook—shameful in history, epic in fiction. Its humor lets users shade or self-own, making it a meme Swiss Army knife. Critics argue it cements stereotypes or burdens women with “provider” guilt; fans say it just mirrors messy human choices. For Westerners, it’s like “sugar daddy” flipped or Reddit’s “r/AmITheAsshole” marriage dramas, but with China’s unique family-and-face spin. As long as love and money clash, rù zhuì will keep stirring the digital pot!
Example Sentences:
- “He rù zhuì’d into a billionaire’s family—now he’s posting yacht pics, and the internet’s jealous!”
- “This show’s rù zhuì hero went from nobody to boss—had me wishing I could time-travel!”