Chinatown Pretty
To the seniors of Chinatown, their sartorial choices reflected their origin stories, wrought with painful separations and heartwarming reunions, all woven into the fabric of their everyday. Chinatown Pretty reminded me of a long lost perspective and appreciation towards what I once considered “old-fashion” and “lame” — the way my grandparents and other seniors styled themselves was less of a fashion statement, but visual storytelling of their histories.
Prior to reading Chinatown Pretty, I’ve held quite an ignorant view of those who lived in Chinatown. As my office was right next to Chinatown, it made for a good place for quick and cheap lunches, but the hustle bustle of grocery shoppers with their metal carts were often in the path of my colleagues and I as we hurried in our limited lunch break. The demeanor of those meticulously examining fruits and vegetables were not one of politeness, and they dressed in loud prints of fuchsia, teal, and crimson, all of which denoted their decision to carry their own culture instead of being assimilated or fitting in to North American culture.
There was a part of me that would snicker at them back in the day. As a Taiwanese-Canadian, at times it was hard to shake the perception that I was just any other fob (fresh-off-the-boat). I deliberately carried myself to reflect my Canadian education and dressed in a Western fashion, all to show I was not cut from the same fabric as those in Chinatown.
But as the years went on, especially after losing my beloved grandmother in early 2020, I came to a deeper understanding of the paradoxical love I had for my culture of origin versus my Western education and values. They were different, but it did not mean they were in conflict with each other. I saw my sweet and quiet grandmother in many of the seniors photographed in Chinatown Pretty, how they paired florals on top of florals, sported vests everywhere they went, and kept the same clothes for over decades — the complete opposite of the fast fashion younger folks like us consume! But the love every one of these seniors held for their families remained the common thread of their stories. All of us, no matter where we come from, value our family and friends, and hold onto the stories of our past like bejeweled heirlooms. Isn’t love enough of a common ground for us?
Being a third-culture kid has many complications; the threads of our identities are often discarded then picked up as we age. Weaving two opposing values at the same time is a skill developed through eye-opening experiences and books like these. The memories I have of my grandparents, now deceased, seemed to glow with a beautiful jade-green as I recall their intricate outfits with a new understanding and appreciation of the hard work and sacrifices they made for the family.
I am grateful to have stumbled upon Chinatown Pretty. Reading through the stories of these seniors and admiring their outfits truly brightened up my day and reconnected me with my culture and family.
I look forward to talking to the seniors in Chinatown next time and paying compliments to the histories they wear on their sleeves.