The People’s Republic of Desire

by Annie Wang

  Today, family background is no longer that important, but place of origin means status. The success of years of class struggle in China has made the Chinese particularly class-conscious. Faking one's birthplace is the quickest way to diminish the discrepancy between classes, between men and women, between city and countryside. It serves its purpose as conveniently as a fake Chanel bag.

  Being a returnee, I am sometimes called a fake too. Local Chinese call me a jia yangguizi - fake foreign devil.

  POPULAR PHRASES

  DANGAN: Personal files, containing details of their political, family, educational, and employment background. Everyone in China is required to have one.

  BEIGU: Northern auntie, a derogatory expression for mainland girls.

  NANDEHUTU: An ancient Chinese saying meaning, Leaving things ill-defined is better. The closest English equivalent is, Ignorance is bliss.

  JIA YANGGUIZ: Fake foreign devil. A word used by ultra-patriots to refer to westernized Chinese.

  XIN XIN RENLEI: The "new" new generation: Gen Xers and Gen Yers whose lifestyle includes bar culture, multiple sex partners, and the Internet. A far cry from the simpler and traditional lives of their earlier generations.

  2 Fashion and Abortion

  The Chinese media often complain that the Western media don't give a full picture of China. Some Chinese scholars have used the popular word yaomohua,or "demonizing," as in: "The Western media try to demonize China because they fear the rise of a strong modern China."

  Whether the Western media have painted an accurate picture of China or not, China has its own faults. It has moved forward too damned fast, beyond the average person's normal comprehension. Even Chinese returnees like me, who left the country for only seven years to earn one or two advanced degrees, cannot recognize Beijing after they get back.

  Chinese TV is full of languid, pouting skinny models and small-time actors with Taiwanese accents, dressed up like Japanese cartoon characters and playing the fool. These opium-addict-looking models would be deemed totally unhealthy by the Old Revolutionary beauty standard. After all, China suffered two humiliating opium wars. And despite winning the civil war that drove the Nationalists off the Chinese mainland and onto bucolic Taiwan over fifty years ago, mainlanders now consider a Taiwanese accent a fashion asset. You can't think of China with logic.

  When I walk along Beijing Street, I run into one Starbucks after another. It seems there are more Starbucks in Beijing than in Berkeley. There is even one in the Forbidden Palace! I see fashionable women in miniskirts talking into mobile phones as they ride their bicycles. Miniskirts and bicycles: socialism with Chinese characteristics. And there are more and more people who look overweight, even by American standards. Young people wear jeans and cotton T-shirts. They consider this the new fashion, although their parents still think cotton is too cheap a fabric for clothes. Boys are growing their hair long and girls are cutting their hair short. Shop signs are in English, with laughable mistakes throughout. Everyone uses Windows 2000 on their computers. Even my retired grandfather knows how to search for fortune-tellers on Yahoo. China 's changes have taken me by surprise.

  Luckily I have my childhood friends Lulu and Beibei to reacclimate me to the Chinese way. Lulu and Beibei were my old schoolmates from Beijing 's Jingshan School. Beibei is seven years older than me, and Lulu is four years older. Jingshan included grades one to twelve all on the same school grounds. The three of us met fighting with the boys over the Ping-Pong table.

  At that time Beibei was in senior high, Lulu was in junior high, and I was in primary school. I was mature for my age and liked to mix with friends older than me. The three of us got up to all sorts of mischief together, and we've been inseparable ever since.

  At the time, China didn't have private schools, but Jingshan was very exclusive. Most of my classmates came from distinguished families. I was born in the United States and returned to China at age five. My family was categorized as "patriotic overseas Chinese," so I was fine. Beibei's grandfather was a high-ranking Old Revolutionary who the government assigned a big courtyard house in the best part of the town, a chauffeur, a nanny, and two assistants. She was fine. Lulu came from an ordinary family in southern China, but she was not only the cutest girl in school but also a child star who knew how to sing well.

  Twelve years ago, we three girls made Beibei's grandfather's chauffeur drive us to every five-star hotel in Beijing in the Mercedes 600. At that time, Chinese people were not allowed into five-star hotels, and the doormen, not knowing what to do when they saw three scruffy girls climb out of the Mercedes 600, greeted us in Japanese. At a time when most Chinese households did not have a telephone, at my house, we used our household phone to call up male celebrities, pretending to be the hottest actresses of the time and professing our love for them. We didn't know we were privileged until much later.

  Now, Beibei is president of Chichi Entertainment Company, which she founded five years ago; she currently employs five hundred people and represents one-quarter of the top actors and singers in China. Chinese singers make real bucks nowadays. Through Beibei I've learned that they can charge $100,000 for singing four songs in a concert. And this is aftertax money. Beibei keeps telling me that with such a cute face, I went into the wrong business as a reporter.

  Lulu is the executive editor of the fashion magazine Women ' s Friends. After she graduated from Beijing University, she was offered many high-paying jobs, but instead she decided to be an editorial assistant at a fashion magazine. At that time, fashion magazines were so new in China that few people could afford to buy them and the pay for working there was low. So many friends told her to try something else. But Lulu has a natural passion for the beauty industry, and she stayed on the job. Now she is the second most important person at her magazine. Although her pay is so-so, she receives perks such as free memberships to gyms, spas, free gifts from Chanel, free trips to Paris, Tokyo, Milan, and New York. She is slim, graceful, and stylish. She has long flowing dark hair that always seems to rest perfectly on her shoulders, no matter what she is doing, and big, deep eyes like a Caucasian, Lulu's lover, Ximu, once described them as "pools of sex." Lulu enjoys wearing expensive high-fashion numbers from designers like Gucci and Versace. These Italian designs make her look powerful, and even a bit intimidating when she is surrounded by her Chinese colleagues and competitors. It's her moment to outshine others and find confidence.

  Lulu is the most gentle and feminine of our trio, but she can also be extremely nervy. When she curses someone out, no one can be more rude. She also smokes. She looks at people from behind a cloud of smoke, giving her a vague, misty appearance. Beibei jokingly says she is a Huli Jing walking among men. Lulu is a total sex goddess of the fashion world.

  When I returned to China, Lulu immediately realized that my Californian style was too casual: I don't use makeup, and I wear big baggy shirts and pants.

  "You're too Americanized, and too ahead of the time in China," Lulu tells me.

  "What do you mean?" I'm proud of my blue Ralph Lauren shirt.

  "You've got a thin waist and nice skin that men love. But you need perfume, lip gloss, and polished nails, which will make you more feminine. You see people are superficial when you look expensive, they treat you with respect." She critiques my style.

  The fashionable Lulu starts to teach me how to make a face mask out of pearl powder and milk, pluck my eyebrows down to only a few hairs, wear Chinese-style lined jackets and pants.

  When I first arrived in the United States, I became a slave of American cosmetics. The clerk at the Estée Lauder counter of every Macy's store adored me because I bought whatever was new on the market. The reason was simple: I had never seen these things in China. By the time I left the States for China, I had been too influenced by Berkeley 's feminism and lost my desire to look like a model. Now, in China, I have to go back to my old obsession with makeup and my desire to be a cover girl. It's like time travel.

  Lulu loves educating me. "To surv
ive as a girl in big cities such as Beijing, Shanghai, and Hong Kong, a thin waist and perfume are must-haves." She takes me out with her friends from the fashion crowd who are designers, models, and photographers. They are either gay or bisexual. Straight people are not cool in that circle.

  Lulu has learned many tricks from me as well. Once she went to a party without wearing a bra. "This is the Berkeley style that I've learned from Niuniu," she said proudly, as everybody stares at her nipples through her silk blouse.

  Lulu is stunning, svelte, elegant, with glowing skin and delicate features that every girl is dying for, but she is ill-fated in love. When she was a college girl, she met Ximu, a married man who brought her nothing but bad luck.

  Ximu is a talented graduate from Tsinghua University, who went to study in France in 1989. He abandoned his electrical engineering major to take up an art major there. Five years ago, he returned to China, and has since managed to become a well-known performance artist. His wife is French, and lives in France. Ximu and his wife have lived apart for many years, but he has not divorced and does not want to remarry.

  He says, "I am very French. I'm a free spirit."

  Lulu has fallen for him, and willingly becomes his "little secret." She e-mailed me when I was in the States. She said, "I'd like to be Ximu's Simone de Beauvoir." In those days, she sent me her long reading notes of de Beauvoir and Marguerite Duras, who were must-reads among Chinese city girls. Lulu firmly believes that one cannot judge a genius according to ordinary standards. And Ximu, obviously, is a genius.

  Lulu has undergone three abortions because of Ximu. The first was very painful: she felt that she was taking a life. With the second, she was helpless and felt that the heavens were punishing her. The third was a kind of self-destruction, like she was murdering herself.

  But the physical and mental pain have not weakened Lulu's love for Ximu at all. On the contrary, she worships him without complaint or regret. No wonder some male returnees feel like kids in a candy store when they return to China. All of a sudden, they find they are as hot as Apollo!

  While I was still studying in the States, Lulu e-mailed me, begging for help. At that time, Lulu had discovered that Ximu was living in Beijing with a Japanese woman who had grown up in China. Ximu said he was just that kind of guy. He needed different women: French, American, Japanese, Chinese – their different cultures stimulated him. He wasn't a one-woman man. Lulu could either accept him or leave him. Lulu was deeply hurt.

  I don't understand why Ximu, who claims to be so French, always got Lulu pregnant. Why doesn't he wear a condom? Lulu says Ximu says that love must know no barriers, and they must give of each other fully.

  I think Ximu is full of shit. But Lulu says, "Well, I thought every girl in love has had abortions, at least in China!" I almost faint – how can my fashionable friend Lulu be so out of touch with the world?

  POPULAR PHRASES

  YAOMOHUA: To demonize.

  SONGGAO XIE: Platform shoes. Popular among young women in Japan, Korea, and China, where women especially want to look taller. The shoes cause accidents and broken ankles because of their fantastic but impractical platform.

  XINGBAKE: Starbucks, considered one of the most "in" places for urban youth. Quite the opposite of its status in the States, where it is considered a somewhat soulless and uninteresting corporate creation.

  HULI JING: The fox spirit comes in the guise of a beautiful maiden to seduce men and slowly devour them. Refers to attractive young women who make men crazy for them.

  3 The Chinese Feminist and the Little Duck

  If Lulu is considered a white-collar woman, women like Beibei are called gold-collar. As president of Chichi Entertainment Company, Beibei is a member of China 's nouveaux riches. With an income twice that of her husband and one hundred times that of the average Chinese, Beibei drives a BMW 750. Even though it is used, it cost her more than $100,000. Imported luxury goods like cars and cosmetics are taxed almost 40 percent in China, but it doesn't stop Beibei from carrying Fendi handbags and wearing Estée Lauder makeup. Even her maids get Estée Lauder gift bags. Beibei buys her clothes only at the Scitec and World Trade malls in China. Still she complains often that the luxury brands sold in China aren't most up-to-date so she has to fly to Paris or New York to shop.

  Her career success doesn't surprise me. As a matter of fact, I anticipated my friend's achievement. Among the three of us, thirty-five-year-old Beibei, granddaughter of a Chinese general, is the oldest, tallest, and most self-assured. She has always been a smart, aggressive, business-oriented go-getter, whom I admire and am disgusted by at the same time.

  Beibei invites me to have dinner in the stylish and pricey Courtyard Restaurant owned by a Chinese-American lawyer near the Forbidden City. She is wearing a red dudou - baby doll clothing that shows off her belly button like Britney Spears and exposes her shoulders like Nicole Kidman. Beibei has a narrow face. She wears dark bangs that make her look much younger than she actually is. Youthfulness is worshipped in China to a ridiculous degree, and Beibei can't risk being thought of as old or out of date. Beibei's heels are dangerously high, but she never seems to have trouble navigating even the most difficult terrain. As she walks to the table, the lace of her Victoria 's Secret underwear peaks out from above her waistline.

  Lulu isn't with us. She is dashing off to Tibet with her lover Ximu, whose art show will include a hundred people taking a shower in front of the Potala Palace. But she calls us long distance, "Guess what? As I'm standing right in front of the Potala Palace, I see many Tibetan protesters! They say that Ximu tries to make fun of them and perpetuate the stereotypes that Tibetans don't like to wash themselves! But come on, this is fucking art!" Her voice reveals her deep admiration for Ximu.

  "I guess being controversial is what Ximu wants. We wish him good luck!" Beibei quickly hangs up the phone.

  "I hate Ximu. I can't stand Lulu's obsession with him. Why is she so stupid when it comes to Ximu?" Beibei complains to me.

  "Everybody has her blind spot, I guess," I say.

  "Have you found out that Lulu loves to mimic George Sand?" Beibei asks me.

  "You mean the feminist writer who was Chopin's lover?"

  "Yes."

  "But I thought Lulu was more a fan of Simone de Beauvoir and Marguerite Duras!" Lulu's love life can get confusing.

  "Marguerite Duras, the author of The Lover. The woman who had a twenty-something lover when she was in her sixties? Did she smoke too?" asks Beibei.

  "I can't remember, but it's very likely."

  "I think Lulu picks up smoking and swearing from George Sand. But it's all on the surface. George Sand was so ahead of her time. Lulu isn't a feminist. She is still a slave of men, but I," Beibei blows a smoke ring proudly, "am the master of men."

  Beibei has a tendency to put down others in order to elevate herself. She even does this to her best friends, like Lulu and me, but without evil intentions. Sometimes, she just needs to feel like a queen. Her fortune-teller says that she was a queen in her previous life, and she genuinely believes it.

  Beibei has been married for seven years and has had four lovers during that time, all young guys in their twenties. They call her Big Sis. Her latest lover is called Iron Egg, a twenty-one-year-old journalist for a local tabloid. As the owner of an entertainment company, Beibei is following the new fashion of dating young studs. Hong Kong singer Faye Wong and American actress Demi Moore are her relationship role models.

  "Men had legitimate lovers for thousands of years in China. They were called concubines. Why can't we women have our male concubines?" Beibei reveals a seductive smile.

  Before I can say anything, she continues, "You know Western feminists have gone too far. They are men haters. I agree with them that men are jerks. You can't give up everything for them. But I don't hate men. I love being their master. It's fun!"

  "How can a woman become a master of men?" I ask while sipping fresh apple juice.

  "Don't believe any of that love bul
lshit. You have to realize that the stupidest investment in the world is an investment in love," says Beibei. "Only when you are immune from love will you have the chance to be a master." The lesson continues.

  Of course, I know Beibei has no faith in love because her husband – the one they call Chairman Hua – betrayed her.

  When Beibei was studying at the Central Minority Nationalities Institute, she met Hua Dabin. Because he was chairman of the students association, everybody called him Chairman Hua – after Hua Guofeng, Mao Zedong's designated successor. Hua Dabin came from Xinjiang, was tall and striking and very popular with the girls.

  Beibei fell in love with Chairman Hua, and was soon living with him off-campus. This was major news that year at school – because at the time it was forbidden for college students to marry or live together. The institute almost expelled them, and only because of Beibei's family connections were they allowed to stay.

  Hua majored in literary and historical archives, and after graduation it was difficult for him to find a job. The school was going to send him back to Xinjiang. It was nearly impossible for people from the outer provinces to remain in Beijing.

  Beibei decided to marry him immediately. That way, he could obtain Beijing residency and stay in Beijing. Beibei also did not hesitate to use her old revolutionary grandfather to pull some strings and find Hua a job. Her grandfather had been incorruptible all his life, but he couldn't remain so in his final years, all for the sake of his much-loved granddaughter.