Does Singapore have a hater culture?

Her Terms Only is Her World’s no-filter column that dives straight into the minds (and mouths) of women — and occasionally men — across generations to share unfiltered takes on the topics we’re often told not to talk about. From unpacking internalised sexism to confronting cultural taboos, this crowd-sourced series doesn’t tiptoe around the truth. It calls it out, flips the script, and challenges patriarchal norms and outdated gender roles in a uniquely Singaporean fashion.

When local actor-singer Glenn Yong took the stage at Mediacorp’s 2025 Countdown Party By The Beach to perform his single Break Out, the internet had… opinions. Lots of them.

Clips of the performance quickly circulated online, accompanied by snarky comments, memes and critiques about his singing. Unfortunately, Glenn Yong isn’t the only one navigating that reality.

Local creator Shannon Taylor summed up a frustration many creators in Singapore feel: Why do we hate those who try different things from the usual study-to-corporate route?

Scroll through Singapore’s social media ecosystem, and you’ll find personalities like Zhen Zhen (Tan Wan Chen), a content creator known for her candid oversharing, unapologetic Singlish and chronically online presence. For some followers, she’s entertaining precisely because she’s unfiltered. For others, she’s become a kind of internet spectacle — someone people watch, mock or meme.

While it is easy to hate on online personalities, you’ll quickly find that this behaviour happens to everyone, even within our own social circles. The internet has a term for this — hater culture. An online phenomenon that is characterised by widespread negativity, mockery and intense criticism. If you’ve ever found yourself hate-watching or hate-following a creator, or even lurking on a snark page on Reddit, congratulations, you’re taking part in hate culture too.

We’re all just part of the rat race

We asked Singaporeans why hater culture exists here, and one theme comes up repeatedly: competition.

Rohini, 27, believes it starts early.

“I genuinely feel like our education system has conditioned us to be overly competitive. From such a young age, we’re ranked, compared, graded, and taught that someone else’s success somehow affects our own.”

Rohini, 27

As a content creator herself, she has experienced firsthand the threat that comes with success. “I’ve heard so many creators speak negatively about others, people they don’t even know personally, and it rarely feels constructive. It often sounds like it’s coming from a place of insecurity or threat, as if someone else shining somehow takes away from them. But success isn’t a limited resource. There’s space for all of us,” she voices.

In other words, if you grow up in a system where performance is prioritised over expression, it’s easy to carry that competitiveness into adulthood. “When you grow up constantly being measured, it’s hard to genuinely be happy for someone else without comparing,” adds Rohini.

Bryan, 26, sees it as a byproduct of Singapore’s relentless hustle culture.

“Everyone is always about hustling and trying to hit certain milestones and checkpoints because these determine your status.”

Bryan, 26

Is the traditional “Singaporean Dream” too narrow?

Another reason might lie in how we define success. Think about it. The traditional “Singaporean dream” tends to follow a script: Degree → full-time job → BTO → marriage → kids.

But what happens when someone alters the script? Leory, 22, describes it as a mismatch between the end goal and the path you take to get there.

“You can achieve the same outcome, financial stability, marriage, and starting a family, but if you didn’t follow the conventional route, people might still look down on it.”

Leroy, 22

Content creators and artists often achieve financial success through paths that don’t fit the template. To others, that can look like an “easier route”, even though it often involves years of trial, failure and public scrutiny. Also, skillsets heavily differ, which, truthfully, some of these tech girls and fin bros might not have it in them.

The result? A mix of fascination, envy and scepticism.

Look Ma, I made it!

Jerica, 24, points out a contradiction many homegrown creatives recognise.

“People support local but only when they reach a certain level of success.”

Jerica, 24

Before that point, trying, experimenting and even failing publicly can invite criticism instead of encouragement. Shi Ting, 23, agrees. “Singaporeans expect things to be immediately polished and perfect,” she says. “But pursuits like content creation involve a lot of trial and error.”

With the anonymity of the internet, comments can be made without consequence, and criticism escalates quickly.

“Singaporeans also love gossip and dogpiling.”

Shi Ting, 23

Are you entertained?

Of course, not all criticism is malicious. Lorraine, 22, admits she sometimes enjoys watching public scandals unfold online, whether as a lesson for the wrongdoer or simply for entertainment.

“We always sort of enjoy being bystanders to someone else’s demise.”

Lorraine, 22

But she also distinguishes creators who feel authentic and those who seem “try hard”. “Talents like The Sam Willows or Yung Raja, they easily attract us to support them because their personality and talent clearly shine through,” she shares.

Others, particularly personalities known more for their looks than their craft, are more likely to face scepticism. That perception, fair or not, often fuels online commentary.

Complain culture

Some people argue that what we call “hate” might actually be something else entirely. Ramesh, 24, believes gossip and complaining often stem from frustration rather than pure hatred.

“Usually, when people are happy with their own situation, they are happy for others as well. Complaining comes from being bitter about where they are.”

Ramesh

“Hater culture” isn’t just a Singaporean thing

Still, the phenomenon isn’t unique to us.

Sociologists often describe this behaviour as Tall Poppy Syndrome — the tendency to criticise or cut down people who stand out or achieve individual success.

The concept originated in Australia and New Zealand, but similar patterns exist worldwide. Mexico has the “crab bucket mentality”, where individuals pull others down when they try to climb out.

This suggests that what we call “hater culture” might actually be a universal human instinct amplified by social media.

However, content creator and owner of Singapore’s first olive oil brand, Beît Ballout Alia, still feels that hater culture in Singapore is one of the most detrimental, which shows that change is needed. We ought to be kinder as a community.

So… are we actually such haters?

“I don’t think it’s just hate. There’s a mixture of support and envy.”

Chloe, 26

In fact, Singaporeans can be fiercely supportive too, especially once someone succeeds internationally. But the journey there? That’s often the hardest part.

Because in a society where success is tightly defined, anyone who chooses a different path will always stand out. And sometimes, standing out makes you the easiest target.

If there’s one takeaway from all these conversations, it’s this: Singaporeans may love to criticise, but we’re also deeply invested in watching each other succeed — or fail.

So, maybe the real question isn’t whether hater culture exists. It’s whether we can learn to make space for people to try, stumble and grow, the unSingaporean way, before they “make it”.

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