The Shanghai Marriage Market

Every weekend， deep in the heart of Shanghai， a market congregates. It doesnt sell vegetables， or fish， or trashy souvenirs. It traffics in potential spouses， and parents are the ones doing the buying and selling. You see desperate middle aged men and women， holding up scraps of paper that tell you all you need to know about their child – height， age， occupation， zodiac sign， and the property they own. Pictures are rarely seen. These bits of information are also scattered all over the market – plastered on walls， compiled in thick Yellow Pages style books and taped to umbrellas. Its a strange sight to behold， even for the local Shanghainese.

To many here， the fact that their children remain un- married at the age of 25 and above is deeply worrying. They fear that once their children pass this golden age， the chance to marry will pass them by forever， and they will never know the joy of having grandchildren. The fact that the success rate of the marriage market is less than 0.2%， or the fact that online dating services are alive and well in modern China， doesnt seem to diminish the popularity of this phenomenon. Some parents have spent up to a decade visiting the market， without scoring a single date. Perhaps the marriage market is more for the benefit of the parents than their children – this place seems more akin to a weekly social gathering for ageing parents， letting them trade contact numbers and sob stories bemoaning the lack of eligible spouses for their children in a city of 20 million.

Most children are unaware that their parents are advertising their names at the market – as one can imagine， it is deeply embarrassing to know that your parents spend their weekends desperately trying， and usually failing， to find you a spouse. Still， some brave bachelors and bachelorettes come to visit the market anyway， braving the judgement of parents in order to find an eligible husband or wife. However， such people are a minority. As China becomes richer and more developed， its young people are rapidly changing old attitudes towards love and marriage – on average， Chinese people are marrying later， and have far greater autonomy in choosing their spouses.

Despite this generational shift， there still exists a stigma towards people， especially women， who marry or remain single beyond their late 20s. “剩女”（sheng nu）， which literally means“leftover woman”， is the governments official term used to describe women who remain unmarried after the age of 27. “光棍” （Guang gun）， which means “bare branches”， is the male equivalent of the term. Parental pressure to get married and have children still remains strong in China， and this is no small matter in a society that places great value on filial piety.

Recently， there has been a backlash against this kind of pressure – an advertisement campaign by SK2 went viral when it chose to highlight the intense emotional strain that many of Chinas leftover women have to endure. The campaign showed emotional interviews with leftover women and their parents， some of whom broke down in tears on camera. The advert moved on to a scene at a typical marriage market– however， instead of the usual dehumanizing displays of personal information， there are posters of these single women， affirming their decision to remain unmarried. Hearteningly， when the parents read the empowering messages of their children， they were deeply moved and remorseful. It seemed that many of them were simply unaware of the pain that they were inflicting on their children.

The reaction to the advert on Chinas social media has been overwhelmingly positive， and government agencies seem to have taken notice - The All-China Womens Federation， the organization that coined the term “leftover woman”， is considering phasing out the phrase. However， change doesnt happen overnight – the older generations attitudes towards leftover men and women may soon be a thing of the past， but as long as they persist， the marriage markets will go on.