Fake foreigner, rapper, Y2K influencer breathe love into Taiwanese language

The Taiwanese language is enjoying a renaissance.

TCN previously reported on some of the local and international heroes who are helping to promote the language.

In this feature, we dive into the heart of the Taiwanese language revival and meet the people leading the 2025 Taiwanese glow-up. What drives them? And what is it about Taiwanese that makes them so determined to protect and promote it?

Taiwanese to the Gils

Influencer and champion of the Taiwanese language, Remy Gils, has come a long way, about 10,000 kilometers in fact. Hailing from France’s wine-soaked Provence region, he says he ended up in Taiwan by accident.

After traveling in Japan and Thailand post-graduation, Remy fell in love with Asian cultures. In 2006, a French priest from the Paris Foreign Missions Society offered him a chance to volunteer abroad.

Given a choice between Thailand and Taiwan, Remy says, “When I heard ‘Thailand’, I’d been there many times, I didn’t hesitate.” But a week later, the priest told him Thailand was full. Only Taiwan needed volunteers.

“That time, I did hesitate,” he admits. “Twenty years ago, if you asked foreigners to point to Taiwan on a map, they couldn’t.”

Still, the idea of helping people was enough to get him on the plane.

First Stop: Yuli, Hualien

Remy’s first post was a center for children with disabilities in Yuli. “Some of the children couldn’t speak, and they would hit you,” he recalls. “You needed patience. I think the work really taught me patience. I was impatient before, and I changed.”

He adds, “I came to help people, but I realized that those children helped me. I gave a lot, but I received even more.”

In 2009, just as Remy was preparing to return to France, Typhoon Morakot devastated Taiwan. “It was the most powerful typhoon in 50 years. In just three days, it dumped an entire year’s worth of rain.” Inspired by the way Taiwanese came together, Remy stayed to help victims—and decided not to leave.

Why Taiwanese? 

Remy’s Taiwanese language learning journey began much like his arrival in Taiwan, with empathy and curiosity. His first linguistic passion was for Indigenous Austronesian languages, inspired by his work with Taiwan's Bunun and Amis tribes.

“Even if they wear traditional clothes, most only speak Chinese,” he explains. “They don't speak their native language. That made me a little sad,” he adds.

He went on to write "Parlons Bunon" and "Parlons Amis" ("Let's speak Bunon" and "Let's speak Amis"), books about these languages and cultures. “I wanted to use my free time to take notes to help conserve these languages,” he says.

Soon, Remy tuned his attention to Taiwanese.

“The situation with Taiwanese is a little better than the Austronesian languages. Those are in intensive care. Taiwanese is in the emergency room,” he jokes.

When asked whether foreigners should learn Taiwanese, he’s emphatic: “Definitely. Definitely.”

“Most foreigners say, ‘Ah, no need, I speak Chinese.’ But because they don’t speak Taiwanese, they have no interest,” he laments. “For me, it’s not just about learning a language. It’s about saving one,” explains Remy.

Remy is sort of a foreigner, and sort of not a foreigner at all. In addition to speaking Taiwanese better than some Taiwanese people, Remy acquired Taiwanese citizenship in 2021.

You Have to Learn Taiwanese

Remy encourages foreigners to learn Taiwanese, but notes it’s useful to first learn Chinese. “Most Taiwanese speak Chinese, not necessarily Taiwanese,” he explains. “It’s good to have Chinese—it makes learning Taiwanese easier.”

Still, if you want to understand Taiwan deeply, Taiwanese is essential, he says.

“Learning Taiwanese connects you to tradition, music, and literature in a more intimate way than Mandarin can,” he says.

“If you want to really touch the hearts of Taiwanese people, you have to learn Taiwanese. They’ll feel you truly want to integrate,” he adds.

Straight Outta Yongkang: Run Shao 

Run Shao (潤少) is a rapper from Yongkang, in southern Taiwan's Tainan. His unique blend of gangsta hip-hop and mixes Taiwanese slang into trap music.

He begins our interview with a crooked smile and a friendly "hello." The red diamond tattoo in the center of his forehead is the result of a lost bet, he says.

Who's Run Shao?

"Run Shao is the next rap star from the Tainan countryside,” he tells me confidently. With his track "Run Shao Exclusive" racking up over 5.9 million views, I believe him.

The track blends Taiwanese lyrics and Southern Taiwanese swagger over a Donk-inspired beat. The music video, which is a Y2K pastiche filmed in grainy VHS style, features Kaohsiung’s neon chaos, gang tattoos, temple dancers, and surreal imagery (like Run Shao dancing with oversized betel nuts).

“Taiwanese is closer to my heart”

“I grew up with my grandma,” Run Shao says. “She always spoke Taiwanese, so my Taiwanese is pretty good,” he says.

“I used to sing in Mandarin, but it didn’t really work out,” he shrugs. “When I switched to Taiwanese, my work got better," he adds.

Run Shao reveals that Taiwanese is closer to his heart and lets him express himself better.

Should foreigners learn Taiwanese? I ask. “I welcome everyone who wants to learn,” he says. “If a foreigner uses Taiwanese, it makes a Taiwanese person happy—it feels closer to the heart,” he says with a smile.

8+9 Culture, Hip-Hop, and Taiwanese Identity

Run Shao draws deeply from “8+9” youth culture—a slang term for Pat Ka Chiong (八家將), temple dancers who impersonate underworld spirits during religious parades. “8+9” sounds like Pat Ka Chiong in Taiwanese, a classic bit of linguistic wordplay.

Pat Ka Chiong performers, mostly from working-class Southern backgrounds, are closely tied to temple networks and are sometimes associated with gangs or underground scenes.

“8+9 culture and Taiwanese hip-hop are connected,” Run Shao says. “It’s just like Black culture and American hip-hop—they’re linked.”

Run Shao disagrees with the way Taiwan's media often paints 8+9 youth as delinquents. “The 8+9 people in my life have always been upright and take care of people.”

He adds, “A lot of people think 8+9 are bad, but they’re not worse than people in suits selling unhealthy microwave meals. Those guys are worse.”

Favourite Taiwanese phrase?

“‘新的台客看過無？’ (Sin-ê Tai-Ke Kánn--koh bô?),” he says, which translates to “I’m the new 8+9, have you seen this before?” It’s part boast, part tribute to his roots, delivered with a swagger reminiscent of NWA’s "Straight Outta Compton."

And if foreigners want a funny Taiwanese phrase? He grins before offering “肏你老鼠" ( Which means "fuck your rat.”)

“Did you just say...?” I ask.

“Yes,” he confirms, laughing. It’s a creative twist on a well-known insult, swapping the word “teacher” with “rat” (which sounds similar in Mandarin). “It’s in the gray zone,” he assures me.

Taiwanese on Trend: AYO

AYO is a Taiwanese influencer and creative who is redefining how her mother tongue is shared, blending playful language games with a vibrant Y2K-inspired aesthetic. Her fresh, neon-lit YouTube channel breaks away from traditional Taiwanese language education.

“My name is ‘Taiwan Girl, AYO’ (台灣妹仔AYO),” she corrects me, pronouncing her influencer name in Taiwanese, not Mandarin, with a smile that's at once forgiving and resolute. This isn't just branding, it’s cultural pride.

“I have a channel called "Taiwan Girl, AYO teaches you Taiwanese​​​​​,” she says.

“Taiwanese was my first language. My whole family speaks it.”

AYO's father, Tēng-pang Suyaka Chiu, is an accomplished poet, playwright, and Taiwanese language advocate. “During Martial Law, people were fined for speaking Taiwanese, and a lot of literature and art were suppressed,” she explains. 

Growing up, AYO’s father taught her the importance of the Taiwanese language. “Speaking Taiwanese was once seen as uneducated, while Mandarin was considered more prestigious,” she says. “That kind of thinking makes people lose confidence in their own culture.”

She studied film and started producing content in Taiwan after university. “I wanted to use Taiwanese to express my art,” she says.

Eventually, AYO launched her YouTube channel and began working on Taiwanese-language programs for Taiwan’s Public Television Service. She also supports social movements, including Taiwan’s Plain Law Movement, which uses accessible language to help people understand the law.

"I produce videos in Taiwanese to explain legal case studies, things that happen in daily life," says AYO

Trouble with Taiwanese

Speaking about the difficult road the Taiwanese language has traveled, AYO explains, “People used to be punished for speaking Taiwanese by having a placard that read ‘I won’t speak dialects’ hung around their neck. That kind of shame makes you think Taiwanese is useless. But it’s not,” says AYO.

“These kinds of tactics made Taiwanese people lose confidence in their own culture,” she says.

“Faced with this reality, you start to think, ‘Taiwanese is useless,’” she says. “People begin to believe that speaking Mandarin is a sign of higher social status, and that speaking Taiwanese makes you seem uneducated,” she adds.

“The authorities used these measures to shape people’s beliefs about Taiwanese,” she says. “As a result, Taiwanese people collectively lost confidence in their language.”

“People began to feel ashamed of their own culture and language,” she continues. “The authorities used this sense of shame to control us,” she adds.

“Even though the Martial Law period is over, we haven’t shaken this feeling of shame,” AYO says. “People are still afraid they’ll seem uncultured if they speak Taiwanese.”

She recalls a recent moment after giving a speech, when an elderly man approached her. “He told me that when the Japanese ruled Taiwan, they had to learn Taiwanese.”

“The Japanese did force students to speak Japanese in school as part of the Kominka movement,” she explains. “But they never stopped people from using Taiwanese at home or in daily life.”

“When the KMT took over after losing to the Communists, they occupied our land and enforced repressive policies to control the Taiwanese people,” she says.

“It’s only been 100 years since the KMT came to Taiwan, but the effect on the Taiwanese language is obvious,” AYO says. “Most kids today can’t speak Taiwanese, even if they come from Taiwanese-speaking families.”

“These policies damaged our sense of identity so much that we don’t know who we are anymore,” she says. “That, I think, is the most significant impact Martial Law still has on our lives,” she adds.

What phrase should foreigners learn first?

“I think the phrase tsia̍h-pá-buē? (食飯未?)—which sounds like ‘jya bah bway’ and means ‘Have you eaten?’—is the best one to start with,” says AYO.

“When greeting each other, Taiwanese people don’t just say ‘hi’; they want to know if you’ve eaten properly,” she adds.

What are your hopes for the future of Taiwanese?

“I hope one day Taiwanese people can use their mother tongue more in everyday life instead of everyone having to speak Mandarin,” she says.

“We want to create a society where people respect each other's languages, and that’s the main goal of our language revival campaigns,” she adds.

Taiwanese is alive and kicking, and rapping, in some cases.

With voices like Ayo’s, Remi’s, and Run Shao’s carrying it forward, it’s not hard to picture a future where Ayo’s dream of linguistic equality, with Taiwanese standing on equal footing with Mandarin, comes true.

Saving the Language, not just speaking It

Across three very different voices, Remy Gils, Run Shao, and 台灣妹仔 AYO, one message is clear. Taiwanese is not just a language; it is an identity, a history, and a movement.

For Remy, learning Taiwanese is not just learning a language. It is saving one.

For Run Shao, it is about self-expression and pride. Taiwanese is closer to his heart.

For AYO, it is a legacy to protect. Speaking Taiwanese is a way of saying she knows where she comes from.

Whoever you are, if you want to understand Taiwan, really understand it, you should listen to the three voices above. And learn Taiwanese.