In two bustling Asian cities—Hai Phong, Vietnam and Beijing, China—young people are quietly rewriting the rules of adulthood. Their stories, though separated by language and geography, share a common thread: resilience in the face of economic and environmental uncertainty. If you stroll through Hai Phong’s Tran Nguyen Han street on a weekend afternoon, you’ll likely spot a crowd of students and young professionals sifting through racks of second-hand clothes. According to coverage by local Vietnamese media, these shoppers aren’t just bargain hunters. They’re part of a growing movement embracing sustainable fashion and responsible consumption, a trend that’s gaining traction among the city’s youth.
"Many young people feel that wearing second-hand clothes is a way to protect the environment. Instead of buying new, they choose to reuse what already exists. Every small action like this adds up to make a big difference," said Hoang Thu Huong, owner of a bustling second-hand shop in Le Chan ward, as quoted by local outlets. The appeal is obvious: unique, non-mass-produced items, a lighter environmental footprint, and, for many, a sense of identity distinct from the fast fashion crowd. Pham Quang Huy, a regular at the Cat Cut train street market in An Bien ward, explained that his passion for vintage finds isn’t just about style. "Opting for second-hand clothes helps save money, reduces waste, extends the product’s life cycle, and limits resource waste," Huy told reporters, highlighting the practical and ethical motives driving his choices.
But it’s not just about shopping smarter. Social media communities like "Free cycle Hai Phong – Place for Completely Free Donations" on Facebook, now boasting over 18,000 members, provide platforms for young people to give away clothes, books, and household items that still have plenty of life left. Trần Hoàng Mai, a 1998-born group member, described the joy of passing on her old denim jacket and seeing it worn by someone new: "It’s not just about reducing waste, but also spreading the spirit of sharing and reuse within the community." These acts, however small, are shaping a new kind of urban culture—one where consumption is measured not just by trends, but by impact.
Still, the road to widespread sustainable fashion in Hai Phong is far from smooth. As reported by local journalists, most consumers are still unfamiliar with the concept, and local eco-brands struggle to break through. In June 2024, the Vietnamese brand ECOSOI, which produces fabric from nipa palm leaves, showcased its environmentally friendly products at the Vietnam Family Festival in Hai Phong. Their story—turning agricultural waste into export-quality fabric—offered a glimpse of what’s possible. Yet, as the company’s representatives admitted, changing consumer habits remains a major hurdle. Fast fashion, with its low prices and ever-shifting styles, still dominates the market.
Phan My Linh, a 23-year-old office worker, summed up the dilemma faced by many: "I care a lot about the environment, but it’s not easy to completely change my consumption habits. I buy some items from Vietnamese eco-brands like BOO and TimTay, but they’re more expensive and only available online here in Hai Phong. So, I mix second-hand shopping, hand-me-downs, and occasional green purchases." The shift, she and others suggest, is happening gradually—one thoughtful decision at a time.
"Every time I decide not to buy something unnecessary, or choose a second-hand shirt, I feel like I’m voting for a kinder lifestyle for the environment," Huy reflected. These words echo a subtle but significant transformation among Hai Phong’s youth—a move toward conscious consumption, sharing, and a deeper awareness of a product’s life from material to social value.
Meanwhile, a different kind of quiet revolution is unfolding in Beijing. Here, the challenge isn’t just how to consume, but how to cope. Xiao Ding, a 30-year-old former tech marketer, starts her weekdays like any other young professional: she dresses, packs her things, and heads to the public library. But there’s a twist—she’s been unemployed for 22 months, a reality she’s kept hidden from her family. "I haven’t told my family I quit my job. Until I find something new, I don’t want to worry them," Xiao Ding told CNA reporters.
Her routine isn’t about deception, she insists, but discipline. After sending out over 1,000 job applications and landing only four unsuccessful interviews, Xiao Ding found herself in a slump. "At my lowest point, I spent all day in bed scrolling on my phone," she recalled. "My whole body ached. That’s when I truly understood what it meant to live in a dream. I felt worthless to society." Her solution? "Pretend working"—maintaining a daily work schedule in public spaces to impose structure and stave off despair.
She’s far from alone. As reported by CNA, China’s youth unemployment rate soared to 17.8% for the 16-24 age group in July 2025, the highest in nearly a year. Many young people, especially recent graduates, now cope by "going to work"—not in offices, but in libraries and cafes, or even renting desks in co-working spaces that simulate a real office environment. In cities like Shanghai, Shenzhen, and Chengdu, these spaces—complete with computers, meeting rooms, and company badges—offer a curious blend of reality and role-play. For less than $4 a day, "employees" can clock in at 9 a.m., print documents, and even wear a company badge, all without a real employer.
Chen Yingjian, a local entrepreneur in Hangzhou, saw the need firsthand when his friend’s son asked to simulate a job interview in his office. Within a month, Chen received thousands of requests. "We provide emotional value, helping young people regain confidence and avoid feeling lost. Pretending means imitating, and imitating means effort. If someone’s willing to pretend, it shows they want to do something—they have motivation. Those who just want to lie around wouldn’t come here," Chen explained.
There are rules: no sleeping, no gaming, no noise. Some come to study for exams, launch startups, or make sales calls. Others, like Li Jianye, a 35-year-old entrepreneur, seek a productive environment after two years of working from home. "Here, I plan my activities reasonably. Seeing others working hard around me keeps me from slacking off," she said.
What does this trend say about China’s youth? PSG Zhan Yang of Hong Kong Polytechnic University told CNA, "Pretend working carries a tone of self-mockery and cheerful resignation. It’s not just about disillusionment, but also creative bonding and even irony toward societal expectations." In a culture that prizes productivity, "pretend working" helps young people maintain routine, identity, and social connection during tough times.
Xiao Ding put it bluntly: "I don’t think this says anything about our generation’s character. It just shows there are fewer job opportunities these days. Facing a tough economy, young people have to make all kinds of choices." Some become waiters, couriers, or drivers; others keep studying or searching. The struggle is real—and so is the ingenuity with which young people are meeting it.
From the thrift shops of Hai Phong to the simulated offices of Beijing, Asia’s youth are forging new paths—whether by sharing, reusing, or simply showing up, day after day, in the hope that tomorrow will bring something better. Their quiet revolutions may look different, but both are testaments to adaptability, solidarity, and hope in uncertain times.