The People’s Republic of Desire

by Annie Wang

  High Mountain, my former classmate – who hasn't gone abroad – tells me, "In the United States, you can easily become a member of the middle class and earn a fairly decent salary, but it is not likely that you will become one of the superrich. But if you stay in China, this is highly possible." A few years ago, High Mountain 's state-owned company was privatized. All of a sudden, High Mountain, as the former party secretary of the company, was the owner of a multimillion-dollar corporation. High Mountain 's transformation is an example of a successful deployment of the new market economy in China. But even with his new money, High Mountain still lacks the world-liness, vision, and sophistication of those who have lived in both China and the West.

  The fifth dilemma is whether you should buy a house first or a car? Young couples want to own both a car and a house like their peers in developed countries. But when their income is not high enough to own both at the same time, many choose the house over the car. Why? Is it because a house represents a better financial investment? Not really. The stability of the overvalued real estate market is beginning to show signs of strain, especially in big cities such as Shanghai, Beijing, and Shenzhen.

  Plus, many work units offer their employees housing prices below market value or provide subsidized housing as part of their employee benefits package. This creates an environment where it is more reasonable to buy a home than to rent. Lulu, for example, bought her flat for only one-tenth of the marketing price. And while cars also serve the practical purpose of providing transportation, their ability to display their owners' social status is even more powerful than that of a house. Public transportation and taxis prove to be much more affordable than owning a car in China, especially if your taxi fares can be reimbursed by your workplace. My friends Beibei and Lulu often collect receipts for reimbursement as a method of supplementing their income. Of course, there is clearly no status in taking buses and taxis. So, both Beibei and Lulu still keep personal cars for the status.

  The sixth dilemma is should you join the Communist Party? It's no longer a question of ideology; it's simply a matter of convenience. More and more young people join the Communist Party these days in order to get a good job or a promotion. High Mountain has his own theory: "The only difference between a party member and a non-party member is that, if you do something wrong, as a party member you are disciplined within the party system first. But if you're not a party member, you are subject to direct legal punishment." For him, joining the Communist Party is like taking out an insurance policy.

  Finally, the seventh dilemma is a dilemma that Chinese men have wrestled with since the days of the Yellow Emperor: Should you listen to your wife or to your mother? As a Buddhist, I personally encourage Chinese men to listen to the teachings of Buddha.

  POPULAR PHRASES

  IRON RICE BOWL: The Iron Rice Bowl refers to guaranteed lifetime employment in state enterprises, which was the central theme in Mao's socialist economy.

  92 Gods and Goblins

  It is Monday morning. I am at my desk preparing for a new story on successful executives. I reserve Monday morning – the traditional day of dread – for routine tasks such as setting up appointments for interviews and booking hotel and flight reservations. As I thumb through my Rolodex, I come across the names of several of my former high school classmates. One of them, Xia, is vice president at a Swiss investment banking firm. Hoping he might give me some quotes for my story, I dial his number.

  When Xia's secretary explains that Xia is not in, I leave a message saying that I would like to get together for lunch. One hour later, his secretary calls back to say that Xia's driver will pick me up at my office at noon.

  Promptly at noon, Xia's personal assistant rings my desk to say that a car is waiting for me outside my office. I step outside and am quickly whisked into the open door of the waiting limousine.

  "Mr. Xia has had an urgent business emergency," the driver explains. "He will meet up with us at the restaurant. I hope that is okay."

  I sit back in the broad leather seat of the limousine, silently gazing through the smoked glass of the passenger window and contemplating what it must be like to have a personal driver. Or an assistant. Or a secretary.

  At the restaurant, I sit alone at a table for two. The driver, who escorted me in, stands off to one side, refusing to sit down even when I invite him to do so.

  "I'm sorry. I won't be able to join you. Mr. Xia should be with you very soon. I apologize."

  About ten minutes later, a woman walks up to the driver, says a few words to dismiss him, and then approaches the table.

  "I'm Ms. Yi," she says. "I'm Mr. Xia's executive assistant. I'm so sorry to inform you that Mr. Xia won't be able to come to lunch today. A very important matter has come up. He has requested that I keep you company. If you don't mind, may I take his place?"

  Since when did my classmate become so insulated by a personal army of loyal guards? I clearly remember a day when we shared class notes, when I bought him lunch, when I lent him my bicycle. Now, I was being bumped for "important business." And he couldn't even deliver his own message.

  This incident reminds me of my class reunion. In as little as seven years since graduation, the difference in levels of success between my classmates has become almost immeasurable. While some were arriving in chauffeured limousines bragging about their designer suits and the quality of their personal chefs, others were busy patting down their hair, so obviously blown askew from the wind as they rode their bicycles to the party. And this in a society that once championed mass conformity over individuality and personal achievement.

  For a brief moment, I feel oddly nostalgic for the days when I could leave my apartment without concern for whether my shoes matched my bag. Once, a person's wealth was measured by the size of his bag of watermelon seeds, not the number of servants at his side. Now, simply getting some face time with an old friend requires one to penetrate a strong line of defense. And laborers work for such low wages that China 's social elite have even taken to hiring them for no other reason than to impress their neighbors and friends.

  I recall the Chinese expression that says, "The god of death is easier dealt with than the goblins." For now, I think, I would have to make do, dining with the goblin sitting across from me.

  As I try to make idle conversation with Xia's assistant, my cell phone rings. It is Xia.

  "Niuniu, I'm so sorry about this," says Xia. "Did my assistant explain to you what happened?"

  "Well, she said that something important came up," I say. "I'm sure you are very busy."

  "Yes, my son has come down with a fever and his mother is away on holiday. I had to pick him up from kindergarten myself. Can I make it up to you?"

  Then I recognize the sound of children playing in the background – unmistakably the sound of a kindergarten at recess. And I realize that things aren't always as they seem: Xia has his own little goblin to deal with.

  "Sure," I say. "Don't think twice about it. Call me when your son is well."

  93 Putting the Fat in Fat Choy

  I am having dinner with Lisa, who is visiting from the United States and complains to me about the sluggish American economy.

  "Times of fortune yield to times of hardship, which later yield to more times of fortune," I say. "Ask any person who has lived through a couple of these cycles and they will tell you that a bear market is nothing to get worked up over."

  It is common knowledge that consumption is a key factor in driving economic growth. Consumer demand leads to increases in manufacturing, leads to more jobs, leads to more money to satisfy the demand for more consumer goods. Perhaps not coincidentally, consumption is also the key to an expanding waistline.

  By the end of last year, between all the parties I attended and a temporary bout of depression – brought on by the on- screen jilting of one of my favorite prime-time TV drama stars – I added nearly eleven pounds to my slight frame. It took me six weeks of cardio kickboxing and denying myself such comforts as Sichuan no
odles and onion pancakes to recover. This year, however, I have vowed to engage in a proactive battle with the yearly trend. I have begun my diet early.

  "Do you want dessert?" asks Lisa.

  "No, I can't. I'm dieting," I say.

  "Dieting?" asks Lisa. "You're crazy! You're so thin! You don't need to diet."

  This was a common problem when I lived in the United States. I was always told I was too thin. Any time I complained about my own weight gain, I only offended whomever I was talking to, making them more conscious of their weight problem.

  "When I lived in the United States," I say with a frown, "all I wanted was to have sexy curves. I did aerobics. I even ate more ice cream to add something to my figure. I felt so inferior to all the curvaceous women around me. But when I went back home to visit, my family told me I was getting too fat. My grandmother even took me to her acupuncturist. She was afraid I would never find a good husband if I didn't lose the weight."

  Weight loss has become big business in Asia, from holistic approaches to weight loss such as massage therapy, acupuncture, and yoga to more traditional methods, including calorie counting and exercise. In recent years, scores of young people have taken up bowling, mountain climbing, tennis, and many other activities, all in the name of staying thin.

  "The different standards for beauty in the United States and China make it very frustrating for me," I tell Lisa. "In China, people say I am fat. As soon as I land at San Francisco International Airport, people say I am thin. But I have an idea for making the best of this situation."

  "What's that?" asks Lisa.

  "I'm thinking of marketing direct flights to the United States as a new instant weight-loss plan."

  94 Chinese Barbies

  Amid the uncertainty of the recent accusations against Michael Jackson, one thing is clear: plastic surgery is a spooky business.

  But consider the case of my cousin Lingling. Lingling felt that she wasn't attractive. Sure, she was attractive. Sure, the real problem was in her mind, not in her looks. But for 300,000 yuan, she was able to buy herself a cosmetic surgery package that included liposuction on her stomach, back, and rear, double eyelids, and a three-centimeter lengthening of her legs. Thinking ahead, Lingling also invited the Chinese media to record the entire process of her surgery. Shortly after her recovery, she debuted her new goods on the public market to rave reviews. Now she is registered with a top modeling agency in Beijing and getting offers from film producers and book publishers. Lingling no longer has to sleep her way to the top. But if she wants to, she's got the package to do it with.

  "Niuniu, you really have to try this," Lingling tells me. "It'll do wonders for you. Look at me, I'm not only a beauty, but a celebrity, too."

  "Oh, I don't think I could do something so drastic to my body," I say.

  It's Friday night at my place. Lulu, Beibei, and CC have come over for a meal.

  "Do you know what my local friends said to me?" says CC. "They said I have a fat ass! Do I have a fat ass?"

  "No way. They're so rude," I say.

  "Well, do you know that girls in China don't care much about being flat-chested? They are more paranoid about gaining weight. I bet if Jennifer Lopez walked on a Beijing street, she'd be laughed at for her butt," says Beibei.

  "The sense of beauty is different between East and West," says Lulu.

  I add, "Speaking of beauty, my cousin Lingling had plastic surgery recently. She's very happy with the results."

  "Look at Korea," says Lulu. "All those young models getting face-lifts, boob jobs, and cosmetic eye surgery. They' re becoming a nation of plastic beauties."

  "That doesn't seem to bother our men," I say. "Those girls are very popular here."

  "But it's too much!" says CC. "What if they start giving birth to plastic babies? And what kind of milk comes out of fake boobs, anyway? Vitasoy?"

  As young Chinese women find they have more disposable income, they are choosing to have elective surgical procedures in the hopes of attracting a better mate. The old rule of the Big Three still stands as a standard in pursuing the ideal man: a big house, a big physical stature, and a big income. For women, the math isn't so simple.

  "We need to have long legs, but small feet; big breasts, but a small bottom; wide eyes, but a small face," Lulu says. "At the end of the day, we have two choices: genetic mutation or plastic surgery!"

  Without giving any thought to how my friends might react, I say, "When I dated a white guy in the United States, he said I had a nice little butt. But when I dated a black guy there, he said my butt was small. His roommates always sat around the living room teasing me, saying 'James, whachoo doin' bringin' that skinny-assed girl to our house?' "

  The room falls silent for a moment. Mouths are agape. Not because my friends are impressed with my familiarity with African American dialect, but because they had no idea just how much "game" I had back in the States.

  Just in time to change the subject, cousin Lingling arrives. I introduce everyone at the table. There is a brief uncomfortable silence before Lulu speaks up.

  "Lingling, Niuniu tells us you have found a good surgeon. Do you have his business card?"

  The group bursts into a frenzy of questions and fawning. Lingling is the star of the banquet, telling the ladies the story of her recent successes.

  Now, is Lingling more successful because she is prettier or because she thinks she is prettier? Maybe her surgery has given her the confidence to strive for new opportunities that she would not have tried before. I don't know – and neither does Lingling. But the important thing is that Lingling expects a 500 percent return on her investment by the end of the year. Chinese girls are clever about money nowadays.

  95 Women in Different Societies

  I get together with my high school friends Yan Yan and Han in Beijing. Years ago, when I left China for the United States, Yan Yan went to Japan and Han to Hong Kong. This is our first reunion.

  Yan Yan has changed so much that I can hardly believe she is the same woman I went to school with. While Han and I sit cross-legged and laugh loudly, Yan Yan sits upright, speaks in a soft voice, and constantly uses her hand to remove the lipstick print left on her teacup. She even covers her mouth with her hand as she smiles.

  Every three minutes, she bows to Han and me.

  "Yan Yan, I can't believe you've become so feminine. I remember when we used to climb up walls barefooted!" I say accusingly.

  Yan Yan replies almost timidly: "You don't know what it feels like to be a woman in Japan."

  I say with interest: "Tell us!"

  Yan Yan explains: "Japanese people pay much attention to subtle detail. As a woman, to get things done, you have to look pretty and behave properly. If you cross your legs in a business meeting, you lose the deal. It's as simple as that."

  Han exclaims: "Sounds like being a woman is more difficult in Japan than in China."

  "Sometimes I feel that being a woman in Japan is like putting on a show," says Yan Yan. "As long as you're a good actress, you get your rewards. Especially if you're a good actress with long legs and speak some English, you'd find yourself very popular."

  Yan Yan is a success story among the Chinese students in Japan. She has a Ph.D. in art, has held art exhibitions all over Japan, and published a few art books. As a constant guest of Japanese legislators and corporate chief executives, she has become a member of the country's upper class.

  I ask Han, "What about you? What's it like to be a woman in Hong Kong?" Han is a success story among mainland women in Hong Kong. She is a director of an American company's Hong Kong headquarters, earning a seven-digit salary.

  She has two secretaries and an office at the top of the Lippo Centre, overlooking the Victoria Harbor. "Your language ability is important in doing business in Hong Kong," says Han. She has mastered English, Cantonese, and Shanghainese.

  "I can speak Cantonese like a native. So I can hide my origin as a mainlander and pretend to be a native. By doing that, ironically, I've gaine
d more respect from Hong Kong people."

  "That's it?" I ask.

  "Another secret is to watch your weight all the time," says Han with a smile. "The thinner you are, the more beautiful you're thought to be."

  Yan Yan asks me, "What about being a woman in the United States?"

  I laugh. "It's easier than being a Beijing girl. First, don't worry about your weight. Asian girls are normally petite there. Second, you can laugh aloud without covering your mouth, and nobody would think of you as rude. Third, there is no need to pretend to be a native. Speaking English with a foreign accent is often considered cute."

  Yan Yan says, "It seems you had it easy being a woman in America."

  "Yes, I felt free and at ease," I say. "I guess that's why I don't have friends from the Senate or an office that overlooks the bay. Everything has a price."

  96 The Communist Englishman and the Capitalist Chinese

  My colleague Sean, after learning Chinese for four years in London, has come to China as a foreign correspondent. Coming from a working-class neighborhood in Liverpool, Sean calls himself a socialist. He claims that the reason he wants to be a reporter is to speak for the poor. He comes to China because he believes there are more voices from the poor here than in England.