Mr Viral
Editor’s note: “Hourly Workers” is a documentary photography series by Zhu Jingying, a retired scientific researcher from Chengdu, capital of China’s southwestern Sichuan province, that focuses on female domestic workers, often referred to as “ayi,” or “aunties.” The project earned her a bronze award at last year’s Sichuan Photography Art Exhibition and was selected for exhibition at the 22nd Pingyao International Photography Festival in 2022. Here, Zhu shares her motivations and experiences from the project.
I started photographing domestic workers in 2022. Most of them come from rural areas or small towns and have limited education. Many people think housework is a thankless task, but for these women, earning money through physical labor is nothing to be ashamed of. What’s more, I’ve noticed that those who have stuck with this work over the years have seen their lives improve significantly. Most of their children have gone to university, some have bought homes in the city, and others have helped their children settle down in urban areas, even purchasing them a property.
The first hourly worker I photographed was Wang Shujun, who had worked in my home in Chengdu for many years. Though she didn’t receive much formal education, she is kindhearted and hardworking. Originally from a village in Yibin, Sichuan province, Wang moved to the southern megacity of Shenzhen when she was 24 years old to work on an electronics assembly line. She felt she was earning good money, but after giving birth, she moved to Chengdu to be closer to her family.
In 2009, Wang began working as an hourly domestic helper after being introduced to the job by a relative. She was 38 years old. At first, she shared a rented apartment with two other families, with only cloth curtains dividing their living spaces. She worked tirelessly, even on Sundays, taking on cleaning jobs for more than 10 households. It was grueling. Her daughter, who was initially cared for by family members in her village, joined Wang in Chengdu when she was old enough to start school.
Wang was quick to learn and open to new experiences. Having lived in big cities, she didn’t feel her hometown could match what urban life had to offer, so she was determined to stay in Chengdu. Eventually, she took out a mortgage and bought an 80-square-meter apartment in the city center. She also later invested in a 30-square-meter property, which she rents out.
Wang’s daughter eventually went to university, passed the civil service exam, and became a police officer in Chengdu. I think Wang’s life is an example of upward mobility through hard work, and I deeply admire her for it.
Among the domestic workers I’ve photographed, there were also those with relatively comfortable backgrounds, like Bao Shiying. She was born in 1972, and when I took pictures of her in 2022, she was just about to start receiving her pension. Her husband was still working. She’s originally from Zhengxing, a town about 30 minutes’ drive south of downtown Chengdu, and was awarded two apartments when the government requisitioned her family’s land. She and her husband worked as cooks on construction sites before eventually running their own canteen catering service.
I asked her why she still does domestic work, despite having a solid financial foundation. She said her daughter wanted to go abroad to study architecture. Bao was glad to see her daughter so motivated and wanted to support her, but studying overseas is expensive. She also thought it was a bit early to retire — she was only in her early 50s then, and she thought that if she retired she’d end up playing mahjong all day. So, she went back to work, taking on housekeeping jobs for two families.
Many of these women make more than 5,000 yuan ($680) a month. Some work on weekends and even holidays, earning as much as 7,000 to 8,000 yuan a month. These days, even many university graduates don’t make that much. What they all have in common is that they have steered their own destiny. Most of those I interviewed were satisfied with life and had little to complain about.
At first, when people heard I was photographing hourly domestic workers, some assumed it was low-status work for the underprivileged. But the truth is, these women have completely transformed their lives, and most have achieved their dreams.
Keeping up appearances
Some of these women stand out for their exceptional ability to pick up new skills. Tan Yongfang, for example, with her bubbly personality, gets along well with her employers, and after finishing her cleaning work often stays on to record short videos in their home for Douyin, China’s version of TikTok. Her employers, a couple working in the business sector, are open-minded and encouraged Tan to work on her social media content creation, even teaching her about financial investment. Their global perspective and creativity have had a big impact on her and really broadened her horizons. Now, wherever she goes, she films Douyin videos and has gained financial literacy — valuable rewards beyond her salary. I think Tan’s story reflects a new kind of interpersonal relationship in today’s society.
Then there’s Zeng Cailan, who has been working for my friend’s family for more than 20 years. She initially was a nanny, but after the child grew up, she began looking after my friend’s elderly parents. They passed away in their 90s last year, and Zeng stayed on to help my friend’s niece pick up and drop off her kids at school. She doesn’t depend on this work to survive — she’s a Chengdu local who owns a property downtown — but the strong bonds that she’s built have led to her ultimately tending to four generations of the family.
Zeng is now in her 50s and receiving a pension, but she still works. When her own child graduated from university, my friend’s whole family pitched in to give job-hunting advice and help find opportunities. They even celebrate Spring Festival together. In Chengdu, we call the youngest in the family laoyao, and since Zeng is considered the youngest in their family for her generation, my friends affectionately call her yaomei’er, meaning “little sister.”
Overall, most of these women work to support their children — some to put them through school, others to help them buy homes and build lives in big cities. But how do their children view this line of work? From what I’ve seen, most of them are fine with it. These days, even many graduates can’t find formal employment, and they end up doing gig work and part-time jobs. So, in recent years, being a domestic worker hasn’t carried the stigma it once did.
Of course, there are still some children who feel domestic work is not dignified. I met one domestic worker who transitioned to working as a cleaner in a hotel chain, which people with experience of the industry tell me is even more demanding. I asked the woman if she’d switched because the pay was better. She said no — the income was the same, but the job was more stable, the company provided insurance, and she didn’t have to cook. But I suspect these were just excuses; the real reason was likely her children’s concern for appearances, although she couldn’t say it outright.
Still, most children are supportive. One domestic worker moved to Chengdu with her son, a well-paid consultant in the liquor industry who earns tens of thousands of yuan a month. But even with her relative financial stability, she has continued working as an hourly domestic worker. Even the arrival of her first grandson didn’t stop her from working. Now she owns her own apartment in Chengdu.
Eschewing cliché
I’ve been told that the women in my photos aren’t immediately recognizable as domestic workers, since they’re not shown doing any chores. The first things people notice are the rooms themselves and the objects within. I can understand this perspective. Rewind to the 1980s or ’90s, and most Chinese homes were small, cramped spaces with nearly identical furnishings. Today, every household tells a different story — some lean into traditional Chinese aesthetics, others Western décor; some display calligraphy supplies, others gym equipment or handicrafts. In Chengdu, some homes even have a mahjong table. Households with kids are often full of toys, while others might have a violin or a piano on display. Each home shows something different.
Later, I renamed this series “The Rooms I’ve Cleaned” because I wanted to document how Chinese families are evolving in this era, capturing their cultural and economic diversity.
I’ve photographed more than 30 households. I started with friends, then friends of friends. But now my “supply” is clearly running low. Employers are often reluctant to have their homes photographed due to privacy concerns, and some workers decline, too. So I treasure every opportunity I get. The families behind these domestic workers are microcosms of China’s social progress. Based on their economic status and professions, most would be categorized as belonging to the country’s rising middle class. My goal is to photograph 100 homes.
I’m not a professional photographer, and I don’t approach my shoots like some kind of work task. Since photographing Wang Shujun in my own home, I’ve been building friendships with my subjects. I always tell them: “Even though we’re shooting at your workplace, I’m not here to document you working. Today, you’re my model — the star in my lens. I just want to capture you looking your best, making you shine like the star on a movie poster. You need to radiate confidence.”
One of the women, Cui Chunzhi, has three children. Originally from Liaocheng in the eastern Shandong province, she moved with her family to Shanghai at a young age. Now only her eldest daughter lives in the family’s hometown, while her other daughter and son have both graduated from university and work in Shanghai. Her husband also works there. She told me that she “feels very happy now.” That’s exactly what I wanted to capture — her sense of happiness.
Each of these women is the main character in their life. I’m simply using this setting to explore a theme. I don’t want to highlight their hardships — that’s the cliché narrative others project onto them, but it doesn’t tell the whole story.
Usually, before a shoot, I’ll encourage the women to dress up a bit and ask them to bring two outfits. Once we’re on location, I’ll help them decide which looks better. Cui picked a red outfit that she really liked. When I photographed Liu Xiaohui, another domestic worker, she told me she really liked her employer’s family dog and asked if she could take a photo with it. That turned out wonderfully — she looked genuinely happy.
These women’s lives can truly be described as beautiful. With their own hands, they’ve cleaned one home after another, and with those same hands, they’ve built better lives for themselves. The people who own these homes — regardless of their professions — have also created warm and inviting spaces through their own hard work.
Before retiring, I worked in scientific research. I never imagined I’d do anything related to art. When I first got into photography, I was just shooting sunrises and pretty landscapes. It was only later that I had the idea for this project. After more than three years, I’ve become increasingly clear about what I want to express through photography. My skills have slowly improved along the way, and I was recently nominated for an award by Ant Photography, a Chinese NGO that promotes the art form. I’ve also started getting some exhibition opportunities.
The fact that so many people are now able to see these women and witness their determination is something that truly brings me joy.
As told to reporter Li Xiang.
A version of this article originally appeared in Jiemian News. It has been translated and edited for brevity and clarity, and is republished here with permission.
Translator: Carrie Davies; editors: Wang Juyi and Hao Qibao.
