I have often found that the most revealing stories about China are not told by its skyscrapers, high-speed trains or technological ambitions. They emerge in quieter places, where the country’s extraordinary transformation meets the ordinary lives of its people.

Today another article on this.

I have been touching with my hands what BBC is defining “China’s Loneliness Economy”, where scope of service is “Human Connection”, and a new industry is emerging, from rented children to paid companions, and behind it lies a quieter story about ageing, urban life and the human cost of progress.

That was part of what interested me when writing about the Astor House Hotel for Vitavissuta link: old buildings can reveal more than architectural history. They remind us of the relationships, habits and communities that once gave a city its identity, and of how easily those connections can disappear as the surrounding world changes.

A recent BBC report on China’s growing loneliness industry brought those thoughts back to me.

In Beijing, a 91-year-old woman named Yang had become so isolated that she sometimes spoke to her television for company. With her husband gone and her eyesight deteriorating, even the simplest daily activities had become difficult. Then a young man began visiting, bringing meals and helping around the house.

He was not a relative. He was a paid companion. His visits offered something increasingly valuable in modern China: another human being willing to spend time with her.

China’s economic transformation has created enormous opportunities, but it has also fundamentally altered the structure of everyday life. Millions have migrated from rural communities to cities. Families have become smaller, generations live farther apart, and the traditional expectation that children will care for ageing parents has become increasingly difficult to fulfil.

A new industry is responding to that absence. People can now hire someone to accompany them to hospital, share a meal, go shopping or simply talk. Young adults advertise themselves as temporary sons and daughters, providing practical assistance and emotional support to elderly strangers.

The Washington Post recently reported that these surrogate children typically charge between $29 and $88 per session. Start-ups are entering the market, turning what was once considered a family responsibility into a professional service. The BBC, meanwhile, cited an estimate valuing China’s companionship market at approximately $7.4 billion in 2025.

It is an extraordinary figure for something as ordinary as spending time together.

The phenomenon is not only confined to older generations: young Chinese professionals, often living alone in unfamiliar cities, are increasingly paying for company during meals, outdoor activities and social occasions. Even hotpot, one of China’s most communal dining traditions, can now be enjoyed with a hired companion.

There is a certain logic to the arrangement. In demanding urban environments, where working hours are long and relationships require time and commitment, paying for someone’s attention offers convenience without obligation, but convenience and intimacy are not necessarily the same thing.

China’s digital economy has made daily life remarkably efficient. Almost anything can be ordered, delivered or arranged through a smartphone. Now companionship is joining that catalogue of services. The question is whether a society can become so efficient that even friendship begins to resemble a transaction.

Through my photography and travels in Asia, I have become increasingly interested in the small social rituals that survive beneath the surface of modern cities. An elderly shopkeeper greeting familiar customers. Neighbours gathering around a market stall. People sharing food, conversations and the unhurried routines of daily life. These moments rarely appear in economic statistics, yet they are part of what makes a city human.

China’s loneliness economy suggests that some of those informal connections are becoming harder to sustain. The businesses offering companionship should not be dismissed: for people like Yang, they can provide genuine comfort and practical help, and loneliness is not uniquely Chinese. Japan, South Korea and many Western societies face similar challenges as their populations age and traditional communities weaken.

What makes China particularly revealing is the speed of the change. Within a few generations, an overwhelmingly rural society has become an urban and digitally connected economic powerhouse. Social relationships have struggled to keep pace. A country capable of delivering almost anything to your door is discovering that people are increasingly willing to pay for someone to knock, come inside and stay for a while.

Not because they need another service, but because they need someone.

Sources and further reading


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It has been more than fifty years since I began traveling across the world — and the seven seas — for work or for pleasure, always with a Leica M camera close at hand. The camera has never been an accessory; it has been a constant companion, a way of observing, remembering, and making sense of the places and people I encountered along the way. I started keeping this kind of journal some time ago, not as a diary in the traditional sense, but as a space where images and words could meet. This is not a publication driven by schedules or algorithms. At times I disappear for long stretches; then, inevitably, I return with semi-regular updates. Publishing, for me, is a mirror of my state of mind and emotions. It follows my rhythm, not the other way around. You have to take it exactly as it comes. Every photograph you see here is mine. They are fragments of a life spent moving, looking, and waiting for moments to reveal themselves — often quietly, sometimes unexpectedly. This blog is not about destinations, but about presence. About what remains when the journey slows down and the shutter finally clicks.

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