The hottest dating app in China is a park

It’s a real-life version of a dating app—except the people “swiping" are mostly retirees eager to find spouses for their adult children.

They call it a xiangqin jiao, which translates to “matchmaking corner." In English, it’s often dubbed a “marriage market."

It involves paper résumés that function as dating profiles. There’s the standard information: gender, age, height, job and what they want in a partner. But some include details that would be taboo in the U.S., like weight, earnings and whether the parents have pensions. Many don’t include a photo or name.

One volunteer matchmaker, an older woman known as Sister Gao, comes each week with dozens of profiles for attendees to browse. She spends much of her time reassuring parents who don’t understand why their children haven’t gotten hitched.

“Our generation’s concept of marriage just isn’t the same as today’s," Gao said. “In our generation, people put up with a lot. Today, young people think, ‘why should I settle?’"

Kids these days, you might have heard, aren’t getting married. The picture in China is particularly bleak. In the country of more than a billion, just 6.1 million couples registered their marriages in 2024, according to government data, down about 21% from the previous year and a record low.

That also means fewer babies, contributing to a shrinking population that has prompted the country to offer child care subsidies to incentivize births.

For wannabe-grandparents, marriage markets offer somewhere to channel their angst.

“My parents are more anxious than I am," said Zhou Jinshan, 33, who works in the restaurant industry and came to the market on his day off after much nagging from mom and dad to find a wife. “I’m getting old."

The first modern-day marriage market popped up in Beijing around 2004, according to state media. It spread to Shanghai, Guangzhou, Chengdu and other smaller cities. They are largely self-organized by residents.

On a recent Saturday in Chongqing’s People’s Park, parents held out the printed or handwritten profiles of their children for passersby. Some taped them onto open umbrellas as makeshift display stands. Rows of laminated profiles lined the ground and walls.

It was so packed at times that people could only shuffle along the walkway. When a profile caught their attention, they’d stop to talk and add each other on WeChat, China’s do-everything communication app.

One woman’s profile included her monthly salary (about $560), that she owns a house and car, and that she needs her spouse to be under 29 years old, shorter than 5-foot-8, weigh around 145 pounds and have “no bad habits."

She might make a good match for a 26-year-old whose profile displayed nearby said he met all the physical requirements and is looking for a spouse who has no tattoos, a college degree and “isn’t too chubby." (She didn’t list her weight.)

The aftermath of China’s one-child policy has created unique difficulties for singles. Men outnumber women, due to a traditional cultural preference for sons. But women who are the only child generally received better education and resources than previous generations, raising their expectations for a partner.

Zhang Jing, a 34-year-old in sales, was one of the handful of people under 40 at the Chongqing market searching for spouses. She is looking for a husband between 34 and 40 who is 5-foot-7 or taller, doesn’t have children, has a stable job and owns a house.

She said men often don’t make the cut with women like her who earn decent money and own a house.

“It isn’t that we’re picky," Zhang said. “They aren’t good enough."

Huang Weiming, 36, came to the Chongqing market for the first time after learning about it on Douyin, the Chinese version of TikTok.

His stats: 5 feet 7 inches tall, owns a house and a car, works in marketing and earns roughly $17,000 a year.

His requirements: “Thin," he said, then paused to think. “And someone who shares my values."

He has checked out the dating platform Zhenai.com, but was turned off when asked to buy a matchmaking package for about $3,000. He figured if women on the platform were willing to pay that much, they must have high standards.

“There’s an expectation that men have to do this or that to meet women’s requirements," he said. “There’s a lot of ‘toxic chicken soup,’" he added, using Chinese slang for negative online content.

Huang said he would keep looking for a wife until he turns 40. After that, he’d rather stay single.

“I’m holding on to hope, so I came here to take a look," he said.

Marriage-market success stories are largely unheard of, yet the events remain highly attended. One theory: the meetups are also an excuse for retirees to hangout and gossip.

One man said his child was already married, but he came to check out the market anyway. Another was looking for a wife for his 25-year-old son, but said it was also a great way to make friends.

By noon, the park started clearing out. Zhang, the 34-year-old, had only managed to exchange WeChats for a few promising leads.

Her assessment of potential spouses at the marriage market that day? “Not great."

Write to Hannah Miao at hannah.miao@wsj.com