With the inflation of education credentials and a cool-down of the Chinese tech sector, the market is now saturated with over-qualified talent. A growing percentage of China’s university students are choosing to postpone their graduation: new data shows that the number has grown steadily since 2011, and in 2023, is nearly the same as those who graduate on time. A slowing economy and grim prospects for graduates have given rise to a wide range of responses from Gen-Z and millennials, from sarcastic graduation shoots and wild resignation parties, to an uptick of interest in pursuing advanced degrees as a way to avoid facing unemployment. Record-high youth unemployment in 2023 and the extremely stressful working culture known as are just two of the factors contributing to the shifting mentality of young Chinese workers.
It has been estimated that since 2022, more than 28,000 employees have been laid offvii from China’s three largest tech firms (Baidu, Alibaba and Tencent), and as of May 2023 overall youth unemployment for those aged between 16-24 in urban regions stood at 21%. At the same time, alternative approaches such as minimalist and ‘digital nomad’ lifestyles are taking hold in the country. And for those who are not willing to give up on a stable profession or a fully-furnished apartment, moving to a third or fourth-tier city is becoming an increasingly appealing option. Young people in China in search of junior nursing homes are looking for a reprieve from bustling cities, economic pressures, and family duties, signalling that mental health is a growing priority amongst younger generations in China.
Rising Unemployment and New Wave of Spirituality:
In 2022, China’s college graduates exceeded 10 million for the first time, reflecting the emphasis that society places on education, but also a mismatch between labour market supply and demand. Young graduates lacking work experience and the means or desire to continue their studies face limited choices. Some have invented their own jobs as “full-time children,” whilst others have decided to take the plunge into the less glamorous service industry roles in coffee shops or hotpot chains . The story of He Shuang highlights the complex choices faced by young people in China’s less developed areas. Leaving one’s hometown for opportunities in major cities used to be an obvious choice for those that sought success and a higher quality of life. However, this is slowly beginning to change as unemployment levels and the cost of living rise in major cities.
As waves of post-pandemic burnout hit China’s workface last year, quitting became the cool thing to do, leading to viral “resignation parties.” The same phenomenon also created a surge of so-called “resignation influencers,” content creators whose online identities were tied to the act of quitting their jobs and exploring new avenues. However, only a year later, the trend has seemingly been reversed: at the beginning of August “Resignation Influencers Return to Work” became a trending search topic on Weibo, attracting 80 million views. Many influencers who made their names quitting corporate life have returned to traditional employment, disappointed by the realities of life as a content creator.
Many “resignation influencers” gained their initial popularity through posts stating that they would quit their jobs if they got a certain number of likes. After following through with their resignations they would document their lives after leaving corporate positions. This phenomenon highlights a significant shift in the attitudes of young professionals in China, where a stable job is traditionally viewed as a hallmark of success. The pressures of long working hours, high stress, and disproportionate compensation have led many to seek a different path— but evidently, some have found being full time content creator to be a step too far. While these influencers initially captivated audiences with the promise of a liberated life, the reality they’ve found has often proved less idyllic than expected.Their return to the workforce underscores the enduring appeal of stability and the challenges of self-employment, especially as China goes through difficult economic straits
In the past, many Chinese graduates would settle down soon after college, living in the family home until they got married. Now, they’re increasingly putting off marriage until their 30s and building their own lives in major cities, where they often work intense jobs that leave little time for socializing. The number of singles in China has now surpassed 200 million, according to government data released in 2019. The total number of single people living alone, meanwhile, is expected to reach 90 million by 2021.
There is no doubt that young people in China are facing a lot of stress, whether the pressure to achieve academic excellence or to succeed in work culture. While Sichuan is blessed with a beautiful natural environment and a plenitude of religious sites, making it easier to access the tranquility of the countryside, the trend of young people seeking out peaceful and relaxing environments is catching on around the country. Chanxiu Campsxix (禅修营) — short meditation sessions hosted by local Buddhist and Taoist temples — have sprung up across China over the past few years, offering anxious young people a taste of what life in the templefeels like. Notable Buddhist shrines to participate in the trend include Nuonatayuan in Lushan, Jiangxi province, and the Lama Temple in Beijing.
Decreasing Marriages and Increasing Divorces:
Young couples in China have been putting off getting married and having children for a while now. According to government data released in 2021, nearly half of the country’s newlyweds are over 30 years old, but the overallnumber of people getting married has plummeted in recent years. Less than 8 million couples got married in 2021, which marks a 40% drop compared to marriage’s ‘heyday’ in 2013. Concerned about its population decline, the Chinese government introduced what it calls a “30-day cooling off period” in 2021. The new rule essentially requires couples to wait another month before finalizing their divorces, and it seems to be working — the country’s divorce rate took a nosedive that year.
On Oct. 29, 2015, the Chinese government made an extraordinary decision to end its notorious one-child policy and allow every family to have two children. Easing the family-planning rules was designed to avoid — or at least mitigate — a looming demographic catastrophe. Almost a decade later, the hoped-for baby boom has largely failed to materialize. And the country’s population of child-bearing age citizens is already fallingxxiii, according to officials.
Some Communist Party groups have even begun organizing dating events to help young singles settle down and pushing cadres to set a good example by having a second baby. In major cities like Shanghai, the costs associated with raising a child can be staggering. In a 2017 survey by consultancy TF Securities, parents in Beijing estimated the costs were at least 78,000 yuan ($11,500) — equivalent to over a year’s income for an average household in the city. Factoring in extras such as child care costs and and premiums for properties in good school districts, the total could be over 2.5 million yuan, the report found.
In related news, the hashtag ‘Why marriage registrations hit their lowest in 36 years’ (#结婚登记数为何创36年新低) recently went viral on Weibo and amassed 190 million viewsxxix. Most commenters have shown little to no surprise over the sharp decline in marriage registrations, blaming today’s “hostile environment” as a good reason not to get hitched in contemporary Chinese society. “Job security is worsening with rising living expenses, especially soaring housing prices. It’s already not easy to feed oneself, let alone entertain the idea of founding a family,” wrote one netizen. Others have laid out the meagre benefits of marriage and childbirth for women in the current marital system. Fewer births are leading to fewer enrolments in primary schools, in turn causing shutdown of kindergartens and elementary schools across China.
China’s single population is skyrocketing. According to government estimates, the number of people living alone in China reached 92 million in 2021 —more than Germany’s total population. Yet Chinese singles still face a multitude of barriers. The social stigma attached to remaining unmarried remains strong, with Chinese authorities — wary of a looming demographic crisis —branding females who stay single as “leftover women.” Gender inequality has been an important driver of China’s declining marriage rate, with young women far more likely to want to stay single than young men.
Many young Chinese, meanwhile, are becoming increasingly interested in the concept of singles’ rights. In January 2022, a group of feminist activists organized the country’s first singles’ rights event: an online forum titled “Single-Unmarried People’s Rights in China.” In China, however, conceiving out of wedlock is not a straightforward process. Assisted reproductive technologies such as in vitro fertilization and egg-freezing aren’t legally accessible to unmarried women. Thousands of Chinese women travel abroad to undergo insemination procedures each year, but it’s prohibitively expensive. In China, single women are banned from using egg-freezing services, with authorities arguing the policy is necessary to safeguard women’s health. Southern Metropolis Daily, a major Chinese newspaper, even commissioned a survey on egg-freezing as part of its coverage, which found 84.6% of respondents supported single women who planned to freeze their eggs.
Exponential Aging and Dwindling Birth-rates:
Under the one-child policy, Chinese millennials were “little emperors” pampered by an entourage of older relatives. Now, their former caregivers have reached old age — and the one-child generation is struggling to cope. Now, however, the roles have reversed. The once-pampered “little emperors” find themselves trying to support not only their own young families but also their aging parents and grandparents. And they have no siblings to help them. By 2050, one-third of China’s citizens will be aged 60 or over — a demographic transformation that threatens to create deep social and economic challenges
Under Chinese law, adult children are obligated to provide their parents with care, economic support, and “spiritual comfort” in their old age. The country’s most elderly megacity, Shanghai, has 5.2 million residents aged over 60 — over 35% of the registered population. With increasing number of old people, tusslesbetween the young and old have become increasingly common in China’s public places. Chinese netizens commented that giving up public transit seats to older passengers is a display of the classical Chinese teaching to “respect the elderly, , love the young” (尊老爱幼, zūnlǎo àiyòu). While as a society, young people should be encouraged to respect the elderly, clearly many Chinese youth feel that older generations should in turn treat them with the bare minimum of courtesy and politeness.
Over recent years, there has been growing concern in China about the economic implications of millennials’ reluctance to marry. Some argue the country’s declining birth rate will undermine the country’s long-term growth, while others believe single people on low incomes focus on saving money, which acts as a drag on consumption. Chinese authorities have launched a swath of promarriage policies, including the introduction of mandatory “cool-off periods”for couples seeking a divorce.
Changing Lifestyles and Consumption Patterns:
Chinese older Gen-Zs and younger millennials have started to comprise a significant portion of consumers at major Chinese gold stores. An investigation by Shenzhen Economic Daily found that young people accounted for nearly 70% of customers at two stores for major gold brands in the city of Huizhouxlix. This trend may reflect a sense of “refined frugality” that young Chinese have adopted amidst an unstable economy. Millennials and Gen Zers with some disposable income are taking the steady annual rise in gold prices as a sign to invest in the precious metal. In reaction to this trend, netizens have joked that this Chinese generation is “buying gold instead of investing in real estate.”
Chinese youth are flocking to Buddhist temples and other religious sites to escape the rat race of contemporary life and get a dose of spiritual comfort, and a brief respite from their intense academic and work-dominated lives. According to Trip.com Group, China’s largest travel planning platform, bookings for temple visits and excursions have grown by 310%li since the fall of 2022. The main demographic behind this recent spike in interest is Millennials and Gen Zers, also known as the ‘post-’90s’ and ‘post-’00s’ groups in China, who account for more than half of bookings.
Instead of drinking or going to brunch, some young adults are using their weekends to travel to the outskirts of cities, meditating and burning incense inside Buddhist temples. The sudden viral phenomenon has generated much discussion on Weibo, China’s top microblogging platform. The hashtag ‘Why are temple retreats so popular all of a sudden’ (为什么寺庙旅游突然火了) has garnered more than 110 million views. The growing interest in Buddhist temples is reminiscent of another trend from the past — a ‘Buddha-like mind-set.’
Characterized by young adults accepting life for what it is instead of chasing what it could be, many consider it a predecessor to the ‘lying flat’ movement. The term gained popularity in 2017 and similarly incited criticism with claims that the Buddha-like mind-set trend is making youth “ fatalistic” and lazy.
Gig Economy and China:
Food delivery platforms like Meituan and Ele.me have seen a massive influx of new drivers amid a sharp economic slowdownlv triggered by the COVID-19 pandemic. As millions of workers are laid off or furloughed, many are turning to the gig economy as a last-resort source of income. Meituan alone added 458,000 new drivers to its ranks between Jan. 20 and March 30. New drivers say food delivery is a useful — if exhausting, stressful, and dangerous — means of keeping up with payments and surviving in post-coronavirus China. However, with most workers paid just 5-7.50 yuan ($0.70-$1) per delivery and only a limited amount of work available, the increased competition means veteran riders are working longer for less. As cities across China went into lockdown during February, China’s waimai xiaoge — or “takeout brothers,” as the 92% male workforcel is affectionately nicknamed by the public — played a crucial role keeping the country fed and supplied.
Seeking mental wellbeing in a fast-paced, competitive society, young Chinese are turning to meditation, talismans, and tarot cards. For instance, the hashtag “spiritual practice” on the lifestyle app Xiaohongshu has almost 113 million views, all linked to themes like enhancing mentality, self-improvement, and inner peace. The increasing number of Chinese youth for less-stressful jobs like librarians and security guards is a reflection of high pressure work environment in today’s China. Driven by a surge in demand for escapism and social connection post-pandemic, music festivals soared in popularity across China in 2023, with the number of events more than doubling the peak recorded in 2017. The green banana craze illustrates how younger generations of Chinese workers are increasingly looking for emotional support in the workplace. For corporations, it raises key questions on how to create a more welcoming and comfortable work environment.
The rise of distrust in the Chinese political and economic system, for instance, is leading private firms to hold back on investing and consumers to tighten their belt on spending. Coupled with never-ending political expulsions, the darker national mood also is making officials at various levels of government feel less than passionate about taking initiatives on policy implementation. For Xi, the most influential Chinese leader in decades, the kaleidoscopic sentiments within China represent an impediment in the form of passive conflict to his various initiatives aimed at getting China back to its socialist roots. One of the best-known initiatives is “common prosperity,” which generally calls for a more equal distribution of wealth. In a sign of a lack of confidence in this broader agenda, some within China have lamented on social media the prospect of the “common prosperity” drive transforming into one towards “common poverty.”
The performance legitimacy accrued by the CCP leadership through decades of persistent economic growth and improved living standards appears to be dented gradually and likely to become a churning recipe for turmoil. As growth slows, businesses retrench, and job losses pile up, many have realized they can’t keep counting on the CCP to deliver prosperity. In fact, they are starting to pin the blame on the system itself for some of the hardships they face. The increasing frustration of Chinese youth to barely survive under the authoritarian Chinese regime would lead to a rousing recipe for chaos and eventually propel towards a hopeful reformation in the Chinese political system.