Show notes
The pressure to have children collides with a fierce work culture
Aug 24th 2026|5 min read
For those unaccustomed to truth in advertising, employers in China can be astonishingly forthright in their help-wanted notices. Huangshi, a city in Hubei, recently sought investment-promotion officers under 35 years old, specifying “men preferred”. A high-speed rail operator in Lanzhou wanted women, but only so long as they were under 25, over 160cm tall and with a “good appearance”. A Suzhou packaging firm, by contrast, stretched to the geriatric reaches of 45 in its search for a sales representative, adding that female candidates should already be married with children—in other words, please no maternity leave.
These are just a few blatant examples of discrimination that women face in the Chinese labour market. More extensive discrimination is largely out of sight. It includes pressure on women to avoid pregnancy, higher pay for male colleagues and fewer opportunities as women’s careers progress.
In the 1950s, when Mao Zedong declared that “women held up half the sky”, in narrowly economic terms China looked egalitarian. Men and women had similar jobs as well as incomes, though both were miserable—and that was if you were lucky enough to escape becoming victims of Mao’s revolution-without-end. Today women in China more than match men in educational terms: 51% of university students are female, up by 14 percentage points since 1995. The picture at work, by contrast, has grown worse. Men on average now earn roughly a third more. In 1990 nearly 80% of women aged between 15 and 64 were in the labour force, one of the highest rates anywhere in the world. Today that has slipped to under 70%, below both Japan and the European Union. China’s business leadership is overwhelmingly male. Women are even rarer at the top of politics. For a quarter-century until 2022, the Politburo, the Communist Party’s top body, boasted a woman or two. Since then there have been none.
Sexism is part of the problem. For businessmen and officials, the banqueting table is often where deals get done. But long boozy dinners (officially forbidden under Xi Jinping) can be offputting to women, or worse. A senior cadre and a property executive in Hangzhou, a wealthy east-central city, were recently accused of assaulting a young female employee after such a dinner. The incident provoked public outrage, including renewed calls to clean up the practice of banquets. A more common experience for women is less aggressive, though still demeaning. “Our bosses wouldn’t say it directly but they hope we act as decoration,” says Ms Dou, who worked in tech. Yet nothing is straightforward. Erica, a woman in her 20s in the events industry, says she has had more friction with female bosses than male ones. “We’re a patriarchal society, so when women break through and get power, they tend to be more controlling,” she says.
The more pervasive problem is less that of outright sexism and more how women’s role, or potential role, as mothers clashes with work. A “motherhood penalty” is common nearly everywhere. But in China the penalty is especially high, owing to a fierce work culture, an outdated retirement system and an intensifying state-led fertility push colliding with entrenched career patterns.
Compared with other countries at its level of development, China has generous maternity leave: mothers can get about half a year off work, on full pay. But the state covers only part of the salary on leave, with employers paying for the bulk. Five women in their 30s and 40s told Chaguan that their bosses expected to be informed should they be trying to get pregnant. “Speaking as a former manager, I myself wasn’t all that willing to hire women under 35,” said Ms Chen, who used to work in media. “What if she comes in and gets pregnant right away?” The government’s recent push for two-child families, aimed at reversing a fast-declining fertility rate, adds to employers’ concerns that married women are liable to take extended breaks from work.
The little brats
After pregnancy, women face other hurdles. A common expectation that they will guide their children through school is hardly compatible with the long hours expected in many Chinese jobs. “Men the same age as me are in a better position,” says Ms Dou, in her early 40s. “There’s an assumption that they don’t have as much responsibility at home.” Job ads often state that candidates should be able to tolerate high stress, regularly work overtime and always be reachable. Such requirements do not discriminate specifically against women, but are deterrents to any parent with their hands full with young children—usually the mother.
Nor is there much runway left for a woman returning to work, perhaps in her early 40s. In white-collar jobs the official retirement age is just a few months over 55 for women and 60 for men (by 2040 these will be raised gradually to 58 and 63, respectively). Companies have less incentive to invest in mid-career women who have taken time off for children. “The job market is already biased enough against women,” says Ms Wu, a former web designer who left to have a child. “After 35 it is like frost on top of snow.” She is taking matters into her own hands, retraining as a drone pilot.
Policy tweaks would help, including making maternity and paternity leave more equal (many places give fathers 15 days, if they take any). More state funding for paid leave would ease the financial strain on companies. Men and women should also have the same (higher) retirement ages.
Yet what women are up against is less skewed policy than powerful social norms, especially the weight placed upon mothers. Until that changes, China is undermining its own potential. In educational terms, Chinese women already hold up more than half the sky today. In the world of work, they are getting just about a third of it. ■
催生壓力和狼性加班文化互相衝突
2026 年 8 月 24 日 | 閱讀時間約 5 分鐘
對不習慣徵才廣告吐露真言的人來說，中國雇主的徵才啟事有時坦率得令人吃驚。湖北黃石市近期招募 35 歲以下的招商人員，明確註明「男性優先」；蘭州一家高鐵營運商想招募女性，但要求年齡必須在 25 歲以下、身高 160 公分以上，且「形象氣質佳」；相比之下，蘇州一家包裝企業在尋找銷售代表時，將年齡門檻寬限到堪稱高齡的 45 歲，但附帶條件是女性求職者必須「已婚已育」——換句話說，請別來休產假。
這些不過是女性在中國職場遭遇歧視的冰山一角。更多且更普遍的歧視通常隱藏在螢光幕後，包括逼迫女性避免懷孕、給予男性同事更高的薪資，以及在女性職涯發展的過程中提供較少的晉升機會。
1950 年代，當毛澤東喊出「婦女能頂半邊天」時，單從經濟層面來看，中國似乎相當平權。當時男女從事的職業和收入相去不遠，儘管大家的苦日子都不好過——而這前提還是你夠幸運，沒有成為毛澤東那場「無休止革命」下的犧牲品。如今，中國女性在受教育程度上早已不輸男性：大學生中有 51% 是女性，比 1995 年增加了 14 個百分點。然而，職場上的景況卻每況愈下。平均而言，現在男性的收入比女性高出約三分之一。1990 年，15 至 64 歲的女性中有將近 80% 投入職場，名列全球最高水平之一；如今這一比例已下滑至 70% 以下，比日本和歐盟都还要低。中國企業的高層領導絕大多數是男性，而在政治頂層，女性更是鳳毛麟角。在截至 2022 年長達四分之一個世紀的時間裡，中共最高權力機構政治局至少還保有一至兩位女性席次，但自此之後，便是一片空白。
性別歧視是問題的一部分。對商人和官員來說，餐桌應酬往往是促成交易的場合。但漫長且酗酒的飯局（雖然在習近平主政下官方名義上禁止）常讓女性退避三舍，甚至引發更糟糕的後果。東部富庶城市杭州的一名資深幹部與一名地產高管，最近就被指控在一場飯局後性侵了一名年輕女員工。這起事件引發社會公憤，也再次讓大眾呼籲肅清應酬飯局的陋習。對大多數女性而言，更常見的遭遇雖不至如此具攻擊性，卻同樣令人難堪。曾從事科技業的竇小姐表示：「我們老闆不會明說，但他們希望我們充當門面花瓶。」然而，情況並非單一維度。二十多歲、從事活動企劃的 Erica 表示，相比於男主管，她與女主管之間的摩擦反而更多。「我們是一個父權社會，所以當女性打破天花板獲得權力時，她們往往會展現出更強的控制欲，」她說道。
比起赤裸裸的性別歧視，更根深蒂固的問題在於女性身為（或潛在身為）母親的角色，與工作產生了嚴重衝突。「生育懲罰」在世界各地屢見不鮮，但在中國，由於高壓激烈的加班文化、過時的退休制度，以及國家主導的催生政策與既有職涯模式產生強烈碰撞，使得這種懲罰尤為沉重。
與同等發展水平的其他國家相比，中國提供了相當優渥的產假：媽媽們可以休假約半年，且領取全薪。然而，國家僅負擔產假期間的部分薪資，大頭仍須由雇主支付。五位三四十歲的女性告訴《茶館》專欄，她們的老闆要求如果打算備孕必須提前告知。曾任職於媒體業的陳小姐說：「站在前主管的角度，我自己當時也不太願意招募 35 歲以下的女性。萬一她一進公司就懷孕怎麼辦？」政府近期為了扭轉陡降的出生率而推行「三孩政策」（註：原交稿提及 two-child，意指多胎鼓勵政策），反而進一步加劇了雇主的顧慮，擔心已婚女性隨時可能會請長假離崗。
「小淘氣們」帶來的考驗
懷孕生子過後，女性還面臨著其他關卡。社會普遍期望母親能全程輔導孩子的學業，這與中國許多工作所要求的高強度加班時間幾乎無法兼容。「和我同齡的男性處境更好，」四十歲出頭的竇小姐說，「大家會默認他們在家庭中不需要承擔那麼多責任。」徵才廣告常標榜應徵者須「抗壓能力強」、「能適應常態性加班」且「隨時保持通訊暢通」。這些要求雖然表面上並未針對女性，但對任何要照顧幼童、分身乏術的家長來說，都是極大的阻礙——而這個家長角色通常就是母親。
此外，當女性到了四十歲出頭重新回到職場時，留給她們發展的跑道也所剩無幾。白領階級的官方退休年齡，女性僅比 55 歲多幾個月，男性則為 60 歲（到 2040 年，這兩個門檻將分別逐步提高至 58 歲和 63 歲）。對於因生育而中斷職涯的中生代女性，企業投資她們的意願自然較低。「職場對女性的偏見已經夠深了，」曾任網頁設計師、為了生孩子離職的吳女士說道，「過了 35 歲更是雪上加霜。」她選擇把命運掌握在自己手中，目前正在轉行接受無人機飛行的專業培訓。
政策上的微調會有所幫助，例如讓產假與陪產假更加平等（許多地方的父親即使休假也只有 15 天）。由國家財政提供更多有薪假期的補助，也能減輕企業的財務負擔。此外，男女也應適用相同（且較高）的退休年齡。
然而，女性真正面臨的挑戰，與其說是傾斜的政策，不如說是強大的社會規範，尤其是壓在母親身上的沉重枷鎖。只要這種觀念不改變，中國就一直在削弱自身發展的潛力。單看受教育程度，如今的中國女性早已頂起了「大半邊天」；但在職場的世界裡，她們所分得的，卻僅僅只有三分之一。
--
Hosting provided by SoundOn