Editor’s note: Dr. Sun Ping is a researcher focused on the platform economy — economic and social activities facilitated by digital platforms — as well as gender, technology, and social development. Since 2017, she has collected data and conducted extensive interviews to learn about the lives of China’s ubiquitous food couriers and the modern labor paradigm. This summer, she published her findings in the book “Transitional Labour: Food Delivery Workers in the Platform Economy of China.” Following is an excerpt from a chapter of the book that explores the challenges facing female delivery workers and the solutions they have devised.

According to our studies, over 80% of all delivery riders took the job to secure a stable salary, serving as their primary motivation for entering the industry. Many of them previously worked on construction sites, and they emphasized that the job spares them the hassle of delayed payments and the pressure of having to chase employers for their salary. However, the motivations among female couriers are more complex, given the “worlds” they navigate.

Based on interviews with 30 women, female delivery riders can be divided into five categories: migrant workers who have moved to the big city with their husband (36.7%); women seeking additional income and/or a better work-life balance (20%); those who have lost a business, have sick relatives, or their family has experienced bankruptcy (16.7%); divorcees or women going through marital problems (13.3%); and singletons looking to broaden their horizons (13.3%). The average age of the interviewees was 37, with the youngest being 20 and the oldest 47. All but three came from rural backgrounds, and they had worked primarily for major platforms — Meituan, Ele.me, and Shansong — for six months to six years. Most were married, with one or two children; four were divorced; and the rest were single.

‘Couple couriers’

More than one-third of the female riders had followed their husbands in moving to a big city, with both becoming migrant workers. They share the responsibility for earning money and sending it home to support their children and parents. When asked about their choice of employment, some mentioned the difficulty of landing a job, while others felt that working in the gig economy was more lucrative. Interestingly, six female interviewees told us that their husbands also work as delivery riders. Typically, the husband had entered the industry first and then introduced the work to his wife. We identified several “couple couriers” during our interviews, most of whom shared similar backgrounds: from rural areas with two children, usually boys, and had moved to a big city to make quick money to support their parents, pay for their child’s tuition, build a house in their hometown, or repay debts. Those who were slightly better off planned to purchase cars or buy property in small towns. Because their children live with their grandparents, the couples tend to visit home more frequently than other migrant workers. Sandwiched between the two generations, they lead frugal lives in big cities.

In May 2020, Chen Mei, from the northern Hebei province, began work as a delivery rider in Beijing. Her husband had started as a courier in 2019 on a friend’s recommendation. Chen, who left formal education while still in middle school, was married at 17 and went on to have two children. After the birth of her first child, she relocated to Beijing and became a full-time housewife. However, three years later, Chen decided to send the child home to be cared for by her mother-in-law.

Before entering the platform economy, Chen sold pancakes from a streetside stall and worked as a waitress. The couple rents a 30-square-meter studio apartment in Changping District, a Beijing suburb, with the space between their bathroom and kitchen divided with partitions. The rent, which includes utilities, is about 800 yuan ($110) a month. Chen was happy with the price, as the apartment provides them with more space at a lower cost compared with delivery riders living in downtown areas.

Chen has developed sunspots on her fair-skinned face from delivering food. She speaks softly and slowly, with a gentle demeanor typical of a young mother. When asked about her family income, she sighed and lowered her head. “Houses in our hometown are mostly self-built, but it’s still expensive,” she said. “The kids need to go to school, and one day they’ll get married. … Just thinking about it gives me a headache. Our eldest child boards at elementary school, which costs 10,000 yuan a year, and our youngest lives with my parents, so there aren’t many expenses. I send my parents money occasionally to help them take better care of our child. Both children mostly play on their own and don’t attend any extracurricular classes. They are pretty much raised ‘free range.’ My husband earns around 10,000 yuan a month, a bit more than my 7,000 to 8,000. Besides the 800 yuan for rent, more than 600 yuan for fuel, and 200 yuan for phone bills, we spend over 2,500 yuan on food, such as takeout or ready-meals like steamed buns. We rarely cook at home, so there’s not much housework beyond laundry, which the washing machine handles. Other expenses add up to around 1,000 to 2,000 yuan. We save the rest or send it home.”

Chen works full time for Meituan, where she is assigned orders and managed by designated stations, with fixed working hours. She said she doesn’t find it too demanding because neither she nor her husband dines at home, and household chores are minimal, allowing her to focus on work.

Another couple, Liang Jia and her husband, Gao Yi, are natives to Beijing. Both lost their jobs during the pandemic — Gao’s outbound travel business crashed, and Liang’s employer, Wall Street English, spiraled into decline in China. With in-person classes no longer possible, Liang’s income, which was largely based on commission, fell to almost zero. The couple stayed home for three months during lockdown and made no money. As their child was about to start elementary school, they grew increasingly anxious.

At this point, the couple made a tough decision to become takeout couriers. “Delivery work brings in money quickly, and there’s no pressure to commit long term,” Gao said. Liang and Gao had previous experience with motorbikes, which prepared them for delivery work. But unlike most riders, they decided to share one bike: Liang is responsible for picking up food, navigation, dealing with customers, and delivering orders to doors, while Gao focuses solely on riding. “Fewer distractions mean fewer accidents, and I won’t let him hit the road alone like he did during the first few days,” Liang said.

The couple start making deliveries each day after 9 a.m., once their 6-year-old son has finished his breakfast and been dropped off at his grandparents. Sitting in the backseat, Liang holds the phone tightly and follows the map, guiding Gao as he rides. Free from having to juggle driving duties with reading directions and making calls, Gao’s delivery efficiency has been significantly improved. When I asked why they don’t work separately to earn more, he said, “Waiting for orders alone can be boring, but with her, we can talk. Plus, I worry about her sense of direction if she drives alone.” Riding their hefty, impressively equipped motorcycle, they often look more like tourists than delivery riders.

Both couples’ lives revolve around their children and family. For female couriers, balancing childcare with delivery work is no easy task. Karen Christopher, the gender studies scholar, introduced the concept of “extensive mothering.” After interviewing 40 working mothers, she found that married mothers often “delegate a substantial amount of day-to-day childcare to others” so that they can concentrate on work but still remain ultimately responsible for their children. Many “couple couriers” in this study had adopted an “Asian-style solution” to handle household labor: they entrust their children to their parents, making the older generation full-time caregivers, while the couple works full time, often for more than 10 hours a day.

This generational outsourcing of motherhood is a common strategy among female delivery riders in China. Working as couriers in big cities allows women to redistribute the labor of reproduction. Their work (social production) severely squeezes the time available for child rearing (social reproduction), enabling female delivery riders to move beyond the role of “primary caregivers” and become just as work-focused as their husbands. However, this shift does not equate to complete liberation, as it is achieved by delegating mothering duties, which typically fall to female relatives — usually grandmothers — with two generations sharing the responsibility.

Turning the tables

As they deliver more takeout orders, female riders gradually become accustomed to quickly switching between their “roles” as women and couriers to maximize their labor benefits. This high-intensity, physically demanding industry has long been dominated by men, making it difficult for women to thrive despite the low entry barriers. However, as they adapt to the work, female riders effectively use and “activate” their existing resources, such as feminine qualities like attentiveness, cautiousness, and patience, as well as social and familial skills “transplanted” from the sociological field of family. These advantages help women survive in the harsh working conditions of the food delivery industry, and some even manage to “turn the tables,” converting their gender traits into labor advantages, and becoming top performers in their stations or regions.

The first challenge for female couriers is the physical demands of the job. A common phrase they use is: “Delivering food requires strength, and the money is hard-earned.” For these women, “physical strength” has two meanings: First, the need for endurance during busy periods when there is a huge volume of orders; second, the difficulty in taking leave when they experience discomfort during menstruation. This is especially true for full-time riders, who must contribute to their team’s performance targets.

Wei Wei, a full-time rider in her 40s, divorced her husband in 2019 and moved from the central Hubei province to work in Beijing. During her period, her entire body aches and she gets stomach cramps. Once, she mustered the courage to ask the head of her dispatch station for time off, but despite expressing understanding, he refused, and instead asked her to complete a minimum of 10 orders before taking a rest. “What can I do? I had to keep going,” she said. “I managed to finish the 10 orders by midday and went home to rest.”

Another challenge is driving. Gender stereotypes prevail in all aspects of society, and the takeout delivery sector is no exception. Similar to the stigma surrounding female drivers, women bike couriers are often labeled as having “poor driving skills” and a “weak sense of direction.” These stereotypes are reinforced by both male colleagues and the female riders themselves. Gao and Liang both ascribed to the belief that most women lack a sense of direction. When Gao bluntly stated this, Liang admitted that she sometimes gives incorrect directions while navigating. “Women tend to be a bit directionally challenged,” she said. “He (Gao) is like a living map — if I give him a rough location, he’ll find it. I couldn’t find it at all.” Gao added, “Some of our female colleagues even get lost in their own neighborhood. Their directional sense is terrible. In her (Liang’s) delivery group, the women often deliver orders to the wrong places or can’t find their way. It’s a little funny.”

The contradictions that female riders face between being “strong” and “weak,” and being “women” and “couriers,” stem from not only labor practices but also the remarks and feedback of the men around them. Working in this industry increases the visibility of women’s bodies and labor, generating various opinions, judgments, and perceptions. These, in turn, intensify the inner conflicts that female riders experience.

Labeled “physically weak” or “poor at driving,” many female couriers will choose to adhere to or invoke traditional gender norms as a strategy to overcome their challenges. For instance, some women openly acknowledge their perceived disadvantages and will willingly solicit help from male riders. Embracing these traditional gender norms is often the starting point for female riders to turn the tables.

By leveraging their identity as “weak women,” female riders actively seek assistance from others. When delivering orders with heavy items like bottled water or watermelons, they proactively ask customers or the people around them for help. When dealing with long-distance deliveries or struggling to locate an address, they will ask other riders for guidance. Even when a delayed delivery causes a customer to become dissatisfied, female riders tend to be more patient in their explanation. Some customers, upon seeing that the delivery rider is a woman, may feel sympathy instead of frustration. In this regard, female riders are generally more skilled and meticulous in handling emotional labor, unlike male riders, who often struggle with this aspect.

My research revealed that female delivery riders do not suppress their gender identity in “labors that highlight perceived weakness.” Instead, they skillfully integrate their gender identity with their role as riders. By adopting traditional gender labels imposed by the patriarchy, female riders actively seek out their advantages in the platform economy. Although terms like “physically weak,” “skilled in communication,” and “patient” are rooted in gender stereotypes, within the platform economy, these perceptions can be transformed into “weapons of the weak.” In other words, by actively utilizing their self-awareness and communication skills, female riders effectively turn these gender-based labels to their benefit, transforming gig work into “advantageous labor.” For women, this paradigm introduces new dimensions of complexity to “labors that highlight perceived weakness.” It is not merely a confrontation over physical strength but rather a blend of factors such as sympathy for the weak and male dominance. This complexity creates opportunities for women, enabling them to turn the tables.

(Liang Jia and Gao Yi are pseudonyms.)

This article, translated by Chen Yue, is an excerpt from “Transitional Labour: Food Delivery Workers in the Platform Economy of China,” published by East China Normal University Press in July. It is republished here with permission.

Editors: Wang Juyi and Hao Qibao.

(Header image: A food courier at work in Yichang, Hubei province, 2023. IC)