In 2020, Olivia Yijian Liu, then a Ph.D. student at the University of Oslo, arrived in the southern Chinese megacity of Shenzhen, a place she saw as key to understanding China’s booming high-tech entrepreneurship scene.

Known globally for its breakneck pace of economic development, Shenzhen had transformed from obscure coastal town to manufacturing center to bustling tech hub in the span of a generation. By the 2010s, the city was crowded with entrepreneurs, venture capital investors, transnational corporations, and research institutes. A new culture also began to form, as the tightly fastened screws of the assembly line gave way to a breakneck pursuit of competitive advantage.

Championing this “wolf culture,” as it later came to be known, was the Shenzhen-based telecommunications giant Huawei. Ren Zhengfei, Huawei’s founder, famously likened his philosophy of organizational management to the three traits he associated with wolves: they can smell meat from a distance, fight in packs, and fight to the death to achieve their goals.

This controversial vision of the workplace as an untamed jungle soon conquered China’s tech scene, as startup founders nationwide drove their workers harder and harder in hopes of becoming the next Huawei or Tencent. In the process, “wolf culture” attracted plenty of critics, with the most vocal wondering whether the incremental gains it brings are really worth the endless overtime and stress-inducing quotas imposed on white-collar workers.

For her part, Liu was curious about how wolf culture came to dominate China’s entrepreneurial scene in the first place. Was it imposed from above or self-imposed by workers themselves? What are its implications for workers from different socio-economic backgrounds? And what can it reveal about the dynamics of state and market forces in shaping China’s nascent entrepreneurial citizens?

In her research, conducted between 2020 and 2023, Liu talked to entrepreneurs and investors, interned in high-tech startups, and even participated in a state-backed entrepreneurship competition. Now a venture capitalist herself, Liu believes that her research can illuminate the complexities of China’s entrepreneurial landscape and the ever-evolving dynamics of the global high-tech industry.

This July, Liu sat down for an interview with Sixth Tone about the rise of entrepreneurialism in China, her experiences with wolf culture, and what that hard-driving approach means for the future of China’s startup world. The conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

Sixth Tone: What was your impression of Shenzhen?

Olivia Yijian Liu: I arrived in Shenzhen in July 2020, having never been to the city before. My first impressions were dominated by the constant background hum of construction noise. The first night, I couldn’t sleep at all because of the continuous clanging sounds outside. This noise never went away, even though I moved five times to conduct fieldwork in different districts of the city. It’s interesting to me because, on one hand, the construction symbolizes prosperity, economic growth, and the relentless infrastructure development activity in Shenzhen. On the other hand, the noise is very disruptive, making it difficult for people to sleep at night.

This sense of contradiction pervaded my experience of Shenzhen. For example, you have the towering high-rises of the central business district and tech center, then just a few minutes’ drive away, the urban villages where the gig workers and refusenik “Sanhe legends” congregate. Even many of the white-collar tech elites who work in the city’s tech zones self-identify as “dagongren,” or manual laborers.

Sixth Tone: In popular culture, the experience of working in Shenzhen’s tech industry is associated with “wolf culture,” a loaded term that conjures images of cruelty, aggressiveness, and the priority of collective goals over individual needs. Do you think that’s an accurate assumption? What do you think people get wrong about the term?

Liu: When people talk about “wolf culture,” they tend to think of it as a kind of company culture, and the first company they would probably associate it with would be Huawei, which popularized the term. As you say, it’s often associated with aggressiveness and a strong focus on the company’s collective goals. That is sometimes seen as unfavorable because it suggests neglecting individual interests and work-life balance, but at least according to (Huawei founder) Ren Zhengfei, this is a misinterpretation. Ren emphasizes that the culture also values teamwork and perseverance. It’s about pushing the boundaries and striving for success together, not just at the expense of others.

But wolf culture can, in many ways, also be a very personal and individual process of self-idealization, and that’s very much a focus of my recent book, “Start-up Wolf.” In this sense, wolf culture is more a process of becoming. It’s about how we get ourselves and those around us to “wolf-ize” — a term I coined to emphasize the process of becoming a wolf. This aspect of wolf culture is commonly celebrated in Shenzhen, and in my research, transnational entrepreneurial talents, including both foreigners and Chinese returnees from foreign universities, oftentimes adopt and champion this wolf culture in their company and choose to wolf-ize themselves to achieve their career goals.

Sixth Tone: At the individual level, you’ve talked about the “performance” of excellence in Shenzhen’s startup communities. Can you tell us more about what defines excellence, and how it connects to wolf culture?

Liu: For entrepreneurial talents in Shenzhen, there are generally two very different metrics to measure excellence. On the market side, it may refer to your industry experience, technical expertise, social networks, personality traits, and so on. From the state side, excellence must be more generally measurable, because officials need to decide who will benefit from their policies. These measurable criteria include your educational degree, your alma mater, and any transnational experience. (Many talent policies are only available for Ph.D. holders from a top overseas university.)

It’s important to understand that these two standards for excellence don’t necessarily align. What I find intriguing is that excellence is not only performed by individuals; it’s also in many ways utilized as a governing strategy to foster aspiration and convince specific groups of elites — including transnational talents — to devote themselves to entrepreneurship. For example, if you are recognized as “excellent” under a talent policy, or if you win an entrepreneurship award, you might become confident in your potential for success and strive to realize your dream.

Besides the macro-level definitions of excellence, at the individual level, I’ve explored how entrepreneurial talents demonstrate excellence in daily life to their audience. The people I met often talked about their dreams and goals of entrepreneurship. Sometimes they bestow grand titles upon themselves and project an image of having attained many things they haven’t yet achieved.

Sixth Tone: One interesting takeaway from your research is that people are increasingly deploying “bodily techniques” to perform excellence.

Liu: Bodily techniques encompass social, linguistic, and physical cues that project a group-specific identity to a particular audience who they wish to convince or impress. For instance, one female entrepreneur I spoke with, who was in her mid-20s, used bodily techniques as a way to justify her high title of COO at such a young age. She spoke in a louder, more confident, and assertive voice. She also consistently wore formal suits instead of casual attire to avoid appearing too young. These choices were designed to enhance her credibility and professionalism, as she sought to present herself as an equal when interacting with her male or older peers.

Similarly, a consultant-turned-entrepreneur I met during my research would always wear a black tie, even in Shenzhen’s 40-degree summer heat.

Entrepreneurs with technical backgrounds are another interesting case. They are tech-focused and may be more reserved in terms of pitching. Their attire typically includes wearing the same T-shirt — to the point of having multiple copies of the same style — and slippers every day. Even if they are going to a competition or to meet investors, they maintain this casual dress code to highlight their dedication to technology and to signal that they prioritize substance over formality.

Generally speaking, entrepreneurs who perceive themselves as less advantaged in certain aspects such as age, gender, or personality will usually look to fine-tune their self-presentation.

Sixth Tone: That sounds like a kind of role-playing — there’s a lookbook, and you just check your identity and social status to get a set of recommendations on how you should behave and project yourself.

Liu: I think this performative aspect of entrepreneurship is in many ways universal. If you look at Elizabeth Holmes, you will notice a huge shift in her appearance as she attempted to portray herself as a Steve Jobs-type entrepreneur. As documented by other researchers, this performativity is also prevalent in other industries such as consulting and investment banking. So, bodily techniques are definitely not unique to Shenzhen.

Sixth Tone: Based on your fieldwork, how do talents in Shenzhen from privileged backgrounds build their startup ventures, especially when things get tough?

Liu: Global elites with meritocratic backgrounds oftentimes have better access to resources and to talent policy benefits, which means it’s easier for them to get introduced to business partners or investors and obtain various types of support from the government. This access can significantly alleviate the pressure they face during the initial stages of building a startup, but it can also create illusions about the likelihood of startup success. Moreover, high expectations from various stakeholders and talents themselves are placed upon them, adding to their pressure and fear of failure. In my book, I call this double-edged sword “precarious privilege.” These privileged individuals are expected to strive and succeed, pushing both themselves and their team to excel because excellence is seen as a necessary embodiment of their identity, rather than an option.

Precarious privilege exemplifies the contradiction I mentioned at the very beginning of this interview, and it’s not limited to Shenzhen. Anthropologist Susanne Bregnbæk wrote a book called “Fragile Elite” in which she observes similar things in China’s elite university students, especially the conflicts between their personal goals and how they suffer from the expectations of their parents and society. These studies, including mine, collectively reveal a broader pattern of elite disappointment that in many ways is universal in the neoliberal labor market.

Sixth Tone: What about startup founders who are less privileged?

Liu: There were many grassroots entrepreneurs in Shenzhen who arguably represent the lower end of the hierarchy of “excellence,” at least according to talent policies. They oftentimes don’t have an international educational background, and before moving to Shenzhen, many grew up in small towns and cities. At the very beginning of their entrepreneurial careers, they often face bigger challenges in accessing resources, as talent policies are not an option for them, and building networks is much more difficult compared to transnational elites.

Embracing wolf culture and performing the bodily techniques of excellence thus becomes essential for them to compete with the elites. At the same time, they usually have to work much harder to develop products, form partnerships, and gain recognition, which leads to a deep-seated drive and commitment more aligned with the more aggressive and striving elements of wolf culture.

Sixth Tone: There is a contradiction inherent in wolf culture between the high staff turnover it causes and entrepreneurs’ quests for talents who are dedicated to long-term goals. What explains this gap?

Liu: The loop starts with startup founders’ precarious privilege. Driven by their fear of failure and a strong desire to demonstrate their excellence, they work extremely hard themselves, and that becomes their expectation for their employees too. There are many ways to force a fast work pace on employees, including downsizing and constant performance assessments, which eliminate poor performers. Employees under this system are assessed as nothing but human capital, and as a result, it’s very hard for them to develop a sense of belonging at a given company.

So, how do employees survive this environment? The realistic choice is to keep developing skills and seek promotions before it’s too late. But how can they achieve that? Rather than staying in the same company, the better choice is to jump to another company so that one can be exposed to different skill sets and get promotions and salary raises more easily.

Ironically, no one benefits from this exploitative circle: when employees keep job hopping, employers have to keep hiring new people, which is also very frustrating because training is expensive. Consequently, both sides are under constant pressure. That’s why some of them, exhausted by the loop, choose to leave Shenzhen’s high-tech scene and seek new opportunities where the life-work balance may be more favorable.

Sixth Tone: Do you think this contradiction can be avoided with a shift in work culture?

Liu: This tension is institutional in nature. Entrepreneurs simply cannot opt for a more relaxed company culture, because the market is so competitive that every founder is concerned that their peers will surpass them and push them out. This competitive pressure leaves them feeling as though they have no choice but to adhere to the industry’s demanding norms.

(Header image: Visuals from Shijue Focus/VCG, reedited by Sixth Tone)