And meet the designers fighting its fetishization.
“Oftentimes, it's the intention behind the designs that makes a difference. If I am incorporating elements from the traditional outfits, the idea is to appreciate its beauty but never to create a 'better' version of it,” Danica Zheng, the creator of Danz, tells NYLON. Zheng joins a new generation of designers working with staples of Chinese fashion — a task that involves history and modernity in equal measure.
The cheongsam (also known as the qipao) is one such staple. Dating back to the Qing dynasty (1644–1912), the cheongsam began as a long, loose-fitting silk gown. Although its exact history is disputed, it’s believed ruling class women wore early cheongsams with a slit on either side of the gown for horseback riding, often with pants underneath.
Today, the cheongsam is identifiable through embroidered silk, high collars, and a straight silhouette. At its peak, the cheongsam was featured over twenty times in Wong Kar Wai’s In the Mood for Love. The film’s success cemented cheongsams as an essential part of Chinese culture, and one of the most internationally recognizable symbols of Chinese fashion.
Popularity is not without its drawbacks, however. As one of China’s most iconic images, the cheongsam has also been misrepresented in its replications. Ruohan Song, a Chinese fashion influencer and collector, tells ELLE: “‘When we [consider] the qipao in the U.S., people often think of a dress with a high slit that reveals thighs and buttocks with a cut-out in the front, which is drastically different from the traditional dress.”
Part of this is the inevitable association of clothing with stereotypes that already exist about Chinese women: one of hypersexuality, whether it be through subservience or promiscuity. In 1875, the U.S. effectively banned Chinese women from entering the country, largely over fears sex work would erode traditional family values. From the New York Times’ coverage of the Page Act: “...discrimination against Chinese women specifically centered on their perceived sexuality. Americans often assumed that all Chinese immigrant women were prostitutes.” And while the cheongsam itself has never been historically linked to sex, the dress has still found itself locked as a sort of collateral. If Asian women are seen as objects, their clothing is subject to appear objectifying.
Appropriations of the cheongsam, promoted by brands like PrettyLittleThing, Zara, ASOS, and countless others, are dangerous because they strengthen such false equivalencies. Sexualizing cultural clothing both reaffirms the image of a stereotypical “Chinese woman,” and homogenizes the cultural details of that image as suggestive in turn. This association of Chinese and Asian women with sexuality has had devastating consequences in the past, most recently seen in the 2021 Atlanta spa shootings.
Disagreements over the cheongsam and its role as a conduit of sexuality exist in China as well. In 2023, the Shanghai-based tea brand Auntea Jenny sparked debate on Chinese social media apps over its redesigned logo, featuring two women in cheongsams, one of which had a high slit. For some, it was an innocuous design choice; for others, it was historically inaccurate and unnecessarily provocative.
Understanding the cheongsam’s controversy requires understanding its history — its distinctly feminist history. Throughout the 1920s and ‘60s, cheongsams grew in popularity amongst the upper classes of Shanghai and Hong Kong. This golden age of cheongsams coincided with feminist movements, in which women fought for education, careers, and greater freedom of self-expression. To urban women, the cheongsam was a symbol of the feminist movement, worn by political figures like Soong Ching Ling, a leader during the Republic of China’s revolution.
The cheongsam became an opportunity to modernize an antiquated design, increasingly seen as restrictive. Cheongsams represented a way for young women to show their bodies, and reflect newfound freedom. As women fought restrictive Confucius social norms, cheongsams evolved into a sheath silhouette embracing Western flapper styles.
Thus, features of the modern cheongsam came directly from women who consciously chose to step into their sexuality and designers who transformed the dress accordingly. It’s this choice that characterizes cheongsams’ evolution as an authentic manifestation of power and sensuality — regardless of the misappropriations that may have occurred on the way.
The cheongsam itself is not inherently sexual, nor is doomed to be sexualized. And today, nuance in portrayals and understandings of Chinese women is growing. Yes, cheongsams still face assumptions, as do Chinese and Asian women. But as its history proves, the cheongsam is defined by its ability to adapt — to serve as a tool of subversion by women of the time. In this way, deconstructing what a cheongsam can be is as simple as tracing its history.
“Cheongsam, for me, is a signature dress from Chinese culture. My grandmother always wears a new cheongsam on the Lunar New Year, and it has been tradition to guess what color… she will wear,” Snow Xue Gao, designer of her self-titled label, shares with NYLON.
Of course, several artisans uphold the practice of making traditional cheongsams. Jin Yuxia, 86, has made traditional cheongsams in her workshop for over 50 years. In Hong Kong, Yan Kar-man is one of the city’s master tailors. At 88, he stands among an estimated 10 remaining artisans who use the traditional techniques of dress-making and has vowed to retire soon. While historical methods of making cheongsams, and even traditional cheongsams themselves, may no longer be in vogue, a new generation of designers is poised to steer the dress through its next evolution.
Samuel Gui Yang of SAMUEL GUÌ YANG sees recreating traditional clothing as a window into the knowledge of skilled crafts like fabric weaving, embroidery, and printing — traditions Yang draws on while infusing Western influences into Chinese references. Designer Betty Liu joined photographer Jess Brohier to create the photo series “Eating the Other,” challenging how traditional Chinese clothing has been appropriated through Liu’s surrealistic designs. Yuner Shao and Puzhen “Stef” Zhou of Refuse Club push traditional designs further, reimagining elements of the cheongsam’s traditional silhouette while directly referencing feminist movements in China. In 2024, Hu Sheguang launched a haute couture show in Beijing featuring 100 cheongsams with themes like French-style elegance, Rock ‘n’ Roll, and Neo-Chinese Style.
On drawing from Chinese traditions, Siying Qu and Haoran Li of Private Policy note, “[...] the key is to truly understand each garment’s details and its historical and cultural origin. Then, we interpret and present the elements with respect and innovation.” This is perhaps what is most beautiful about cheongsams: their legacy speaks for itself.
Since their origin, cheongsams’ history is one of agency — the agency of designers who transfigured it over time, and the agency of women choosing to express themselves, of which the cheongsam was just one part.
For today’s designers, the cheongsam represents a possibility, both to reflect the multi-faceted history of Chinese women and to clothe them as they continue making it. As designer Ranee Kok shares, discussing her own collection, “[...] cheongsams are part of our heritage… What I am most interested in is how to bring history into people’s lifestyle today.” 🌀
Chinon Norteman is a writer, researcher, and strawberry shortcake enthusiast based in Hong Kong. Her interests include femininity, feminism, geopolitics, and their intersection.