The West can have their little black dress. We’ve got the qipao.
The qipao, or cheongsam, is a tight-fitting body-hugging (can you say unforgiving?) Chinese dress for women.
While associated with Chinese culture around the world today, its origins is actually Manchurian, but the Han Chinese were forced to wear it during the Qing Dynasty. (That would be the last ruling dynasty of China, that of The Last Emperor, before Sun Yat-sen and friends overthrew the Imperial monarchy.)
The original qipao was wide and loose and revealed only the head, hands and tips of the toes, easy for all women to wear regardless of size or age.
Originally a long dress, it was called the 長衫 (chángshān) in Mandarin. Or chèuhngsaàm in Cantonese, which is the origin of its English name, cheongsam.
The modern cheongsam was born in Shanghai, the most open-minded and cosmopolitan city at the turn of the last century (and probably still is). After the dynasty fell, the people looked for a more modernised style of dress, redesigning the qipao to fit the female form with a high cut. Upperclass women and socialites took to it faster than you could say “Blahniks”. Accentuating the female figure, they made it fashionable at balls and parties.
As Western styles changed in the 1940s, so too did the cheongsam evolve further, with variations to its style of sleeves. When the Communist Revolution took over China in 1949, the fashion and its trade shifted to Hong Kong where it continued to remain popular.
Today, you’d be hard pressed not to be able to find a simple cheongsam in red with gold brocade in a Chinatown anywhere in the world. While a Caucasian female clad in one of these party dresses will still come across as chic, me in one of those just feels like I work at the Golden Palace Dimsum Restaurant. You know what I mean.
I think it’s really all in the fabric and its pattern.
If it’s red, other things have to make up for it, such as a unique fabric pattern, a touch of imported lace, a more modern design, or the right accessories, e.g. Tony Leung.
A fabric design or colour that’s too staid might put you at risk of looking like your secondary school discipline mistress, so counter it with undiscipline mistress-like touches (unless that was the point, in which case it’d be fun to match with a quirky pair of retro spectacles).
A geometric pattern would take it out of Old Shanghai, whether you’re going for the retro vintage look, or contemporising it with a variation of the classic design.
Most floral patterns would look inspired by the Far East (the Europeans were inspired by China and Japan anyways). A bold design in one tone or colour is a sure standout.
I saw a dress recently and fell in love. It was a blue floral design on a porcelain white mixed with a dark blue, except that it wasn’t a cheongsam design but a pleated dress with Chinese capped sleeves and collar.
Still, the fabric design was lovely. Elegant, unmistakably chinois chic, yet definitely not old fashioned. It would have been so gorgeous as a cheongsam.
The classic cheongsam design with a modern twist also works to retain its old world charm while staying with the times.
My friend scoffed when I said I saw a dark blue pinstripe cheongsam with bright red frog buttons and regretted that I never bought it. Actually, I couldn’t really afford it, or rather, couldn’t afford to pay that much for a dress I’d hardly get to wear. And that was just at an eclectic modern Chinese boutique, still nowhere close to the price range of Shanghai Tang’s creations.
Being pinstripe, it wouldn’t be an evening dress, but something a private banker-sort might wear to a reception, or on a Friday before painting the town red. It would be a quirky item in a wardrobe of power suits and such.
For that dress, I seriously wondered if I should have listened to my mother and chosen a more corporate career (which may have helped in the not-being-able-to-afford-it department).
Then I was window shopping last month when I saw this. It kinda reminded me of that pinstripe cheongsam, only this was less business-like, tho also not as quirky.
It would have been nice to wear for Chinese New Year. (I already had a dress that I bought end of last year that I could save for New Year, but it never, never, hurts to window shop.) But the Small size was too tight on the shoulders, and the Medium was too loose everywhere else.
And yet, for a few fleeting moments in the changing room, before the realisation of the bad fit sunk in, I felt giddy and light-headed. I thought I had found The One. (I also thought I should go window shopping more often because maybe, like physical activity, it also releases endorphins…)
Alas…
Anyway, even if I had got that dress, a girl’s wardrobe can stand to have a few cheongsams. In fact, I’ve got a weakness for them. And cheongsam tops. And a few ao dais too. And an ao dai-cheongsam hybrid, which I can actually wear to work and dinner. I just don’t have that one classic one yet.
Thus continues my quest for a little Chinese dress. I’m on the lookout, have been for a while already. Sometimes it’s the cut. Sometimes it’s the timing (I told myself once I stopped freelancing and got myself a responsible job, I’ll give myself a treat with my first paycheck, but heyho, look ma, a recession — austerity drive…). Sometimes it’s the budget.
But maybe one day I will be able to make like Maggie Cheung and go buy noodles from a street hawker. Carrying my tiffin. Before getting caught in a passing shower. Only to encounter my friend eating noodles alone at the stall.
Sidenote on Tony Leung again: another amply cheongsam-ed movie is Lee Ang’s much-hyped Lust, Caution.
Haven’t seen that yet, but I know that if I do, I will go shopping — Tang Wei wore 27 cheongsams in 150 minutes (although they don’t look as gorgeously tailored, it is a wartime saga after all; Maggie Cheung apparently had 46 in In The Mood For Love, though not all survived the editing room).
I’d also settle for a recommendation of a good master tailor not located in Hong Kong or Shanghai; a tailored cheongsam would ensure a properly perfect fit.
It would probably cost a pretty penny. But in belt-tightening times like these, that might work to my advantage since I wouldn’t be able to eat in one of those dresses anyway.
Tags: cheongsam, in the mood for love, maggie cheung, qipao, tony leung
