Chick-fil-A is a symbol of good luck for Chinese visa-seekers in US

Chinese Students Turn to Chick-fil-A for Visa Luck in Wordplay Superstition

At a recent Chinese comedy show in northern Virginia, when asked about favorite foods, the audience erupted with an unexpected answer: “Chick-fil-A!” The host quickly responded with a knowing joke about the H-1B visa lottery, touching on a peculiar superstition that has taken root among Chinese students and professionals in America.

For these visa seekers, Chick-fil-A represents far more than fast food. The chain’s name sounds remarkably like “check files,” creating a linguistic coincidence that has transformed the restaurant into a symbol of good fortune for those navigating the complex U.S. immigration system.

“It feels like I am one step closer to the green card after having a Chick-fil-A meal,” explains Zhou Yilu, an AI software engineer in Wilmington, Delaware. During his 14-year journey through the American visa system, Zhou has encountered numerous bureaucratic hurdles, including last-minute approvals that kept him in constant uncertainty.

While no one knows exactly who started this superstition, it has flourished in recent years as visa processes, particularly the H-1B lottery, have become increasingly competitive and difficult to secure. The practice has spawned creative expressions of this belief: some students 3D-print Chick-fil-A logo coasters, others create embroidered pendants, and many set the company’s logo as their social media profile picture—sometimes altered from red to green to symbolize the coveted green card.

This phenomenon reflects a deeper cultural tradition. Chinese culture has long embraced wordplay and phonetic associations. During Christmas Eve, many Chinese eat apples because “pingguo” (apple) sounds similar to “ping’an ye” (peaceful night). Brides carry lettuce in bouquets because “shengcai” (lettuce) resembles “getting rich.” Similarly, the number four is widely avoided because it sounds like the word for death.

Behind this seemingly lighthearted superstition lies a sobering reality: the immense challenges immigrants face in securing legal work status in the United States. In 2024, more than 46,000 Chinese students and workers were approved for H-1B visas, making them the second-largest group of recipients at 11.7%, trailing only India’s 70%.

“I was forced to turn to these mysteries,” says Fan Wu, a data scientist in Indianapolis who changed his social media profile to the Chick-fil-A logo and even traveled to Hawaii to pray at a Japanese Taoist temple—yet still failed to secure his H-1B visa. “The lottery itself is a matter of chance. It depends on luck, and we need another mystery to echo it.”

The quest for visa fortune has even created a unique service industry. Meng Yanqing, 24, operates in Beijing as a prayer proxy. For a fee, he visits the popular Lama Temple to pray on behalf of visa applicants, incorporating their personal information like passport numbers and birthdays into his rituals. He also purchases and ships consecrated bracelets from the temple to clients across the Pacific.

“I respect them, they have their demands, and I offer the service,” says Meng. “I truly hope the best for them.”

Recent policy changes have only intensified anxiety among Chinese students and workers. The Trump administration’s sudden announcement of a $100,000 fee on H-1B visas created confusion and fear before clarification that it applied only to new visas. This unpredictability compounds existing challenges of language barriers, cultural differences, and a competitive job market.

Immigration experts like Juliet Gelatt, associate director of the U.S. Program at the Migration Policy Institute, highlight the broader implications. “A real talent pipeline,” she describes the visa system, noting that “we’ve really benefited as a country and as an economy from bringing in smart young people from all around the world, including from China.”

However, growing suspicion toward Chinese immigrants, particularly in technology sectors, threatens America’s ability to attract international talent. One manager at a new energy company, who would only give his surname Yang, finally added the Chick-fil-A logo to his profile after months of visa uncertainty. Of his precarious status, he says, “It feels like living under someone else’s roof.”

For Harriet Peng, a data analyst in northern Virginia, eating chicken sandwiches and displaying company merchandise wasn’t enough. After repeated lottery failures, she visited a temple in upstate New York to pray in person—or as she puts it, to “make some efforts using scientific materialist methods in metaphysics.” Finding no specific deity for visa concerns, Peng took a comprehensive approach: “I knelt in front of almost every god and prayed, in case they all know each other.”