Piers had been in China for only two days in 2009 when he became a prop in a marketing scheme he didn’t know existed. While visiting a compact restaurant in a village in Suzhou, Jiangsu province, to try a local crab dish, he noticed he had been seated in a premium spot, highly visible to everyone passing by. It was only weeks later that a guest at a friend’s wedding revealed the truth: the restaurant had seen a surge in business because locals had spotted a laowai—a foreigner—dining there, assuming the establishment must be of high quality.
This performative use of foreigners is a known, albeit unregulated, industry in China. Known as white monkeys in China (or baihouzi), these individuals are hired to lend a veneer of international prestige, quality, or legitimacy to businesses. From pretending to be CEOs and scientists to acting as “international” judges or simply filling seats in a nightclub, the goal is the same: to signal that a product or service is universally regarded.
The phenomenon is deeply rooted in the cultural concept of mianzi, or “face,” where bestowing and receiving respect is central to social and business interactions. By associating themselves with a “foreign look,” Chinese companies believe they gain a competitive edge over domestic rivals, leveraging a perceived association with global standards of excellence.
The Architecture of the ‘Foreign Face’
The roles available to “white monkeys” vary wildly in scope and ethics. Some are harmless background work, while others border on professional fraud. Piers, for instance, spent time as a university student in Shanghai being paid 100 to 200 yuan (£10-£20) to sit on an “international judging panel” for a talent show hosted by the Shanghai Media Group. His only job was to watch performances and hand out toy rabbits to the acts he liked.
Other assignments are more deceptive. Piers later donned a lab coat at a manufacturing expo to pose as a scientist promoting a pavement coating. Behind a transparent screen, he spent the day pouring water between containers to create the illusion of technical research, while manufacturers handled the actual speaking on stage. In another instance, he acted as a junior associate for a neighbor’s law firm during a client meeting in Pudong’s hi-tech park, simply to make the firm appear more international.
For others, the roles are more immersive. Enzo, a Russian videographer based in Shenzhen, once spent a job posing as an Italian chef at a pots and pans expo in Guangzhou. Despite his Russian accent, he wore chef whites and nodded along as clients discussed Italian culture, earning 2,000 yuan (£200) for the performance. He also spent months posing as the foreign CEO of an automobile company, traveling across China to shake hands and pose for photographs in high-end hotels.
A Hierarchy of Prestige and Profit
While the term “white monkey” suggests a Caucasian requirement, the industry actually seeks anyone who appears “non-Chinese.” Recruitment often happens via WeChat groups, where postings specify needs for “black women” for ads in Guangzhou or “Hispanic models” in Hangzhou. Some ads are remarkably blunt, requesting “affluent American” aesthetics while explicitly rejecting candidates with red hair, freckles, or a “sullen look.”
However, not all “foreign faces” are valued equally. There is a distinct pricing hierarchy based on nationality, reflecting ingrained biases about prestige. According to Piers, foreigners from Western Europe and North America—particularly Germans—command the highest fees. Conversely, those from Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus are often paid significantly less, sometimes at rates equal to local Chinese workers.
This economic disparity is often a result of supply and demand, exacerbated by recent geopolitical conflicts that have increased the number of Eastern Europeans seeking temporary work in China.
The Legal Perils of ‘Easy Money’
For foreign students, these gigs are tempting sources of quick cash, but they carry severe legal risks. Under China’s Exit and Entry Administration Law, working outside the specific scope of one’s visa is considered illegal employment.
Maria Kanaeva, a former student at Xi’an Jiaotong University, describes a climate of fear regarding visa crackdowns. She recounts a friend from Uganda who was deported after being caught working as an English teacher on a student visa, reportedly paying a fine of 15,000 yuan (£1,500) before eventually being sent home.
The penalties for visa violations can be steep, including fines ranging from 5,000 to 20,000 yuan (£500-£2,000), detention for up to 15 days, and potential re-entry bans. For many, the risk of police presence at manufacturing expos or language centers outweighs the small payout.
The Erosion of the Foreign Veneer
The reliance on “white monkeys” was partly fueled by a historical mistrust of domestic products. The 2008 tainted milk scandal, where melamine was added to infant formula, created a “wild west” atmosphere of consumer distrust, making “foreign-branded” goods a shorthand for safety and quality.
However, the landscape is shifting. Paul Mike Ashton, an American vlogger known as BaoBaoXiong, notes that as Chinese brands become internationally dominant, the need for a fake foreign face is expiring. Modern Chinese consumers, particularly younger generations in tier-one cities like Shanghai and Beijing, are more globally aware and less likely to be swayed by a simple visual cue.
This shift is further evidenced by the rise of domestic pride. Prof Xiaobing Wang, research director of the Manchester China Institute, points to the viral reaction when David Beckham posted a photo with a Labubu doll from the Chinese toy maker Pop Mart. While a Chinese star liking the product is expected, a Western icon like Beckham provides a form of “legitimacy” that reflects China’s rising global position.
Skepticism is also growing toward paid endorsements. A recent controversy involving the e-commerce influencer Xiangyi highlighted this; a woman posing as a “professor at the University of Sydney” was revealed to be a hired model after a whistleblower reported the stunt to the Beijing News. The “professor” admitted she had been given a script to promote vitamins in exchange for $750.
Despite these shifts, the industry persists in the shadows of WeChat. Current listings still seek “flower girls” for Yiwu nightclubs and foreign billiards instructors for Chongqing, offering flights and accommodation for those willing to play the part. As long as the desire for a global image exists, the “white monkeys” will likely remain a fixture of the Chinese business landscape.
Disclaimer: This article discusses legal risks associated with visa regulations in China. It is intended for informational purposes and does not constitute legal advice.
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