I never set out to become an authority on corporate life in Asia. In my early twenties, I was simply a wide-eyed analyst from Singapore, desperate to get my foot in the door at a major investment bank. But life has a way of surprising you. Over a decade, I worked in Singapore, Hong Kong, and Tokyo, making my way through different financial institutions and becoming privy to the unspoken rules that shape careers in Asia’s financial hubs. I discovered that while these markets may look similar on the surface—high-rise buildings, power lunches, deadline-obsessed colleagues—they each have their unique codes of conduct. And more often than not, those codes aren’t written in any handbook. They’re taught through hushed conversations over dim sum lunches, subtle gestures in conference rooms, and mistakes you learn not to repeat. What follows is a look at the deeper, at times brutal, truths about climbing the corporate ladder in Asia—and how I navigated them.
In many ways, the first unwritten rule is about understanding the importance of hierarchy. It’s something you’ll hear about, but you won’t fully grasp until you’re in a meeting where everyone defers to the most senior person in the room—no matter how clueless or disengaged that person might be. In Hong Kong, for instance, I learned that outward displays of respect are essential. Titles matter. Deference matters. Even the seat you choose at the conference table can make a statement about whether you recognize the power structure. Western colleagues often found this perplexing; in some of their companies, everyone is encouraged to speak freely, and titles can be treated with a degree of informality. But if you try that in certain Asia-based firms, you might find yourself unintentionally insulting the wrong person. I recall a particular incident where a young associate contradicted a senior executive—politely, but in front of clients. It was an immediate faux pas. The young man didn’t last very long at the company. That’s when it really sank in for me that who you challenge is sometimes more important than whether you’re correct.
There’s also the subtle concept of “saving face,” which is probably the most delicate balancing act one must learn. On the surface, it can appear like a simple courtesy—don’t publicly embarrass your boss or your client. But it goes much deeper. Saving face is not just about maintaining dignity; it’s about protecting the relational equilibrium. One misstep, such as calling someone out too directly in a meeting or voicing a concern that implies incompetence on their part, can lead to strained relationships that may never fully recover. In Tokyo, I often found this dance particularly intricate. People there value harmony and group cohesion, so if you have critical feedback, you’re better off relaying it privately or finding a gentle workaround that allows everyone to maintain a sense of respect. For someone who prides herself on directness, I had to learn a sort of professional diplomacy. It wasn’t easy, and sometimes it felt counterintuitive to withhold my true thoughts in the name of preserving someone else’s standing. Yet that’s part of the skill set if you aim to not only survive but truly progress within these environments.
To complicate matters, there is also the question of connections, often referred to as guanxi in parts of Greater China, but present in different forms throughout Asia. People often reduce it to “networking,” but I think that misses the depth of it. In my experience, guanxi is about more than simply having someone’s business card—it’s about the genuine, trusting relationships that develop outside office hours, often over late-night dinners, weekend golf games, or karaoke sessions that stretch into the early hours. I used to cringe at the idea that I had to spend my free time singing off-key duets with clients I barely knew. But eventually, I saw that those moments were the building blocks of real bonds. Deals would flow more smoothly, promotions were more likely to happen, and internal advocates sprang up in unexpected places when I made these personal connections. The unwritten rule is that you have to show up. You can’t just be the brilliant financial whiz behind a desk; you also have to be someone people trust and feel comfortable with. That takes time, consistency, and occasionally, a tolerance for mediocre karaoke.
Then there’s a rule that few people talk about openly, yet everyone navigates: appearances. In many Asian financial hubs, how you look and carry yourself can significantly impact your career trajectory. The clothing you wear, the car you drive, even the watch on your wrist—these can send signals about your competence and your status. I’m not proud of how superficial it can sometimes feel, but ignoring this reality often leads to being overlooked, especially if you’re trying to project a certain level of authority. There were times when I would observe how a meeting’s tone shifted if an individual was dressed “too casually,” or the illusions people drew if someone walked in wearing a watch that was obviously a cheap counterfeit. Sometimes, it’s not even about extravagance; it’s about presenting yourself as polished and serious. In Hong Kong, I quickly realized that a tailored suit wasn’t a frivolous expense—it was part of the uniform that validated your place at the table. Still, there’s an even finer line: overshoot into showiness, and your colleagues might label you vain or suspect that you’re overcompensating for a lack of substance.
As a woman in these largely male-dominated arenas, I encountered another set of unspoken rules. For one, subtle sexism can creep in despite official claims of gender equality. It wasn’t uncommon to see men automatically taking the lead on high-profile projects or being invited to exclusive client dinners while the women handled internal operations or less glamorous tasks. I remember a phase in my career when I started to wonder if I had become “the face” of the team, paraded out to show diversity without ever being allowed a real voice in significant decisions. The unspoken truth is that corporate Asia is still playing catch-up with genuine inclusivity. Yet that doesn’t mean it’s impossible to ascend if you’re a woman. What it does mean is you need to be strategic in finding mentors and allies—both male and female—who see your value beyond superficial tokens or optics. You also need to be prepared to advocate for yourself in ways that might feel unnatural, especially if you’ve grown up in a culture that discourages women from appearing too assertive. Sometimes, that means volunteering for the big projects or proactively inserting yourself into discussions where your expertise would be beneficial, but you haven’t been explicitly invited. It can be uncomfortable, but it’s necessary.
There’s another aspect that people rarely admit: favor-trading. The best roles and promotions don’t always go to the most capable; they go to the best-connected, or the most loyal, or the individual who knows how to accumulate and deploy favors at the right moment. I’ve known brilliant analysts who remained stuck in their positions because they believed meritocracy was the sole currency that mattered. Conversely, I’ve seen less talented peers rapidly promoted because they made themselves indispensable to the right person—perhaps completing last-minute projects, covering for superiors in front of more senior management, or quietly ensuring that certain processes moved forward without a hitch. It’s a bit like a quid pro quo: you help your boss save face or excel in a tricky situation, and down the line, they’ll owe you. Maybe they’ll recommend you for a plum assignment or defend you when layoffs loom. I had my reservations about this system when I first encountered it. It felt uncomfortably transactional. But over time, I realized that in these competitive markets, relationships and loyalty can sometimes trump raw expertise. Navigating that reality doesn’t mean compromising your integrity; it means recognizing that human nature operates in these spaces, and being too idealistic can leave you sidelined.
Information asymmetry is yet another powerful undercurrent. Many decisions get made behind closed doors, and you might not even realize you were in the running for a promotion or a high-stakes project until the opportunity has already been handed off to someone else. In Tokyo especially, there’s a tendency for decisions to emerge as if fully formed, with little explanation of the backstory. That’s why having a good internal network is crucial. If you have trusted colleagues who can tip you off to upcoming changes—whether it’s an impending organizational restructure or a new position that will open up soon—you’re far better positioned to step forward before it’s officially posted. But those in-the-know contacts aren’t going to share what they know just because they like you; they have to see some mutual benefit or at least trust you won’t mishandle sensitive information. Cultivating that trust is part of the unspoken skill set that separates the top performers from those who plateau.
Then there’s the brutal truth about burnout. Asia’s financial hubs, particularly Hong Kong and Tokyo, are known for demanding schedules. Staying at the office until midnight or beyond isn’t unusual, and putting in weekends can be the norm. The unspoken rule here is that complaining about it can be career-limiting. In some team cultures, long hours are practically a badge of honor, a sign of your dedication. Pulling back because you need work-life balance can be perceived as a lack of commitment. Early in my career, I adopted this “all in” mentality. But after several years, I realized it was neither healthy nor sustainable. Colleagues burned out, relationships suffered, and at times it felt like no number of hours would ever be enough. For me, the turning point was recognizing that while you may have to play that game initially to earn your stripes, it’s crucial to set boundaries once you’ve established credibility. If you reach a point of mental or physical exhaustion, your performance will suffer anyway. Ironically, I learned that the willingness to say no—politely but firmly—can actually earn you respect if you do it from a place of confidence and proven reliability.
The final unspoken rule I’ll touch on—and perhaps the most counterintuitive—is that leaving can sometimes be the fastest way to move up. Especially in Hong Kong and Singapore, job-hopping is often frowned upon in theory, but in practice, many professionals find that a strategic move to a different institution is what gives them the title bump or compensation package they’ve been craving. I was initially hesitant to make big jumps; I worried that it would make me look unstable or disloyal. But over time, I witnessed colleagues who leapt from junior to senior roles simply by switching firms at the right moment. Loyalty to a single organization can be admirable, but in a region where the competition for top talent is intense, external opportunities often pay off more lucratively than waiting for that internal promotion. The unspoken wisdom is that you need to keep your eyes open and your résumé updated, especially if your current organization shows little sign of acknowledging your contributions. Far from being a betrayal, it’s a practical move in an environment that’s as cutthroat as it is vibrant.
None of these rules appear in an employee handbook, and you likely won’t hear them spelled out during onboarding. They exist in the spaces between formal procedures, in the winks and nods that pass between veterans who’ve been navigating these waters for years. Some are rooted in cultural traditions, while others have emerged from the unique pressures of intensely competitive markets. They aren’t always fair, and they aren’t always pleasant. But ignoring them can cost you dearly if your goal is to climb the ranks. The good news is that once you grasp these unwritten codes, you can operate more strategically. You learn to pick your battles, to ally yourself with key players in a genuine, respectful way, and to adapt to a hierarchy that might feel rigid but is still navigable for those willing to invest in relationships and master the subtle rhythms of workplace etiquette.
If there’s a single takeaway I’ve gleaned from my time in Hong Kong, Tokyo, and now back in Singapore, it’s that knowledge is power—even when it concerns the softer, less quantifiable aspects of corporate life. Understanding local business customs, unspoken expectations, and the cultural context behind certain decisions is as critical as your technical or financial expertise. Put simply, you can be the smartest person in the room, but if you can’t decipher these underlying currents, your brilliance might remain hidden. Conversely, you can be moderately skilled yet climb quickly if you grasp how to navigate these complexities. That might not be the way we wish the world worked. But if you accept these truths, you at least give yourself the option to engage with them on your own terms, whether that means playing the game, refining the rules for your own integrity, or even deciding to step away altogether.
For me, the unspoken codes of Asia’s financial world became both a roadmap and a cautionary tale. They guided me toward the promotions and opportunities I wanted, but they also reminded me to keep my eyes open—because each victory can come at a price if you aren’t careful. I’ve seen careers rocket forward, and I’ve witnessed talented people sidelined for not knowing the “right” unspoken rule at the right moment. It’s easy to dismiss these cultural intricacies as unnecessary or outdated, but they remain powerfully relevant in today’s global financial landscape. My own journey has been one of constantly learning, adapting, and often making mistakes. Yet every misstep served as a reminder that while the corporate ladder might be tall, it’s also built on a foundation of hidden expectations and tacit agreements. The sooner you learn to see them, the faster you can climb.
