Fake lawyers, scientists, chefs and punters: meet the ‘white monkeys’ paid to make Chinese businesses look global
Piers had been in China for all of two days in 2009 when he was used as a “white monkey” for the first time.
Piers had been in China for all of two days in 2009 when he was used as a “white monkey” for the first time. He had travelled to a village in Suzhou, Jiangsu province, to attend a friend’s wedding and had stopped in the village to try a special crab dish at a small restaurant. Weeks later, a Chinese guest who had been at the wedding told him the restaurant had had an uptick in business because the locals had heard that a laowai, a foreigner, had been seen dining there, so people had assumed this restaurant must be good. Piers realised the boss had deliberately seated him in a way to attract attention: “I knew we were sitting outside in a premium spot, but I didn’t pick up on what was going on.”
When foreigners in China are used this way, they are called a baihouzi, a white monkey. They’re hired to help Chinese businesses appear more desirable, the foreigner association conveying prestige and a sense that your product is universally regarded. The industry is unregulated in China, operating in a legal grey area. White monkey positions are advertised on job boards and can fall into different categories, from acting and modelling for Chinese films and products to pretending to be the foreign CEO of a Chinese company to lend it credibility. They might be seat warmers or go-go dancers in Chinese nightclubs to draw in customers, or English teachers in language centres to make Chinese parents feel their children are being taught by legitimate native English speakers (even if a Chinese person is actually a better qualified teacher). These businesses believe that having the “foreign look” will give them an edge over other Chinese companies offering the same service. The phenomenon of recruiting foreigners for this performative purpose can be traced to the concept of mianzi, having “face” in Chinese society, which denotes bestowing and receiving respect for each other.
Even though the term white monkey might suggest only Caucasian foreigners, it would be more accurate to say recruiters are simply looking for people who appear “non-Chinese”. There are groups on the Chinese texting app WeChat with job postings that specify “We need two black women to shoot an ad in Guangzhou” or “Hangzhou business needs a Hispanic model”. The race requirements fluctuate depending on the product, ranging from “White American for a blood pressure monitor advert” to “Turkish speakers for a TikTok video”. This language would never pass muster in a formal job ad, due to China’s strict equality legislation, but these word of mouth-style requests are harder to police.
The job would last a few hours; he would watch Chinese singers and dancers perform, then hand out toy rabbits to the acts he liked the most. Piers says, “We were being paid 100-200 yuan (£10-£20) which was not bad money for an unemployed student at that time, and there was the chance to be on TV.”
Next, Piers took a job pretending to be a scientist at a manufacturing expo in Shanghai, to promote a chemical product that coated pavements. The company hired foreigners to wear lab coats in the background, on a makeshift set that resembled a laboratory. “It wasn’t the whole day, and we just had to pour water back and forth between containers for a few hundred Chinese yuan.” As they were behind a transparent screen, the foreigners weren’t expected to speak to the Chinese customers or answer technical questions about what they were doing. “Back then, my Chinese was basic and I wasn’t sure what the manufacturers were saying on the stage,” Piers says. He had talked to one of the other “scientists” and no one had any qualms about the pretence – it was easy money.
Sometimes, though, there isn’t any money involved: a few years after the expo, Piers was proofreading a document for his neighbour who worked for a law firm that helped foreign companies raise disputes in China. “One day she asked me to come along to this meeting with a client in Shanghai’s hi-tech park in Pudong, to present ourselves as an international law firm.” Piers was assured he didn’t have to do anything but sit in the room and say hello. At first he was uncomfortable with the idea, but then he thought, “Who am I really harming?” He sat beside his neighbour in the meeting room and pretended to take notes, acting as her junior in the law firm. He recalls, “She just wanted to present herself as an international lawyer, which in fairness, she was already as she spoke French and English.”
Why does being adjacent to “foreign-ness” have such value in China? During the early 2000s, the country suffered several scandals from faulty products and services, such as the devastating 2008 tainted milk scandal, when infant formula from companies including Sanlu was adulterated with melamine, a toxic industrial chemical, to fake higher protein content, causing illness in hundreds of thousands of infants, and six deaths. This was a fast-moving wild west period where Chinese consumer rights were not protected, and it fostered mistrust. Branding products as “foreign” became desirable to add a veneer of quality. Piers now works between London and Shanghai in marketing, and sees from the other side that this was “an opportune moment when branding something as foreign could meet an emotional and functional need for Chinese customers”.
In the past few years, the landscape has changed further, with an influx of immigrants from Russia, Ukraine and Belarus due to the ongoing conflicts in their countries. Enzo is from Russia and is based in Shenzhen, working as a videographer. When he first arrived, the language barrier meant he was shut out from skilled positions, and he opted for white monkey jobs as temporary gigs to get by. One was to pretend to be an Italian chef at a pots and pans expo in Guangzhou. The recruiters assumed most Chinese would not be able to tell the difference between Caucasian foreigners, and hired Enzo. He donned chef whites, which he sourced from a local factory, and thankfully had a little cooking experience from working in a Mexican restaurant in the past. He wasn’t required to speak to anyone, just look the part – but Enzo recalls, “The Chinese clients wanted to tell me about their holidays in Italy and what they thought of Italian culture. I think they just wanted to talk to a foreigner and be listened to.” Enzo simply nodded along – he had a noticeable Russian accent at the time, but doubted they would pick up on it. He was paid 2,000 yuan (£200) for the job.
