In a Chinese Fabric Market: Observations

“Hello lady, what you find?” she said, clasping her hands together and giving me a cheerful, if slightly forced, smile.

            She wore a subdued scarlet qipao, with black flower appliqués scattered around her high collar. Her eyebrows were neatly plucked, giving her a pained look of surprise. Strands of hair had slipped out of her crisp bun. It was late in the day.

            “That’s all right,” I said, quickening my pace.

            “Just looking? “she asked the back of my head.

            I mumbled a reply and quickly turned the corner, looking straight down a hallway full of headless torsos.

The torsos were planted onto ornate brass stands, their chests facing passers-by. My heels clicked on the white tiled floor as I moved through this mute army of suits – black, grey, blue, even gold sequined suits. Torsos with red bow-ties and matching cummerbunds looked ostentatious next to sober black blazers. A flashy leopard patterned vest hid behind elegant black evening dresses. Many torsos wore peacoats, in preparation for the coming winter season. Others wore gaudy women’s jackets, the kinds that only fashionable grandmothers would wear—bright blue silk, patterned with dragons and trimmed with white fur.

The torsos belonged to an underground maze of fabric stores, near the Science and Technology Museum stop of subway line 2. It’s where Shanghai’s residents and tourists come to create tailor-made garments. China is world-renowned for its mass produced goods. Duplicated products are a part of China’s culture and currency.  Customers are drawn to the fabric market’s promise of originality and personalization.

But this evening, the stores looked like carbon copies of each other, with their hardwood floors and grimacing mannequins. Yards of colorful cloth were stacked neatly onto shelves, or rolled into cylinders. Clerks looked out from inside each store, assuring you they had the “best price.” The men wore dark suits, while women wore skirts with high heels. At first glance, it would seem as if even the people were mass-produced.

But wait long enough and you’ll see the children come out. They talked to each other animatedly and played tag amidst the torsos while their parents closed shop. A little boy wearing Lightning McQueen sneakers stumbled to a stop in front of me. He gave me a blank stare, then turned the corner and ran into a store. I followed him into a bridal shop.  Three mannequins, dressed in grand, bubbly white wedding dresses, stood on a platform. Light shone strategically onto the sequined brocade. A shoulder length veil spilled from one of their heads. Another was wearing a strapless gown and hid her shoulders with a cream-colored fur shrug.

In the store Silk Monopoly, a clerk called out to customers while holding a gurgling baby. Next to him sat a woman, eating fried rice from a styrofoam take-out tray. She periodically leaned over to look at the baby. She smiled and stuck out her tongue while the baby cooed. A Shangong sewing machine, green and rusting, was placed near the entrance. Snips of black thread were pooled around the machine’s operating system – a foot pedal. Next to this seemingly ancient machine, a computer screen revealed images of the store’s security system.  

             While I looked at these technologies in surprise, my ear picked up the distinct sound of an American accent. I turned around and saw a cookie-cutter couple walking purposefully through the halls. The woman pulled a peacoat out of a shopping bag and gave it to the man to examine. As they passed by me, I heard a snippet of their conversation.

“You wouldn’t think so, but having a driver is a pain in the butt,” the woman sighed.

I hid a smile as I slipped into a nearby shop. A sales attendant immediately came up to me. She led me to a seat inside the shop, holding a fabric sampling book in her hands. She opened the book to show me the various patterns that were available. As she flipped through the red, black, white, green samples of silk, I noticed that the purple eye shadow had begun to smudge around her eyelids. She clasped her hands behind her back, watching me expectantly. She looked tired. Was anyone waiting for her at home?

She closed the book with her manicured hands when she realized I wasn’t going to make a purchase. I walked out of the store slowly, sneaking a glance back at her. I saw her sitting on a desk, waiting. She’ll soon fade into my memories, just another Shanghai store clerk. But to someone who loved her, I realized that she was indispensable.