American lawmakers are about to determine the future of pornography, or they’re trying, at least. In recent years, nineteen states—most of them Republican-led—have passed legislation that requires any site with a significant amount of adult content to prove all its users are over 18. Most recently, on New Year’s Day, a new law called HB 3 took effect in my home state of Florida, where porn sites now face fines of up to $50,000 for every violation. But this week, such laws could be found unconstitutional.

This is all thanks to the Free Speech Coalition, a sort of NRA for pornographers, which has sued Texas attorney general Ken Paxton, a religious hard-liner, over that state’s age verification law. On Wednesday, the Supreme Court will hear FSC’s case, which argues that these porn laws undermine free speech, infringe on privacy, and hurt American companies, while doing nothing to block foreign and fringe sites that don’t comply with U.S. laws.

The rationale behind the laws is understandable: Studies have shown that pornography consumption by teenagers can lead to misogynistic attitudes and increased sexual aggression. It’s also linked to mental health problems and increased rates of unsafe sex. More to the point, most parents are uncomfortable with the idea of their children having access to terabytes worth of hardcore pornography at the touch of a button.

But these laws are fundamentally pointless. First etched into mammoth tusks 40,000 years ago, porn predates the written word. It is inevitable—and in the internet age, infinitely accessible—even in places where so-called “porn bans” have been enacted.

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On Sunday, if the Biden administration gets its way, the third of American adults who use TikTok could abruptly be deprived of the social media app. And over the past several days, self-described “TikTok refugees” have been flocking to another Chinese app called RedNote, also known as Xiaohongshu, which roughly translates to “little red book” (as in, Mao’s). It’s not clear who started the trend, but it’s undeniable: RedNote surged to the top of both Apple and Android’s app stores. Taylor Lorenz, the uber-progressive internet commentator, described it as “the hottest new social app in America!!”

Unlike TikTok, RedNote, which started in Shanghai in 2013 and has over 300 million active monthly users, is an unmistakably Chinese app. When you first open it to sign up, you’re greeted by a wall of Mandarin. The terms and conditions are also in Mandarin: For all I know, I could have just signed over my 401(k) to Xi Jinping himself. And while TikTok is banned in its native China, RedNote is available to the 1.4 billion people living there, and who make up the majority of its userbase. When you log on, you are greeted with a feed nearly identical to TikTok’s, an endless scroll of photos and short-form videos—and they are overwhelmingly in Chinese. And unlike some social media sites such as X, there is no button to auto-translate text.

President Biden signed a bill last spring that would ban TikTok if its Beijing-based parent company doesn’t sell the app to a U.S. buyer. Ever since then, Zoomers have been sardonically bidding farewell to the Chinese spies assigned to monitor their online activities. “It’s been real, my Chinese friend,” one posted. Another imagined “trying to reconnect with my Chinese spy on the dark web” after a TikTok ban, “cuz I never felt more seen and understood than I did with him.” The joke has carried over to RedNote, with some Americans posting that they’re looking for their “new Chinese spy.”

The Chinese users on RedNote seem bemused by these TikTok refugees, asking questions like: “Why are you here? Is it because your TikTok has been banned?”

But overall they are welcoming to the Americans, posting videos with titles like “Hello from your New Chinese spy.”

They have only one demand.

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