by Annie Wang
"When I came to China, I thought, if I study Mandarin and learn a bit about kung fu and feng shui, then I'll be Chinese. But when Westerners ask me questions about Chinese culture, I've got no idea. I've worked hard for so many years, but I'm a failure. I don't belong anywhere. Doesn't matter whether it's Nick or those men I met in Asia, so many of them want someone exotic. If they go out with a local girl, it gives them a colonial sense of victory, of conquering and taming the mysterious Orient. But me, I'm too Western, too similar to them – I see myself as one of them, as their equal. I'm not exotic enough, so these Western men don't think being with someone like me is sufficiently romantic. Am I right?"
"Why are you so worried about what Western guys think of you anyway? If they don't understand you, if they don't appreciate you, then why don't you go out with a Chinese guy instead?" I suggest. "You're pretty, smart, funny, there must be loads of Chinese guys who want to go out with you."
"I don't know – I've never been out with Chinese men before."
"Why not?" I demand.
"Somehow we just don't click. It'd be like dating one of my brothers or something. And Western guys are always so much funnier, laid-back, not so stressed about pleasing their parents. And Western guys have got much better bodies!"
"Hmph, you can blame Nick for having yell ow fever, but it seems to me you're just as fixated on Western men," I say to CC.
42 The Gossip Party
My boss Sean and I are on assignment in Hong Kong to write about Hong Kong 's crisis of confidence. On Friday evening, we receive invitations to Club Ing in Wan Chai, a farewell party for an English banker who is returning home.
Attendees include bankers, consultants, lawyers, foreign journalists, advertising agents, Chinese celebrities, and people of uncertain background who call themselves free agents or writers. Most people don't know the English banker, but it doesn't matter. Just like in the West, connections have always been important in Chinese culture, especially in Hong Kong. That's why parties are not to be missed.
White gloves, martinis, cries in English of "Hi" and "Oh yeah," hugging and kissing greetings, politely revealing teeth in a small smile, conversing in a mixture of Chinese and English. Neither Chinese nor Western – it is very Hong Kong.
I soon discover that no one actually knows anyone very well, but the warm way in which people greet one another makes it seem as if they've known each other a long time. In conversation, people constantly drop names. "Do you know So-and-So?" is a mantra. It helps people find connections but it can also rescue you when you don't know what else to say. Moreover, the more people you know, the more social you are, and the more people want to get to know you.
Among the Chinese, the names people love to drop the most are names of high-ranking officials in China, or the cousins of high-ranking officials, or the wives of the nephews of high-ranking officials, any of which automatically raises their status. Knowing even the driver of a high-ranking official can make the speaker proud and the listener stand in awe. As soon as I admit that I went to high school with the son of China 's president, many show interest and come to talk to me.
Among the expats, the names dropped are often old classmates or coworkers. People who say, "So-and-So was my classmate in Boston " are Harvard or MIT people, as always. No one will say the name of the school he went to. The unspoken rule for everybody at this sort of gathering is that name-dropping is fine, but school-name-dropping is considered outre.
A woman walks past facing me. She looks me up and down and then greets me warmly. "Isn't that Niuniu? Do you still remember me – Auntie Man? I'm your old neighbor! I never would have imagined you're so grown-up. We mustn't have seen each other for many years! I never would have thought I'd bump into you at a place like this!"
I remember. This Auntie Man was my old Beijing neighbor. Auntie Man struck up a conversation with a Hong Kong businessman one day when she was walking along the street. Later, she married him and moved to Hong Kong to be a mainland wife.
"Auntie Man, how's your life in Hong Kong?" I ask.
" Hong Kong is so expensive! An apartment is several million Hong Kong dollars; a car parking space is a couple of thousand per month. Now my husband's company has set up a branch in Shanghai, and we're going to move there. Everyone's going to Shanghai, you know! Who made Shanghai so cheap? But I'll have to keep an eye on my husband. Shanghai girls are all after men!"
I introduce Auntie Man to Sean. Just as they are shaking hands, a Chinese couple walks over to Sean.
The husband has a broad face. He is wearing a polo shirt, pants with suspenders, and black-rimmed glasses, and his hair is slicked back and shining. He looks part cartoon, part tycoon.
The wife has narrow eyes that are arched slightly upward, the Asian beauty that is popular overseas now. Her lips are thick and full; they remind me of the soft-rock singer Sade. She wears high-heeled shoes with pointy toes. Her Chinese-style dress is like a giant man's hand, stroking her waiting body. She carries a small black leather handbag. The label is Prada.
They embrace Sean warmly.
Sean turns to me. "Let me introduce you. This is Kelvin Chang. I met him when I was studying Chinese in England. This is Mrs. Chang."
"Hello. I am Sean's colleague Niuniu."
"And who is this?" Mrs. Chang looks at Auntie Man.
"My old neighbor from Beijing, Auntie Man. We haven't seen each other for many years. I never would have thought we would meet at a cocktail party here. It is a small world," I say.
"It really is a small world." Auntie Man nods at the Changs and repeats my words significantly.
After the Chinese couple leave, Auntie Man pulls me to one side, looking at Mrs. Chang's swaying back, and whispers, "That bitch sure can put on a show! Seeing me and pretending she doesn't know me."
"Do you know her?" I ask.
"Even when my bones have turned to ash I won't forget her." Auntie Man bites her lip. "We used to be in the same propaganda troupe. Her husband played the Chinese violin. Later, we went on tour overseas, and she hooked up with a local in Hawaii and stayed. She wrote to her husband back in China that she would make enough for him to join her in the United States. Eight years ago, my hubby and I spent our honeymoon in Hawaii. Guess who we saw in a strip club? This same Mrs. Chang danced on the bar stark-naked. Look at her now, she acts like she's a rose. I was her old coworker in the propaganda troupe, but she pretended not to know me. You know why? Only I know of her sordid past. But I'm still not one of those gossiping housewives. I never told anyone about her."
With these words, Auntie Man leaves me and talks to others. I don't want to hear anything. Gossip can confuse people's state-of-mind. The less I know of these sorts of things, the better. I can tell that she is repeating the story to everybody because everybody she talks to immediately glances at the Changs.
I feel a little dizzy. Tonight, I have handed out so many name cards and greeted so many people. I think of Mother. She never tires of attending these sorts of gatherings. She has not much education or even a formal job. How can she always be the center of attention in such gatherings? And I, it seems, have not inherited her social graces. A party can be nice, and knowing So-and-So is nice, but not always: there are always people at the party you wish you didn't know, just as Mrs. Chang didn't expect to meet Auntie Man.
43 Matchmaking
Since "sex goddess" editor Lulu left her abusive ex-boyfriend, Ximu, Beibei has become our matchmaker. Her plan is to find both of us fat cats who might become her business partners. Surely, Beibei has many connections with wealthy people.
Beibei has never approved of Lulu falling in love with poor artists like Ximu. She has a theory: in today's world, poor men and rich men are equally corrupt, so why not go for the rich ones? Beibei wants to arrange a party for Lulu's birthday, but she's not sure where to hold it. Not Beijing, because the Communist Party convention is about to take place, and it'll be harder to keep a low profile.
Beibei's friend in Shanghai, a ba
nker called Dan Ke, invites Beibei, Lulu, and me to come to Shanghai where the hype is. "My company bought a colonial-style mansion in Xuhui district," he says. "We spent one million yuan just on the renovations. Let's celebrate Lulu's birthday here. I'll invite all my bachelor friends. We've got a huge living room, big enough for ballroom dancing!"
No sooner has Beibei accepted Dan's invitation than her Shenzhen friend, real-estate developer Little Wan, calls. "Why did you guys choose Shanghai?" he asks. "You'll find only middle managers and compradors, not the taipans or real bosses. I recently bought a 625-square meter villa in Shenzhen up on a mountain. Come here to party."
With two invitations, we decide to have an afternoon tea party in Shanghai at Dan's and then fly to Shenzhen for dinner at Little Wan's.
In Dan's mansion, "The Storm" by the sexy violinist Vanessa-Mae is playing in the background and the air is filled with the mingling smells of goose liver pate, caviar, aged Irish whiskey, French wines, and Cuban cigars. The guests, all in their thirties, have names such as Vincent Yu, Johnny Chen, Michael Wu, David Lee, Peter Lam, and Eric Pan. They seem to be either directors of investment banks, CEOs of dot-coms, or chief representatives of foreign companies. Lulu's reputation for being a Chinese Marilyn Monroe, along with her enchanting eyes, grabs the attention of all the men, who are soon trying hard to impress her with their wealth – of course, without mentioning money directly.
Eric talks about his vacation at his luxury villa in the south of France, dropping words in French. Johnny tells of his gambling experiences in Las Vegas and the VIP treatment he received. Michael divulges details about his wine collection. David whines about the poor service in certain five-star hotels in different parts of the world. And Vincent compares golf courses in different countries.
"How lucky they are to have us as listeners," says Lulu with a twinkle in her eye.
I reply: "For the past twenty years, the Chinese men have been listening to the Taiwanese and Hong Kong people brag about their money. Now I guess it's their turn."
Dan, the host, suggests that Lulu and I, pick at least one potential candidate. Lulu, Beibei, and I strike up a discussion in the women's bathroom. Johnny is out of the question: a compulsive gambler is the worst choice for a husband unless he has the looks of Robert Redford (in Indecent Proposal). Michael is addicted to wine and spoke of a villa in southern France where he might keep a mistress. French might be his pillow language. Vincent has sexy thick lips like Tiger Woods, but when he writes down his favorite golf course in English, there is an impossible mistake: "golf" becomes "gulf."
David, chief executive of Coyote.com, is not bad. If he can complain about the service in five-star hotels, it means he travels. So we pick David to take us to the airport. But none of us expects what we find at the door. As David signals for a taxi from the waiting queue, he explains: "With the downfall of the Nasdaq, I had to sell my sedan five months ago!"
"But you still travel and stay in five-star hotels!" Beibei exclaims.
"My company pays for these trips; it doesn't cost me a thing." Without other men around, David speaks the truth.
Once he leaves, Beibei says to us: "A golfer can't spell the word golf correctly. A traveler stays in five-star hotels only when they are paid for by his company. Apparently, they misrepresented themselves."
"I thought downplaying yourself was fashionable among the rich," I say.
"It might be true in Silicon Valley, but not in Shanghai, where face is everything! They even have a bar called The Face!" Beibei says.
"Well, forget about these rich wannabes. Let's check out the men in Shenzhen!" Lulu says.
We storm to the airport and arrive in Shenzhen to attend the dinner at Little Wan's. This Little Wan is Beibei's family friend. His father, Old Wan, was Beibei's grandfather's former secretary in the early 1980s. After Old Wan retired from the army found a job in a state-owned tourist agency. Old Wan was promoted to director of the agency for the last year before his retirement. That year was 1993. Deng Xiaoping gave a talk during his trip in Shenzhen, saying that the economic reform should be faster. Inspired by the talk, his son, Little Wan, who failed to enter college that year, started his own travel agency. With his father's network and his friends' help, business has flourished.
Shenzhen turns out to be completely different from the Shanghai scene. Goose liver or caviar isn't popular among this crowd. Instead, the dinner is mainly seafood: fresh lobster flown in from Boston, Australian abalone, and shark fin soup. Here no guests bother to have English names, but they bring along secretaries who have English names. One guy even has an American as his secretary. These guys are even more blatant about their wealth than Shanghai guys.
Mr. Lam speaks Mandarin with his heavy Hong Kong accent, "Niuniu, I've been in the apparel business for twelve years. Women like you can turn your beauty into wealth. I have a proposal: There is a Western brand called Miu Miu. My company can create a Niuniu brand and use your face as our logo. I bet it will sell like hotcakes."
Mr. Leong, a real estate developer, says to Lulu, "Just tell me which style of house you like, Victorian, Spanish, or what? I can build one you like and name the development Lulu's Garden or Lulu's Verde or the Lulu Dynasty."
Mr. Lee, a Chinese media magnate says to me, "Hey, Niu-niu, with your beauty and knowledge, you can be the hostess of our nightline program. You should also be the leading actress of our new TV series."
Beibei quietly says to Lulu and me, " Shanghai and Shenzhen can be different in taste and money, but they have one thing in common: they both love beauty, especially your beauty." Then she nudges Lulu. "Just think of the pain and humiliation you had to suffer with the poor designer. Doesn't it feel good now to be the focus of all these rich boys?"
"I think it's their egos that are getting all the stroking," Lulu says.
"I agree with you." I add. I say, thinking, actually, Niu Niu does sound like a nice brand for a clothing line. Surely, mother would embrace this idea. "They are using us to compete with each other."
44 Women in China
Weiwei, my family friend, is a famous Beijing slacker. With a father who is a renowned linguist and a mother who is a painter, he is witty and knowledgeable about everything from world politics and the latest model of BMW, to the most recent screening on the Discovery Channel. But Weiwei has never had a real job. Lately, he has been living off his savings.
I get him a temporary job. My friend, a Chinese American guy named Jerry, has just come to town. It's Jerry's first time in Asia and he is undecided about which city to live in. It all depends on the women. He is willing to pay 5,000 RMB – about $600 – as a consulting fee to get an overview of women from different parts of China. Weiwei had so many girlfriends that he is perfect for this role, so I arrange for them to meet over dinner.
I invite my Hong Kong friend CC, who also needs an understanding of Chinese women, from a competitor's point of view. CC can't understand what makes Chinese women so good that her English boyfriend would dump her in favor of them.
Weiwei holds court. " Beijing girls tend to be direct, independent, and the most knowledgeable about arts and sports, like Niuniu," he says. "At the same time, they are arrogant and ambitious. Because many of them come from well-to-do families, they always have a bit of attitude and are not easily impressed. And don't expect them to cook well either."
"I'm not a bad cook!" I want to protest but manage to hold my tongue. After all, Weiwei is here to sell stereotypes. Why bother to disagree? Weiwei continues: "One advantage of Beijing girls is that compared to the skinny southern girls, they have breasts. Most of the girls from the northeast, Shandong Province or even Korea, all have good-sized breasts like actress Gong Li."
"What is the biggest problem with Beijing girls?" Jerry asks.
"They swear," Weiwei says.
I shrug. I can't deny this. I swear, and even worse, I enjoy it.
"Tell us about Sichuan girls," CC asks Weiwei. "The movie star, Liu Xiaoqing, who was recently put in
jail, is a Sichuan woman. Bai Ling is doing well in Hollywood at the moment and she's from Sichuan. The author who wrote Wild Swans is pretty big in England. I heard she is from Sichuan as well."
I know CC is thinking of the Sichuan woman Little Fang, for whom Nick dumped her.
" Sichuan women are beautiful, with nice soft skin and delicate facial features," Weiwei replies. "They are hard-working and down-to-earth. You won't find Beijing girls' arrogance in them. But because they eat spicy stuff, they have a hot temper."
"Korean women are pretty hot-tempered," says Jerry. "I dated one back in L.A. – I didn't know it had anything to do with the food they eat. What about Hunan girls? They eat spicy food too."
" Hunan girls are very much like Sichuan girls, but even more emotionally charged," says Weiwei.
"But girls in general are emotional," CC says.
"Not Shanghai girls," says Weiwei. "They are extremely clever and always keep control of their feelings in order to get what they want. They have the power to make their men wash their underwear and, at the same time, hand over their salaries."
"I was told there are a lot of materialistic girls in Shanghai," says CC, who still bears a grudge against the waitress at Shanghai 's Portman Hotel that she and Nick fought over.
"Yes, there are, but they' re not as expensive as Hong Kong girls, who are high-maintenance," says Weiwei, ignorant of CC's origins.
CC is offended. "I'm from Hong Kong. I chose to date a poor Englishman when my folks wanted me to marry a wealthy Hong Kong man."
Weiwei ignores the comment.
"What about Guangdong women?" I ask.
" Guangdong women are more traditional than women in other parts of China," says Weiwei. "They believe in serving their men and their kids."
"No, my mother is from Guangdong," Jerry jumps in.
