Why Super Apps took off in China
Driven by business interests and mobile-first habits
There is a common belief that the difference one sees between apps in Asia and in Europe is due to difference in user preferences; that the way apps are built is because users in the East prefer higher information density and more bundled services than in the West. That isn’t true; and doubly so. Super Apps packed with features are that way because it benefits the business, not because of catering to a user preference. And apps in China (Douyin), South Korea (Naver) and Japan (Mercari) are trending towards a simpler, more refined interface, aligning with global design principles.
The mini-program of many new coffee brands in China (三立方): White space, limited use of colors, etc.
By the end of the 2010s, WeChat had become much more than a messaging app. It was a payment tool, a social network, a ride-hailing service, and a way to order lunch—all within one interface. This “super app” model, now emblematic of China’s internet economy, has been studied and emulated around the world. Yet, many observers still assume super apps grew out of cultural preferences or a uniquely Chinese desire for convenience. The truth is more nuanced and far more strategic.
For product managers and business leaders, understanding how and why super apps took off in China offers a valuable case study in market-driven growth, platform design, and competitive positioning. Consumer demand has not been driving this product expansion. It’s the reverse: a story of businesses reacting to infrastructure gaps, regulatory quirks, economic pressures and fierce competition by building all-in-one solutions.
Dawn of a new ecosystem
In most Western countries, internet adoption began on desktop computers. In China, it didn’t. For many Chinese consumers, the smartphone was their first and only personal computing device. As of 2010, internet penetration in China remained under 35%, and mobile networks were only just becoming widespread.
This meant that, when mobile apps arrived, there was no entrenched behavior around web browsers, email, or desktop-first search. Baidu, once China’s dominant search engine, failed to transition effectively to mobile, offering a clunky mobile web experience. WeChat, launched in 2011 by Tencent, quickly filled that void. With Official Accounts, individuals and organizations could set up something like Facebook’s Pages, or blogs or newsletters. Bars, restaurants, coffee shops and all sorts of brands would run Official Accounts to stay in touch with their customer base. For users, WeChat became a natural way to start their search when they wanted to research a new brand or shop.
As Tencent layered in “mini programs”, essentially small websites that are accessed through WeChat, it gave users a way to shop, play games, and even access government services without ever leaving the platform. These programs were lightweight and built on Tencent’s HTML-derivative, WXML, to run fast on mobile devices, further cementing WeChat’s status as the default starting point for internet use. WeChat, in effect, became China’s version of a web browser, app store, and start page rolled into one. In this sense, Tencent’s WeChat should be thought of as an equivalent to Google’s Chrome browser, not Meta’s WhatsApp.
The advantage of a blank slate
In the early 2010s, much of China’s digital economy was still undeveloped. Most industries had not yet built online infrastructure. Banks didn’t offer consumer-friendly online payment systems. Retail was still dominated by cash. E-commerce was new and not yet trusted.
This opened a wide opportunity for ambitious internet companies. Alibaba, for example, launched Alipay to solve a simple but critical problem: Chinese banks were unwilling to hold money in escrow for small online purchases on Taobao, its e-commerce platform. Without a trusted payment layer, online marketplaces would struggle. So Alibaba built one.
Across the board, the logic was simple: if an adjacent service didn’t exist or wasn’t reliable, tech platforms built it themselves and linked it directly into their main app. It was the fastest, most efficient way to acquire users and grow. These decisions weren’t guided by ideal user flows or elegant interface design. They were driven by necessity and a chance to capture entire industries that had yet to digitize.
In an environment with few incumbents and minimal regulation, companies had freedom to grow horizontally, and did.
Walled gardens
The expansion of super apps was also shaped by a more defensive tactic: limiting competition. For years, China’s internet giants Tencent, Alibaba, Baidu and later ByteDance, blocked each other’s links, services and payments inside their platforms.
If a user on WeChat tried to open a shopping link from Taobao, it simply wouldn’t load. If you wanted to pay for an item on Alibaba’s platforms, WeChat Pay wasn’t an option. In effect, these companies created walled gardens, each trying to keep users inside their own ecosystems.
This encouraged platforms to bundle as many services as possible into one app. The app became a digital mall offering food delivery, ticket bookings, social media, and payments in-house.
Regulators only stepped in years later. In 2021, the Chinese government ordered tech companies to stop blocking links to each other’s platforms. But by then, user habits had already formed. Consumers were accustomed to getting everything done within one app, and super apps had become entrenched.
Low spending power, high stakes
Perhaps the most underappreciated reason for China’s super app boom is economic. In the early days of mobile internet, Chinese consumers spent less online than their Western counterparts. Their lifetime value to a single-purpose app was low.
The response from platform companies was to offer more services per user—to raise revenue without needing more users. Once a customer joined an app, companies did everything they could to keep them there: integrating games, banking, travel, and shopping.
It was also expensive to attract users in the first place. To win market share, companies gave out coupons, subsidies and even cash, as with Tencent’s now-famous red envelope campaigns to promote WeChat Pay during CNY. Once they had a user’s attention, the smartest move was to monetize them across as many touchpoints as possible, without ever sending them to a competing app. Bundling services into one interface reduced churn and acquisition costs at the same time.
The takeaway
Super apps didn’t emerge in China because users demanded them. They emerged because a set of unique market conditions—mobile-first adoption, greenfield industries, competitive blocking, and low spending power—made them a smart strategy.
However, it needs to be said clearly and strongly that the concept of Super Apps itself is flawed. WeChat in fact does not let you do all 10,000 things you could possible want to do on your phone. Yes, you can open links to Dianping to view restaurants, or order taxis through mini-programs, but once you want to go further, for example to set up an account and view history or save to favorites, you will be led to download the app. The WeChat ecosystem of mini-programs is the mobile version of the open web, where we search websites, try out the service, and may then go and get the mobile app.
For product leaders in other markets, the lesson isn’t necessarily to replicate the super app model, but to recognize how platform scope, regulatory context, and infrastructure gaps shape product decisions. In some cases, bundling may be the right move. In others, building best-in-class focused apps might win. What matters is understanding what’s driving growth: user demand, or business necessity.