Unemployed? Young Chinese are Shelling out to Fake a 9-to-6

In a modestly decorated office, two former soldiers turned entrepreneurs engage in lively conversation with me over a steaming pot of Kung Fu tea. Outside, a group of young Chinese, four in total, have paid 30 yuan($4.18) each to immerse themselves in the unique experience of “pretending to work.”

This 18-seat office, tucked away in Shenzhen’s Longhua district – where Foxconn factory is located – opened in May and offers a blend of quasi-professionalism and a relaxed atmosphere for young people seeking connection.

On a Thursday afternoon earlier this month, the office buzzed with energy. A 26-year-old woman, recently freed from a toxic job, was on the lookout for her next opportunity. A fellow 26-year-old content creator was seeking the perfect office backdrop to boost her online traffic. Meanwhile, a 21-year-old college student enjoying his summer break was eager to get a taste of the working vibe ahead of time, and a 30-year-old livestreamer specializing in men’s health products rounded out the group. They were all united by their 30-yuan ($4.18) investment in this unique experience of being “day-off coworkers.”

A humble 'Pretend to Work Co., Ltd.' is tucked away in the Longhua district of bustling Shenzhen, Southeastern China.

Recently, “Pretend to Work” companies as such are popping up in major cities, like Shenzhen, Hangzhou, Shanghai and Chengdu, across the country, where youth unemployment rate is still stubbornly high and young Chinese are eager to reconnect in offline spaces after three years of pandemic lockdown.

Buddha-like Bosses Running a “Rebellious” Side Hustle

佛系 “Buddha-like”: a buzzword in Chinese internet that embodies a mindset of acceptance, calmness, and a lack of desire or competitiveness amid modern pressures.

The co-founders, AJie and Dahui, exude a chill vibe. Clad in matching black T-shirts, they whisk me to their office, where they brew sweet-bitter Kung Fu tea.

Dahui kindly peeled a pear, which revealed some funky dark patches as he went. He handed me a slice of that fruit I’m not exactly fond of— especially since it looked a bit questionable. Just as I was about to take a polite bite, it was just so relieving to hear him say “alright, let’s drop the pear” – after taking a bite himself and fining out it had soured.

With their main jobs in e-commerce fueling their side hustle of running “pretend to work” space, Ajie and Dahui called themselves as “Buddha-like bosses,” embracing a monk-like, non-competitive mindset and downplaying ambitions for fame or fortune from their side roles.

“We are entrepreneurs ourselves, and we need a platform like this.” The 30-year-old Dahui, with 15 years of eclectic work experience, told me. “We are among the first users who are ‘pretending to work.’ We hope that others who need these kinds of spaces can find a home here too.”

The office is modestly decorated.

The cost to run their 100 m² rented office is about 8,000 yuan per month, and each “worker” pays 30 yuan for the immersive experience. They needed at least 10 paying customers daily to break even, but Dahui said that daily visitor numbers fall short of that target.

“I don’t want to focus on commercialization,” Ajie added, a year younger than Dahui, primarily handling customer relations and the company’s social media. “I just want to provide a space for young people to connect.”

Ajie managed a WeChat group with over 130 members, sharing updates about the “Pretend to Work Co. Ltd.” and organizing offline activities like board games and hiking for local youth.

With aspirations to connect like-minded individuals, the duo rented the office last July. However, they faced challenges getting their “rebellious” idea off the ground until May, according to Dahui.

He noted that the concept of “pretending to work” was ahead of its time for local authorities, especially in Longhua, known as Shenzhen's "Golden Triangle" where many scam companies operate, he said. Moreover, this concept also touched on a societal pain point amid rising “anxiety about employment,” Dahui added.

China’s youth unemployment rate hit 17.8% in July, the highest level since August 2024.

Paying to Fake a 9-to-6 After Resignation

Among the new colleagues, Ms. Shu was a seasoned “worker” here.

Previously a saleswoman with a decent salary of 12,000 yuan, she had left due to her boss’s gaslighting behavior. she had since spent her days at the “Pretend to Work” office, actively searching for a healthier job.

“The hardest part is keeping it from my parents. I have to wake up early, like I’m still working a 9-to-6,” Ms. Shu explained. (A 9-to-6 typically includes an hour’s lunch break.)

Having resigned about a week ago, she has been commuting two hours daily from Futian district to maintain the illusion for her parents, who would react strongly to her decision. “They’d ask why I quit and why I couldn’t hang in there like others,” she added.

Behind me are Ms. Shu, a recent escapee from a toxic boss, and He Yi, a college student eager to dip a toe into the working world.

Ms. Shu prefers the laid-back vibe here over the stress of a library or study room. “It's too quiet and makes it hard to relax,” she said.

She entered the workforce in 2022 amid China’s lockdown-battered economy, but now finds the job market even tougher. “Others have lower standards and are demanding lower salaries; the competition is fierce,” she noted.

Feeling “All at Sea”

He Yi, a 21-year-old student, burst into the manager’s office with youthful energy. After greeting everyone, he shyly took a seat in the cozy executive chair at Ajie's invitation, savoring the taste of the future seat he had dreamed about.

This was his first visit to the “company”, bringing to the table his “unprecedented anxiety” about entering the job market a year later, eager to hear advice from experienced workers – mainly Ajie and Dahui – on how to “climb the career ladder.”

“I feel all at sea right now,” said He, who comes from a “traditional family” in a county in Central China, where his father laid out a typical stability-focused and masculine path for him: to become a teacher with a stable income and find a tradewife whose “inner beauty surpasses her outer beauty” while still being able to contribute to his career.

Like many other ambitious young Chinese, He is “drawn to more challenging and stimulating things,” dismissing his father’s proposal to become a teacher.

As a member of a younger generation raised in what he described as a “traditional family,” He said he “would rather pursue someone with interesting outer beauty” and hopes to become “strong enough that she will always follow me and feel secure.” (As an adult daughter of a similarly “big-parent-like” father, honestly I’m not shocked to hear the young man and her father’s expectations for an ideal partner – they sound different yet essentially place women in the same role of serving men.)

“Pretend to Work Co., Ltd” founded by Ajie and Dahui, two veterans who have made the leap into entrepreneurship.

Yet, the 21-year-old added that “It’s hard to know what I can achieve on my own without relying on my parents.”

Dahui, who is ten years older and has 15 years of social experience, shares this feeling of all at sea.

The veteran in a local branch of the People’s Liberation Army stated that he could have a promising future in the army. But he chose to take a rocky path instead.

“I've escaped a lot from my comfort zone; I jumped from fresh water into the ocean. Now, I can only keep struggling in this boundless sea, not knowing when I’ll go ashore.” Dahui pointed to the uncertain future of the semi-public welfare company “Pretend to Work” and his main job in the e-commerce world.

“Life is all about constant hustle.” he quoted a line from his army squad leader. “It’s always a struggle; it’s just about whether you like that state of being.”

“So do you like it?” I jumped in.

“Yes, very much. I enjoy it.” Dahui said definitively.

“And you?” I turned to his peer Ajie.

“If I didn't like it, I wouldn't be doing it with him.” He responded with a shy yet firm smile.