“Energy is limited, so I have to cut out things that drain me the most. And the first thing to go? Dating.” This quote comes from Owen Cao, a 22-year-old Chinese man who spends his days juggling the responsibilities of his first college course, study sessions, homework, student club activities, and hobbies. It’s an enormous load of responsibilities that’s difficult to squeeze into a seven-day, 24-hour week. That’s why, as he told the South China Morning Post (SCMP), he’s foregoing what’s more incidental: romance and parenthood, the second eliminated entirely.
Cao’s views wouldn’t stand out if they didn’t, in a way, sum up one of the major challenges China faces in reversing its birth rate crisis.
Days of just 24 hours. “A lot of people say you should manage your time well, but honestly, no matter how well you plan, you can’t cover everything,” says Cao, a marine engineering student. Fitting more responsibilities into 24-hour days seems impossible, which, for him, rules out a stable relationship.
His case isn’t unique. The SCMP reported that his three roommates feel the same way. His mentality aligns with a much larger trend in China: The reluctance of young people to find a partner.
From testimony to numbers. Testimonies like Cao’s help illustrate changes in Chinese society, but they’re not the only evidence. Surveys provide broader context. The Guardian cited one survey showing that two-thirds of more than 20,000 respondents, mostly urban women aged 18 to 25, had “little desire” to become mothers.
In 2021, China Youth Daily surveyed 14,000 college students and found that nearly 70% were single, a figure some experts believe may have risen due to the lingering effects of the “zero-COVID” policy. Statista estimated that 69% of people aged 22–26 were single in 2021, rising to 79% for those born between 2000 and 2003. A survey by Zhongnan University’s School of Public Administration found that 57% of its students weren’t interested in dating, at least for now.
A “singles society”? With such figures, some experts wonder whether China is becoming a “singles society.” Data on marriages and births, both closely tied to Chinese traditions, are worrying enough for Beijing to act. President Xi Jinping’s administration has launched measures that include economic aid, tax breaks, enhanced health insurance, and even “marriage and love education courses” in universities to encourage young people to marry and have children.
Some regions are offering monetary rewards. The Global Times, a state-run newspaper, recently reported that authorities in Lüliang were considering a 1,500-yuan ($205) incentive for first-time couples who marry before age 35.
Good ideas, insufficient results. Despite these efforts, results have been underwhelming. Between January and September, 4.75 million couples married in the country, 16.6% fewer than in 2023, and the trend isn’t flattering. The decline was even more pronounced in the year’s third quarter, falling by more than 25% to the lowest number of marriages since 2008. Marriage data is far from the peak of 2013, when China recorded more than 13 million new marriages. Some experts believe it could fall below the historic low of 2022 by 2024.
Birth rates aren’t optimistic either. The United Nations and World Bank tables show that China’s fertility rate has been on a steep downward curve for some time, leading to a loss of almost 2.1 million people in 2023. Its birth rate was also poor, exacerbating the population loss already recorded in 2022 and marking the worst result.
Why aren’t young people marrying and having children? The reasons are complex. Economic insecurity, high costs of parenthood, limited job prospects, and cultural shifts all play a role. The COVID-19 pandemic further reshaped priorities.
The new Chinese scenario comes after decades of the “one-child policy,” which will remain in place until 2015. Zhen Yexin, a demographics expert, compares an interesting fact in Sixth Tones. Among the rural population aged 20 to 49 with a primary education or less, there are 474.5 single men for every 100 single women. The picture would be very different for the unmarried urban population aged 35-49 with a high level of education (university or higher). There would be almost parity in this case: 97.7 men for every 100 women.
“I wasn’t that stressed.” Cao and others cite a simpler reason: lack of time. Between academic pressures and job competition, many students prioritize grades and career development over relationships.
“They barely have time to rest, let alone the energy to think about dating,” Wu Ruoshi, 28, says, recalling her college experience a decade ago.
“Back then, I wasn’t that stressed about everything,” she adds. “When I was in university, it felt like there was plenty of time, and I didn’t feel like dating had any impact on my studies.” Although it hasn’t been long, Cao says things have changed. He and others in his position feel pressured to achieve academically. There’s also a broader range of entertainment options and increasing social acceptance of remaining single or having children out of wedlock.
Herd mentality. “In the past, there was a strong herd mentality—everyone was getting married, so they did too. People didn’t really think about why they were getting married,” Yuan Xin, a demography professor, says. “But now, young people seem to be waking up, and they just find it too much of a hassle.”
The big question is whether measures like “marriage and love education” can reverse the trend. For China, the birth crisis isn’t just a social issue—it’s an economic one.
Images | Howen (Unsplash) | Kristoffer Trolle (Flickr) | Our World in Data
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