我也看过，于老师的演技也是十分佩服

@周小慧眼

那些被迫嘶哑的音质，是被扼住咽喉的人发出的怒吼，将成为化石般的见证和存在。

“倔”一字，就是人要我屈，我偏不屈。 ​

睡前顶一顶 813以来看了太多魔幻操作 值得好好总结记录下来

张哲瀚被政治构陷事件 List_D: 法学专家观点

D.1:

洪范经济与法律研究所所长， 中国政法大学教授王涌 ，2022年2月曾在中国行为法学会年会上发表演讲:从张哲瀚事件看法治，听听理性声音。

以下为总结：

大数据给推送了一个熟悉别的饭圈的读友，聊了聊饭圈的icon+kol+粉丝的竟合关系。谈起了别家是icon吃肉+kol喝汤，3.0的问题是部分kol把icon煮了喝汤。

双男主和选秀为什么容易爆？因为人多、角色多，竟合关系丰富，或好或撕，总之是热闹，容易有热度。

这是一个大型互动娱乐生态，站姐和二创太太们靠icon和粉丝盈利，也给icon宣传，给粉丝提供趣味性。经济公司不可能自己卖pb、不可能全部雇人做剪辑、写衍生…所以这部分就会有人去做。而这部分衍生群体天然具有“不规范+自负盈亏”的特点。

以图3为例，爱河的盲盒还没看到实物，仅发了图就引起大量的“抄袭”分析，而图3属于所谓的“粉丝自发开模做帽子”，怎么购买、多少钱一顶、是否存在侵权抄袭，估计很可能是没有经营资质的；之前围观过几次3.0的PB，销量很大，可能涉及非法出版、非法经营，估计也不会正常报税；还有粉丝说过，交了钱半年不发货…但这属于饭圈的常态，没有人去监督，饭圈觉得这都是正常的，是他们的“自由”。

这是一个客观的文娱周边生态圈，灰色地带会存在很多问题，也养了很多人。在kol的反复xn渗透+无正常监管处罚的情况下，基本饭圈都默认icon+kol+粉丝的竟合生态。

一般是icon吃肉、kol喝汤，kol强了就反过来，kol吃肉，icon喝汤。但总归两边都有收益。然而到3.0，发生了巨大的变化：

1.kol投机者总量大幅增加。2.0的时候，有了站姐和kol一夜暴富的传说，很多投机者跑来投资双男主剧。

2.kol长期聚集。由于热度高+各个4.0长期未播，各家kol先主动后被迫聚集在3.0处，造成空前繁荣，形成了从双赢到kol群体比icon更强势的状态，icon甚至被kol剥夺了人设定义权，即越来越多的粉丝喜欢的是带磕人设，而不是正主本人。

3.娱圈萧条，出事后大量kol无处可去，依旧靠3.0生存。8月出事后有能力有选择的陆续走了，部分没有选择不得不反复加固3.0盈利渠道，想方设法维护群体稳定，而z被迫拿命虐粉且后无其他新cp，粉丝粘性很高，竟然持续了9个月。至今，娱乐萧条，更无处可去。

4.icon求生和kol利益有了直接冲突。茶店、潮牌、gzh、回音壁…等一系列的出现，全面触动了kol的核心利益。出现了一种“教主说icon是妖魔所化”，打着“爱icon”的旗号誓死封杀icon的奇观。

核心矛盾是什么呢？

是z在争夺“自己人设定义权”+规范周边产出+自己做粉圈周边。

矛盾一：gzh

gzh出来的时候，很多粉丝骂坚文笔不行，断章取义曲解贬低。但有阅历和鉴赏能力的人都知道文章格局一直很高，体现出来的心性远超常人。但为什么那么多人刻意断章取义的去骂他呢？只是因为第三篇的“没有联系过”吗？

不是的。是因为gzh要获取icon的人设定义权，要展示真实的自己，与kol创作人设牟利发生了直接冲突。

矛盾二：潮牌

潮牌一出，很多不知道什么粉，四处谩骂谢女士利用z割韭菜，灌输z不能自己做粉圈周边商务[思考]真的是因为做潮牌丢人吗？

不是，因为z抢了kol的粉圈周边生意。一个饭圈周边盈利圈层都在集中抵制正主做周边生意。这是“阶级”之争，不是几个人的斗争。

其实每一个品牌、每一个icon都是在跟喜欢自己的粉群互动。满足客户的需求，才有客户粘性。大部分品牌80%的营业收入来自于20%的核心消费群体。这是非常正常的现象。

普通明星带货溢价远高于爱河，但为什么kol都支持“商务”而抵制正主自己的品牌呢？

因为支持商务有大量盈利空间，比如带领粉丝给商务做数据、集资下大单、晒单后退货等。但是爱河没有：

1.爱河不给kol钱（比如wmm曾在微博指出谢只给她写新年贺卡，不给钱）；

2.z粉一直被禁言，做z家大号意味着随时破产；

3.茶店和潮牌一直限购，不需要做数据、也没办法集资下单从中渔利，没有晒单后退货的操作空间。之前有个橘子大量采购茶晒单后退货，直接被茶店自己反黑了[摊手]

矛盾三：回音壁

其实这个体现的不明显，回音壁的出现意味着z有可能把饭圈周边统一且规范化，但是由于微信平台的表现形式有限+z粉大部分不是脂粉，所以矛盾不突出。但是回音壁刚出现的时候，就有人挑拨锐角和回音壁的关系，最终以锐角说协助运营回音壁而告终。

挣钱不寒碜，想要活下去是正常的需求。但是故事发展到8月以后，肉没有了，有些人想挣钱，就捡了icon的骨头熬汤，而icon想从汤锅里爬出来，想活下去，反而一直被打压，这些kol反复喊着：“你还能成为那个无限风光的icon吗？如果不能，你就老实呆在锅里，好歹兄弟们还能喝口汤！”

最有趣的是被kol洗脑的粉众也喊着：“你如果不能风光无限，就老实躺在锅里，好歹有人愿意拿你煮汤！你爬什么爬？你知不知道你爬出来的样子多丑？你老实呆着，别破坏我心中icon的光辉形象！”

海外关于张哲瀚事件的一些新闻报道

06/06 Vox.com

What the deepfake controversy about this Chinese actor says about conspiratorial thinking

Zhang Zhehan’s fans think his dog is an imposter. That says a lot about how we distort reality online.

By Aja Romano@ajaromano  Jun 6, 2022, 8:30am EDT

Actors including Gong Jun and Zhang Zhehan attend a Word of Honor fan concert in Suzhou, Jiangsu Province of China, on May 4, 2021. VCG/VCG via Getty Images

It’s easy to believe what you want to believe. The internet, from deepfake videos to social media that connects like-minded people, has made it that much easier.

For instance, when a fan sees two beautiful, famous people working together, it may be natural to hope that they’re secretly in love. Sometimes these ships come true — the people who thought from their onscreen interactions, for example, that Robsten were dating, or Brangelina, or Dan and Phil, eventually discovered they’d been right all along.

But there’s wanting your ideas about a certain celebrity to be real and then there’s wanting them to be real so badly that you decide that an actor is being held hostage, that his social media has been taken over by a group of evil conspirators, and that all of his recent posts are deepfakes of himself.

That’s what’s happening to an alarmingly high number of fans of the actor Zhang Zhehan, in what seems to be a growing conspiracy theory.

Conspiratorial thinking has come to characterize many conversations around tech, politics, and internet culture in general. But a conspiracy theory that can yoke itself to the intensity of fandom has an especially alarming capacity to turn toxic and dangerous. When I wrote in 2016 that fandom shipping “has increasingly taken on all the characteristics of a religious dogma,” I had no idea how much worse things would get. At the time, fandom conspiracy theories such as Larry Stylinson (the belief that One Direction’s Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson are in love but forced to hide) were the exception rather than the rule; now, as the Zhang Zhehan fandom illustrates, not only are such fandom conspiracy theories more and more commonplace, but they’re marrying the intensity and fervor of fandom with modern social media and technological pitfalls.

Last year, Zhang starred in the hit Chinese drama series Word of Honor. The show, an adaptation of a queer danmei novel, was overtly homoerotic, following in the vein of 2019 hit The Untamed. The series was a Netflix hit and propelled Zhang and his costar Gong Jun to international stardom. Legions of fans began shipping the two actors, typical fan behavior that in Chinese culture is often encouraged heavily by marketing teams and often the actors themselves. After a designated promotional period for the show, however, the pairing typically gets “broken,” and fans expect them to go their separate ways.

This studio-driven approach to shipping is the inverse of American fandoms, where fans often create ships out of thin air, much to the consternation of studios who have no idea what to do with the monster they’ve created. It’s not surprising that even after the promotional period for Word of Honor ended, international fans continued to ship “Junzhe” — the ship name for Zhang Zhehan and Gong Jun.

Before either actor could fully move on from their Word of Honor roles, however, Zhang Zhehan found himself in the middle of a scandal involving his alleged visitation of a Japanese war memorial so controversial it got Justin Bieber permanently banned from performing in China. Within days, Zhang’s career appeared to be over.

Many of Zhang’s Chinese fans moved on, but his international fandom was left floundering. A large subset of these fans were people who still shipped Junzhe and believed gossip that the two actors were still in regular communication. Fans read into interviews and social media posts Gong Jun made, seeking evidence that he was sending support to the man they believed he loved.

Meanwhile, in early spring, Zhehan reportedly returned to posting under the pseudonym “Zhang Sanjian.” He made references to his new clothing brand but also began implying that Gong Jun’s marketing team was still capitalizing on the Junzhe ship to boost his career, when Zhang no longer had a career.

This development meant only one thing to international Junzhe shippers: The Zhang Sanjian account had to be fake.

The most infuriating thing about the Zhang Zhehan conspiracy is how extraordinary it isn’t. Increasingly, fandom is awash with conspiracies like this one. In 2016, a huge subset of the Sherlock fandom was so incensed at the fact that the show didn’t put Watson and Sherlock together in a queer relationship (a ship theory the fans titled “the Johnlock conspiracy” with zero apparent self-awareness) that they decided there must be a different, entirely secret final episode of the show — a wild card that left them angry and upset when the totally anodyne show that premiered the week after the Sherlock finale turned out, in fact, not to be Sherlock.

In Star Wars fandom, the fictitious “J.J. Cut” from director J.J. Abrams doesn’t exist, and no evidence for its existence exists, but fans still created an entire ideology around it. At this very moment, the One Direction fandom is having a meltdown because Liam Payne just shaded Zayn Malik, much to the chagrin of “Ziam” shippers who’ve spent years building elaborate rabbit-hole arguments that the two were in a secret closeted relationship. And let’s not get started on the fan narratives and magical thinking around the Depp-Heard trial.

Yes, of course, people lie, and of course rare real-life conspiracies do occur; but at some point, it becomes irrational and irresponsible to prioritize a fandom belief — or any conspiratorial belief — to the point that you are continually distorting reality. In this case, there’s no logical reason to believe Zhang Zhehan was lying when he asked shippers to move on and stop harassing his family and friends. Now, a fandom that spent months uniting to support him after a huge personal setback has now become fully committed to dehumanizing him — to insisting he literally isn’t real — all in the name of “supporting” a nonexistent relationship.

Watching all this go down, a friend of mine mused that perhaps this was the real dystopian impact of deepfakes — not that the deepfakes themselves would distort reality, but that their mere existence now allows people an excuse to distort reality all by themselves.

That seems instinctually true to me. This isn’t just happening in fandom; it’s happening across the internet. While conspiracy theories like QAnon get all the attention, it’s conspiracy theories like Johnlock and Zhang Zhehan that keep me up at night because they are paths to radicalizing good-hearted fans, conditioning them to see the world primarily as fantasy, as a high-stakes battle between good and evil. It doesn’t help that decades of internet culture have taught people to be deeply analytical but haven’t taught them how to think critically and rationally about what they’re doing.

I don’t know how to tell you your fave is not a deepfake. I don’t know how to tell you that when you’ve given up this much of yourself to a bottomless well of belief, it’s your responsibility — to yourself and to the world — to drag yourself out and move on.

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