Who still dares to start a business these days?

Answer: the boss of a fake company for people who pretend to work.

You open a company that pretends to be operational. No pressure from performance reviews, only a stable and orderly workplace atmosphere; no leaders making things difficult at every turn, only colleagues who care for each other.

This isn’t about solving employment—it’s purely about providing the illusion of having a job. And as long as you’re willing to spend money, the company can even become a haven of love, a sanctuary for the soul.

Who would have thought that amid waves of unemployment and workplace anxiety, “going to work” could itself become part of the experience economy?

01 The Alliance of the Unemployed in Office Buildings

Every morning at eight, Xiao Zhang leaves his rented apartment on the outskirts of Beijing and, as usual, squeezes onto the rush-hour subway.

He enters the office, clocks in, orders coffee—every movement practiced and seamless—and then sits at his desk for the entire day.

It’s been a week since he “joined” this new company. His parents think he’s changed jobs, his friends think he’s been promoted, but only Xiao Zhang knows the truth: having officially resigned days ago, he is here merely to pretend to be working.

9:30 a.m. Xiao Zhang opens his computer and types out three lines of code—not to get anything done, but so that if anyone walks by, at least the screen looks “professional.”

10:00 a.m. The fake boss makes the rounds, reviewing last week’s work in a rehearsed tone: “Data improved last week—keep it up.” Even though Xiao Zhang knows perfectly well: he hadn’t even “started” last week.

As lunch approaches, a message pops up in the company chat: a sudden afternoon meeting has been scheduled, titled “Simulated Project Review.” The meeting agenda is thorough, but everyone knows the project doesn’t actually exist.

Before leaving for the day, the fake boss pats him on the shoulder: “Good work today.”

Xiao Zhang smiles: “It’s nothing.”

Every day, Xiao Zhang and his colleagues tacitly perform the little drama called “The Emperor’s New Job (at Work)”, then head home carrying an inexplicable sense of relief.

In this “pretend work” company, you can see all sorts of workplace cosplayers: people from various industries and levels, with only one thing in common—they’ve left their previous jobs but don’t want to lose the familiar rhythm of office life.

Here, there are plenty of former employees from big tech firms or state-owned enterprises, just like Xiao Zhang, who resigned but dare not let their families find out.

Each day’s “work” involves no actual tasks, but opening Boss Zhipin (a job-hunting app). No more worrying about stealthily refreshing resumes while still employed and getting called in by HR for questioning.

Even if your strict parents demand a photo of you clocking in, you can easily present your current “office” environment—and tell them: “Mom, Dad, the new company is great! There’s even a break room with tea and snacks.”

The job is gone, but the deadlines remain.

Freelancers have become the new “workaholics” in the fake company. The clatter of keyboards typing articles is as rapid as machine-gun fire; Photoshop files for image edits are stacked layer upon layer… Even the subscriptions to stock photo websites they’re using now are “inheritances” left over from their previous companies.

They pretend to be working a job, but in reality, they’re using resources from their former employers to keep their freelance careers alive.

There are also mid-career changers taking a gap year to prepare for graduate school or civil service exams.

On their desks sit civil service interview guides and thick workbooks, while the mantra of “making it” loops endlessly in their minds like background music.

At home, someone is always asking, “Did you make progress today?” “Have you found a job yet?” “Will this attempt succeed?”

So every day they carry their laptops and workbooks out the door—seeking some peace and quiet, while letting the clatter of keyboards, the aroma of coffee, and the fake boss’s patrols convince them: I am still the working person on the journey.

These people aren’t simply killing time—they’re performing a workplace murder-mystery play. They’ve put down the tools of earning a living, yet still hold the posture of “going to work every day.”

Even if it’s just acting, they make sure to act convincingly.

At this fake company, everyone is at once temporary colleagues and fellow travelers on the road of unemployment. They dodge their former employers while helping newly met friends “recommend” prime positions from their old companies.

The phrase “sticking together for warmth” feels especially apt here.

02 Adult Daycare, the Unemployed’s Headquarters

All 360 professions have become unbearably competitive—but now someone has discovered the 361st profession.

Last year, someone online proposed the concept of a “Pretend Work Ltd.”—a company that not only provides a desk but also the thrill of goofing off at work. For just 30 yuan a day, you could use a workstation all day, including a lunch personally prepared by the “boss.”

At the time, people laughed at the idea. Some said it was just turning boxed lunches into an office business; others said it was merely a fancier name for an internet café.

This year, perhaps driven by a surge in “deceiving parents or hiding from partners,” the blueprint has become reality.

Because the concept was so niche, Chen, a boss in Hangzhou, has turned his pretend work company into an industry leader, and aspiring competitors even come to him for guidance.

By chance, he cleared out a medium-sized showroom in his office, which became the current pretend-work workstations.

During “peak recruitment,” desks can be hard to come by, and sometimes a lottery is needed to assign them. No degree requirements, no background checks, no past experience—job seeking has finally achieved absolute fairness.

Each workstation is independent, with free coffee, Wi-Fi, and even a free lunch.

For an immersive office experience, Chen designed a full “onboarding process” for the pretend employees—from interview to resignation, every step covered.

He personally interviews every applicant, even though there’s no real threshold for entry—just to make a new friend who’s a kindred spirit.

After onboarding, every employee even receives a work ID. In this seemingly fake company, everything is real except the work itself.

The most shocking feature of the pretend work company was already envisioned in its planning phase: rebelling against the boss.

You can freely choose your position and salary, and you can even toss a project proposal in the boss’s face (figuratively, of course) to reject unreasonable demands.

Naturally, some ask: “If my company just collapsed, is there a chairman’s desk I can sit at to ease in?”

Some clever bosses, unwilling to pay rent for 10 employees, have seriously asked if they can “bulk-transfer” them to another pretend work company, inquiring whether there’s a discount for group purchases.

At pretend work companies, you can even occasionally receive company perks.

One in Shenzhen thoughtfully introduced an attendance bonus for its fake employees. Show up for 30 consecutive days, and you get 300 yuan off.

A service that’s essentially a month-long subscription becomes a “full attendance bonus,” prompting loyal participants to go all out.

Since everyone is already daydreaming, why not go a little crazier?

Some pretend-work companies even created different types of desks:

Desks for genuinely pretending to work

Desks for observing others pretending to work

Desks designed for experiencing office romance

Employees who were once burnt out in their old companies now have a title more fitting their new status—desk curator.

Apparently, some people even subscribe to an “absentee desk” for a month and never show up. For just 30 yuan, they can experience the easy life of absentees—the cost-effectiveness of pretending to work is unmatched.

This fake company is drawing real job-seekers.

Many leave comments on posts: “Are you still hiring? I have experience.”

Comedian Wang Jiye mentioned in a recent show that he visited a pretend-work company to gather some inspiration.

Since leaving his job, he had lost all creative inspiration. He came to this fake workplace hoping to find some negative emotions—but instead fell in love immediately, because he had never seen such a happy office.

Trying to act like a seasoned employee, he asked where to clock in—but the boss waved him off: “Want to clock in? Do it on Dianping [a review site].”

As Jiye described, this company, located in a Beijing Yizhuang office building, has a giant sign reading “Pretend Work” right in the center of the stairs, radiating a rebellious, carefree energy.

This sign serves as a life commentary for everyone entering the building.

In the age of overwork, it’s a shared study space;
During economic booms, it’s a co-working space;
Now, amid unemployment, it has become a pretend-work company.

After all, the name is just a label, and the space is just a stage. How the script is performed depends entirely on what the times provide in terms of props, costume, and scenery.

03 Fake It Till You Make It

Pretending to work is a low-cost psychological stabilizer.

It not only eases the temporary loss of social status and maintains the appearance of “possible success,” but also gives a sense of control over one’s life.

Externally, it reassures parents, creating the illusion that you have a job and responsibilities;
Internally, it comforts yourself—you haven’t left the collective and still live the life of an employee, with forms to fill and blame to bear.

Behind this obsession is a strange, necessary illusion—even if the desk is fake, even if the performance goals are fake, you must win at least in the mental game.

Paying for “pretend work” might sound like “paying to suffer,” but it has become a reality.

This absurd situation arises from society’s pressing expectations:
We must have a job, a marriage, a child… Any choice outside mainstream values risks being seen as untimely.

Consequently, unemployment is shameful, being unmarried is embarrassing, and childlessness is almost sacrilegious. Those in these “nonconforming” states can only feign participation in mainstream life to gain some recognition.

No one can truly rest or escape society’s clock—because we simply can’t.

Even social media influencers living glamorous gap-year lifestyles harbor anxieties beneath the surface; ordinary people feel intense shame even during a short “gap day.”

At this rate, one day, someone might even open a “pretend marriage company” to appease nagging relatives.

Perhaps true freedom is never about role-playing—it’s about daring to take off the polished mask, admitting that for a period of life things are unsolvable, chaotic, and embarrassing, and still being real, without judgment.

I fell down—so I’ll lie here for a while. And that’s ok.

Editor: Zhiyu Wang