Chinese people have a great love affair with the camera. They are born models, since their mothers probably spent most of their pregnancy posing in front of a particularly pretty bush planted in the city park or maybe a random art display erected most likely for the purpose of taking pictures. They take pictures, usually single person portrait shots, everywhere at any time and for no apparent reason. I could psychoanalyze this passion for self-portraits as a desperate attempt by Chinese people to raise their individuality above the mass, to personally embrace capitalist selfishness and subvert communist communalism, but all I can say that they are guilty of is more vigorously embracing this modern era of Facebook, MySpace, and Twitter. We all do it, or at least my generation of 20-somthings and under,—spend countless hours updating profiles, trying to represent our core being in the best way possible on a one page internet site in the hope that someone out there is seeing it, approving it, and validating our existence by typing a comment on our page. Like everything else—industry, manufacturing, the Olympic games—the Chinese just like to be over the top.
I had witnessed this obsessive picture taking on the streets of Shenzhen, seen women in wedding gowns with their grooms in the park, observed little girls who already have various posing styles, and walked through some of Shenzhen’s “amusement” parks that are little more than sets for photo shoots. Therefore, I was not surprised when I went to “Splendid China” on a field trip with my school that my fellow Chinese teachers insisted on doing nothing else but taking pictures in front of the various miniatures of China’s great monuments. While I didn’t know what to do except smile, they always came up with clever positions for their hands—on the chin, against a tree, on their hips. I also wasn’t surprised when I heard from a friend that most Chinese people have a portrait book filled solely with pictures of themselves. The only people I know who have books like this in the U.S. are aspiring models and beauty queens, but in China it is vogue for everyone to have one of these books to show to friends and boyfriends. I was, however, a little shocked when I heard from a friend that one of the teachers at her school had actually taken her eight-year-old son to get glamour shots taken in girls’ clothing because she had wanted a daughter. Her son is now 17, but she still has the book of photos in a living room drawer not too far from the top for easy access. Talk about blackmail…”honey, don’t make me get out the book. I’m sure your girlfriend will love the one with you in a fedora and fur, oh, and the red lipstick.”
Finally I was not surprised when this same teacher took my American friend to get glamour shots of her own. I have to admit I was a bit curious about this glamour shot process, and as soon as my friend finished getting hers done, I had a million questions. How did they turn out? Did they show you how to pose? What kind of outfits did you have? How much did it cost? Overwhelmed with questions by myself and some of the other girls in our program, she gave us the name of the place and the phone number so we could find out for ourselves.
We scheduled an appointment via phone via my contact teacher, and soon the day of unveiling the Chinese glamour shot mystery came to fruition. Two friends and I walked up a long staircase lined with framed photos of women in ball gowns and couples in wedding attire to the top floor of a strip mall. The staircase led to an open room filled with little tables covered in sea foam green tablecloths, a long white desk, and a dozen or so Chinese women dressed in heels, hose, black skirts, and oxfords sitting at a long table as if in a meeting. We created quite a stir of whispering and stares as we walked in—my friend Ranjana is Indian and six feet tall, my friend Shai is black with dreadlocks, and I am white and five-feet-ten-inches tall. Through a glass window where there were women sitting on swivel chairs and hairdressers and makeup artists putting on the finishing touches for their photo shoot, we could see them pausing to peek through the glass at us. I was torn between feeling like a celebrity and a sideshow, but I was leaning more towards sideshow. I should have been used to the stares after 8 months of living in China, but I never managed to embrace it or even ignore it completely. I should be happy with people staring at me. This is what we want these days; isn’t it? We take pictures, create profiles online, apply for reality TV shows, and follow celebrity gossip secretly wishing we could be singers, actresses, or models. We twitter like people care that we are shopping at the mall or going on a trip to Barbados. We want people to notice us, or so it seems.
I was having second thoughts on this theory as I sat uncomfortably at the sea foam green table, but I still sat in awe at the Chinese glamour shot industry. There was not a single picture of a child on the wall as you often find in photography studios in the United States. All of the pictures were of adult men and women, and the only special occasion that any of them commemorated was marriage. The rest of the photos appeared to have been taken just for fun. My friends and I liked to claim that we were doing it for cultural benefits—you know, to experience the Chinese culture first hand. We didn’t want people to get the idea that this photo shoot was in any way a serious undertaking to produce quality pictures of ourselves to show off to others. This was for cultural understanding and, possibly, for fun—at least that is what we said.
After choosing our outfits, we went off to the hair and makeup room where we gave our stylists free reign on our faces and hair. After a few coats of thick white foundation, some pink lipstick, some electric pink eye shadow, a couple of accessories, and at least half a can of hairspray, I was ready. When I looked over at Shai and Ranjana, however, it seems that my hair and makeup was nothing. They had weaves and trinkets galore in their hair to match the imperial nature of their Chinese outfits. It was a wonder that they could hold their heads up.
There were two photo studios, each with a male photographer and their assistant. We took turns taking our shoots—each lasting 15 to 30 minutes. My photographer was a small-framed man with a pony tail and glasses. Since my Chinese vocabulary did not include look this way, turn right, turn left, lower your right shoulder, etc., my photographer relied on pantomiming poses for me. I’ve never had my portrait taken before, unless you count yearbook pictures, so I had no idea what to expect. My photographer was serious, methodical, and a perfectionist. He took his work so seriously you would have thought he was shooting for a high fashion magazine, which made me nervous since I have no idea how to model or pose. By the next shoot, dressed in one of the Chinese outfits—big hair and all—I started to relax. The Chinese costume made it more fun and less serious. However, the third outfit I chose was one that Ranjana had also worn—a royal blue silk sheet. Yes, I said sheet. I watched amazed as they turned the sheet into a short cocktail dress almost worthy of high fashion. This “dress” actually looked modern so I thought it would be a great contrast to my prom dress and costume looks.
Unfortunately, after 6 hours at the studio, we ran out of time for me to shoot my last outfit since I was third in line among my friends. So, I would have to return the next day to finish. When I returned and put on the blue “dress” Ranjana had worn, little did I know that the photographer would take his attempt at high fashion photography to the next level. I spent an hour and a half shooting pictures in this dress. By the end of the shoot my legs were shaking and my entire body was sore from holding various awkward poses. Apparently Ranjana’s photographer had done the same thing the day before with her. We decided that they were using our foreign faces to try and add depth to their portfolio because it certainly wasn’t an efficient business tactic for the photo studio that had clients waiting. I wouldn’t say that these pictures were America’s Next Top Model quality, but our foreign faces, yet again, made us feel like celebrities.
We returned two weeks later to pick out 12 pictures each among the hundreds they had taken. Our package included a CD with the pictures, a book with the pictures, one framed picture, and a poster of one picture. The photo shoot had been fun, but a poster? a book? We didn’t realize these things came with the package until that day, and we suddenly felt extra ridiculous. What would I do with a poster of myself? We joked about selling them to clothing stores in Shenzhen. We begged the studio to nix the book, poster, and frame and give us more pictures on the CD instead, but they refused any type of change to the package. So, another two weeks later we picked up our packages posters and all.
So what did I learn culturally through this experience? Even if I don’t like to admit it, it was fun dressing up and feeling special. I think American women would love it just as much as Chinese women if we weren’t so scared to admit that we do indeed love seeing ourselves on camera looking good. American women have a feminist reputation to protect. Appearing to care too much about our looks and playing dress up undermines our seriousness and makes us seem more frivolous than men. In China, on the other hand, femininity is celebrated and encouraged. Maybe Chinese women do go a little over the top with their ruffles, sparkles, and accessories, but they love being women. I see no reason why women can’t celebrate their beauty and power at the same time. Who said that pink isn't a powerful color?
My best efforts at a typical Chinese pose by a random display in the park near my apartment.
Pandas always make a great picture!
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