In recent years, the declining open rate of WeChat Moments has shifted from a vague user perception to a reality confirmed by data. What was once a vibrant social square has gradually fallen silent. The sharp drop in content publishing, the near disappearance of genuine interaction, and the growing reluctance to share daily life all point to a deeper fracture, one shaped by mounting social pressure, a deteriorating content ecosystem, and the migration of user attention elsewhere.
Compared with its peak in 2021, the average daily number of posts on WeChat Moments in 2025 has dropped by 37%. Active engagement has also fallen: the proportion of users who proactively like or comment decreased by 27%, and the overall like rate has dipped below 10%. More than 70% of users have enabled the “visible for three days” setting, while half have not actively opened the Moments feed for six months. Although WeChat still commands a daily average usage time of 85 minutes, it has been surpassed by short video platforms such as Douyin, which averages 93 minutes per day. The competition for attention has intensified, and social time is increasingly diverted to algorithm-driven entertainment platforms.
For most users, fewer than twenty contacts qualify as genuine friends; the rest are colleagues, clients, acquaintances, or distant connections. Posting a simple status update often requires careful audience segmentation, complaining about work risks worrying parents, sharing vacation photos may invite accusations of showing off. The emotional labor involved in self-censorship has grown burdensome. Location tags can be misinterpreted, commuting routes may become fodder for rumors, and public sector employees have faced scrutiny over seemingly harmless photos. As a result, users increasingly pre-edit their own lives before sharing.
Advertisements, micro business promotions, and workplace publicity now account for more than 80% of posts in many users’ feeds. “Eight out of ten posts are promotional” has become a common complaint. Moments has long adhered to a chronological feed rather than algorithmic optimization. While this once symbolized fairness, it now means high-quality content is easily buried under repetitive marketing and low value updates. Without effective filtering, user experience continues to deteriorate.
On average, users spend fifteen minutes crafting a post, yet the pleasure generated by receiving likes lasts less than two minutes. The imbalance between effort and feedback discourages participation. Worse, silence breeds anxiety, 72% of users report feeling uneasy when their posts receive little interaction. At the same time, exposure to others’ curated lives triggers comparison and insecurity for 34% of users. What was designed as a social space has increasingly felt like a minefield of interpersonal tension.
As expression retreats from Moments, it reappears elsewhere in fragmented form. Users now distribute different aspects of themselves across multiple platforms. Emotional venting finds a home on Weibo; curated lifestyle imagery goes to Instagram; daily records migrate to Xiaohongshu, whose posting volume has tripled in two years; Bilibili has become a new kind of video diary. Moments, by contrast, is often reduced to a professional bulletin board, reserved for work updates while personal life is quietly stripped away.
At the same time, more private forms of documentation are on the rise. Encrypted photo albums and note-taking apps have seen surging user growth, with some reporting a 37% year-on-year increase. WeChat’s “24-hour status” feature caters to short-lived sharing needs, offering expression without the burden of permanent visibility. Users are also actively streamlining their social circles, trimming friend lists and blocking long-term “spectators” in pursuit of deeper resonance within smaller groups. Instead of broadcasting to hundreds, many now prefer meaningful exchanges with three to five close connections.
Some people view Moments as a performative showcase. Others defend the freedom to post or not post, arguing that sharing is neither immature nor excessive but a personal choice. For them, Moments is a gift to one’s future self, a time capsule of emotions and experiences that may otherwise fade.
As one user put it, “The only permanent visitor to my Moments is my future self.” In this sense, the silence is not mere decline but a subtle resistance, a gentle refusal to participate in the escalating spectacle of digital social performance. What looks like withdrawal may, in fact, be a recalibration of how people wish to exist online: less exposed, less pressured, and perhaps, more authentic.
