On any given morning in China’s bustling cities, a curious phenomenon is unfolding. Young adults, dressed for success, step out of their homes and head to what appears to be a regular office. There’s the hum of computers, the aroma of coffee, and the gentle clatter of keyboards. But beneath the surface, something is amiss. These offices aren’t real workplaces, and the young people inside aren’t employees—they’re paying customers, participating in a growing trend known as “pretend to work.”
This unusual practice has taken root in major cities such as Chengdu, Hangzhou, Beijing, Shenzhen, Shanghai, Nanjing, Wuhan, and Kunming, according to reporting by EL PAÍS and BBC. For a daily fee ranging between 30 and 50 yuan (roughly $4 to $7), these companies offer not just a desk and Wi-Fi, but the full trappings of office life: lunch, snacks, drinks, and even staged managerial rounds. Some venues go so far as to orchestrate fake supervisors and symbolic “worker uprisings.” The goal? To provide an environment that closely mimics a real workplace, allowing clients to maintain the appearance of employment.
It’s not just about keeping up appearances for the outside world. For many young Chinese, the “pretend to work” trend is a lifeline—a way to cope with the crushing pressures of unemployment and the social stigma attached to joblessness. Shui Zhou, a 30-year-old from Dongguan whose food business collapsed in 2024, found himself adrift and unmotivated. In April 2025, he discovered Pretend To Work Company and began paying 30 yuan daily for a desk. “I feel very happy. It’s like we’re working together as a group,” Zhou told BBC. His routine is strikingly similar to that of a real office worker: he arrives between 8 and 9 am, sometimes stays as late as 11 pm, and even sends photos of the office to his parents to reassure them. “They feel much more at ease now,” he added.
Zhou isn’t alone in seeking solace—and a sense of purpose—in these spaces. Zonghua, who didn’t share her real name, pays 400 yuan a month (about $55) for a comfortable workspace where she spends her days applying for jobs after quitting her previous position in the spring of 2024. For her, the pretend office isn’t just a façade; it’s a place to regroup, learn new skills, and plan her next move.
For others, the motivation is more pragmatic. Xiaowen Tang, 23, graduated in 2024 and faced a dilemma: her university required proof of internship or employment within a year to grant her diploma. Unable to secure a real position, she rented a desk in a Shanghai pretend office, paid her daily fee, and sent staged photos as “proof” to her school. In reality, she spent her days writing online novels to make ends meet. “If you’re going to pretend it,” she said to BBC, “just pretend it to the end.”
Behind these operations are entrepreneurs like Feiyu (a pseudonym), a 30-year-old former retail business owner who lost his company during the Covid-19 pandemic. “I was very depressed and a bit self-destructive. You wanted to turn the tide, but you were powerless,” Feiyu told BBC. In April 2025, he launched Pretend To Work as a social experiment. Within a month, every desk was filled, and now applicants must be approved before joining. Feiyu estimates that 40% of his customers are recent university graduates who need to fake internships for their schools, while the remaining 60% are freelancers—digital nomads, e-commerce workers, and cyberspace writers—who crave the structure and community of office life.
“What I’m selling isn’t a workstation, but the dignity of not being a useless person,” Feiyu explained. His approach resonates with many who feel left behind by China’s shifting job market. Officially, these participants are labeled as “flexible employment professionals,” a category that also includes ride-hailing drivers and other gig workers. But for many, the label is little comfort in a society where being unemployed is often seen as a personal failure.
China’s youth unemployment crisis provides the backdrop for this trend. According to South China Morning Post and BBC, youth unemployment for those aged 16-24 soared to 21.3% in June 2023, before falling to 15.8% in April 2025 after the government revised its calculation methods to exclude students. The numbers remain high, and the pressure to succeed is relentless. As Zhang Yong, a social work professor at Wuhan University of Science and Technology, told SCMP, “Society places a lot of pressure on people to succeed, and young adults sometimes set their job expectations too high. The sudden shock of losing a job can lead to depression.” He recommends that the unemployed seek professional counseling, be open with their families, and develop a healthier mindset about career choices.
On social media, the “pretend to work” phenomenon has become a hot topic. Posts and advertisements on Xiaohongshu—China’s equivalent of Instagram—have garnered over 100 million views as of August 2025. Some users praise the trend for helping to “ease psychological pressure” on the unemployed, while others criticize it as “promoting escapism” and delaying the search for real jobs.
Experts see the trend as both a symptom and a coping mechanism for deeper systemic issues. Dr. Christian Yao, a Chinese economy expert at Victoria University of Wellington, described it as a “transitional solution” born from a mismatch between education and the job market. “Young people need a space to think, to plan, to breathe. These offices are becoming incubators for survival,” he told BBC. Dr. Biao Xiang of the Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology offered a similar perspective: “This is a shell young people have built for themselves—a slight distance from mainstream society, giving them a little space to exist without shame.”
Despite its current popularity, even Feiyu doubts the model’s long-term viability. “Long-term profitability? I doubt it,” he admitted. “But if we can help someone turn this fake office into a real starting point, then the experiment has value.” For clients like Zhou, the hope is that the pretend office serves as a bridge to genuine employment. He spends his days mastering AI tools, building a portfolio, and applying for real jobs. “I don’t want to pretend forever,” he said. “But for now, this is how I keep going.”
In the end, these pretend offices offer more than just a desk—they provide dignity, structure, and a sense of belonging to a generation navigating an uncertain future. Whether the trend will endure or fade away, it has already left its mark on China’s evolving world of work.
