Hidden Language of Women's Clothing and the Rules of Fashion in Ancient China

When you get dressed in the morning, you probably pick something that makes you feel good or just feel comfortable. Your clothes were your choice. Now imagine a world where your clothes aren't for you at all. What if from the moment you were born, where you were, were set by laws and customs? It was a visual code that told everyone exactly who you were and where you reigned. This was the reality in ancient China. For thousands of years, clothing wasn't about self-expression. It was a public language. It was a critical tool of philosophy and social order, known as Li Zhi. Your outfit was your identity, your resume, and your social credit score all in one. This wasn't an accident. It was the entire point. Ancient Chinese philosophy laid out very specific goals for the clothing system. Let's break down what that really means. First, your clothes had to be a part of Zhaomingfen, which meant to manifest your name and part. Your name was your identity, and your part was your specific role in society. Your clothes had to announce who you were before you even spoke. Are you a wife or an unmarried daughter, a concubine or an empress? Your outfit made it clear. Second, your clothes had to bian deng wei, or differentiate rank and authority. This was the granular packing order. For women in the palace, this was ruthlessly specific. The number of phoenixes embroidered on your robe or the exact gems allowed on your headdress was a symbol of your exact rank. There was no faking it until you make it. Third, the system had to fen gui jian, to divide the noble from the commoner. This meant the law protected a noble's status over a commoner's. A wealthy merchant was legally banned from wearing the luxurious silk or certain colors that even a poor noble lady was entitled to wear. Your clothes was there to enforce the class system. And finally, most personally, your clothes had to bie qing shu, to distinguish the clothes from the distance. This was all about family. The most powerful example was in mourning. When someone died, your outfit became a map of your family tree. Wearing the absolute coarsest unhemmed burlap meant you were a son or daughter, showing the deepest grief. A slightly finer hemmed garment meant you were a cousin. A different cut entirely meant you were a second cousin once removed. Your grief, your place in family, was literally tailored for you. So this wasn't fashion. This was a visual language with rules as strict as grammar. Hey everyone, I'm Amy. Today we're going to explore this flowing history, a story told in silk and thread. We'll trace the evolution of ancient Chinese women's clothing, dynasty by dynasty. So where does our story begin? The legend goes back to the very beginning. Ancient texts like the Shi Ben credit the ministers of the mythical Yellow Emperor with designing the first robe and crowns. But the most famous story is about the Yellow Emperor's wife, Lei Zu. As the legend goes, Lei Zu was having tea under a mulberry tree when a cocoon dropped into her cup. As she fished it out, the hot tea loosened the thread, and it unraveled into a single strong shimmering strand. She had just discovered silk. Archaeologists have found primitive weaving tools and fabric fragments at sites like He Mu Du, dating back 7,000 years, and at Yang Shao, dating back 6,000 years. By the time we get to the Shang and Zhou dynasties, the foundation is already set. The first recorded foundational outfit in China was a two-piece system. On top, you wore a blouse, called a yi. On the bottom, a wraparound skirt, called a shang. That seems simple enough. A top and a bottom is practical and comfortable, right? Yes, but ancient Chinese scholars had to make sure nothing was quite so simple. According to the Book of Rites, the yi represented qian, or heaven. The shang represented kun, or earth. By wearing a top and a bottom, it reinforced the idea that heaven is above the earth and justified the social structure of the ruler above the subject. This clothing arrangement was a symbol of the entire universe, and a constant reminder that you had a specific place in that order of that universe. But this philosophy didn't just apply to the form of the clothes. It applied to the fabric and decoration. This is where we see our theme of dividing the noble from the commoner in action. For the nobility, we see the first version of the famous diyi, which was literally the pheasant robe. This was a multi-layered ceremonial robe adorned with embroidered pheasants. The pheasant was a colorful bird who was believed to represent harmony and civil virtue. Within the Zhou system, the pheasant became a symbol reserved for the highest-ranking woman of the kingdom. Over time, it was believed that the pheasant symbol gradually evolved into the mythical phoenix, which is what we will see used more frequently in later dynasties. And what about the commoner woman? She was wearing coarse, plain garment made of hemp. The line was drawn, silk and symbols for the nobles, hemp for the commoners. And this was where the certain details of traditional Han clothing got locked in. The style, seen on the earliest jade figurines from the Ying ruins, had three key features – jiaoling, a crossed collar, youren, which meant the garment closed to your right side, and xidai, which meant securing clothing with sashes, not buttons. But this ancient two-piece system had one major design flaw. The shawl was more of a wraparound skirt, and when you sat or moved, it could, well, lead to a wardrobe malfunction. While not originally created to directly address this wardrobe malfunction issue, the Zhou dynasty did come up with another attire called the shenyi, or the deep robe. This was a long, one-piece robe that wrapped around the body. To avoid violating the heaven and earth rule with a one-piece robe, these ancient tailors came up with a little trick. They cut the one-piece fabric of the shenyi into two separate pieces, and then sewed them back together into one robe. This symbolically preserved the idea of a top and bottom piece, even in a one-piece garment. The shenyi became popularized during the Qin and Han dynasties as one of the more dominant robes of the empire. This robe had two main styles. The most common in the early Han dynasty was the quju, or curved hem robe. It was tight-fitting, and the long, triangular front panel would wrap around the body multiple times, creating a beautiful spiral effect that looked a bit like a trumpet horn at the bottom. Later in the Han dynasty, after pants became more common, the simpler zhiju, or stray hem robe became more popular. This new robe didn't have that long, triangular spiral wrapping panel. It just had stray panels that closed in the front, much like a modern bathrobe. A common undergarment for the women of the Han dynasty was the baofu. It was like a simple apron, basically just a piece of fabric that covered the front of the torso, tied at the back. It was the absolute bare minimum, but it got the job done under the modest robes. But not everyone wore robes all the time. The old two-piece blouse and skirt, now called the ruqun, was still a very common option for women. In this style, the ru went down to the waist, while the qun was very long, dropping all the way to the floor. But whether a woman wore a shenyi or a ruqun, what it was made of was not her choice. This is where the Han dynasty's sumptuary law came in. If you were a successful merchant, you could be the richest person in the city, but you and your entire family were legally banned from wearing the finest silk, certain colors, and elaborate embroidery. Those materials were reserved for the noble families. This was a fashion-based class segregation, designed to ensure that a poor noble always looked socially superior to a rich commoner. The noble woman's silk robes were expensive and heavily ornamented, while commoners wore linen or reimi with restricted colors. Even details like a sleeve's width or belt material were regulated. A woman's dress could tell you her husband's rank. This was a time period where clothing became law, an early form of fashion-based class segregation. And for noble women, a key status symbol was the jinguo, a decorative headband. Over time, this would become an iconic symbol for women in ancient China. Even today, a common term for a female hero is jinguo yingxiong, which roughly translates to headband hero. But perhaps the most elegant accessory of the Han dynasty noble woman was the buyao. In its name, bu means step and yao means shake. This was the step shake. It was a type of long, golden hairpin that had intricate, dingling ornaments hanging from it. When a noble woman walked, the buyao would gently sway and glitter with her every step, creating a beautiful effect. It was more than just jewelry, it was a piece of wearable etiquette. It forced a slow, graceful, and dignified walk. In comparison, a commoner woman was restricted to simple but functional hairpins, zan, made of wood or bone. And at the very top, the Han dynasty built upon the Zhou dynasty diyi and restricted it only for imperial use, usually only worn by the empress. It was also during this time period that we saw the first use of the mythical phoenix as a symbol associated with the empress, as a perfect counterpart to the emperor's dragon. The Han dynasty had created a look of orderly fashion. In 220 CE, the orderly world of the Han dynasty fell apart. For over 300 years, China shattered into a period of chaos, civil war and political instability known as the Wei, Qing, and Southern and Northern dynasties. When an empire collapsed, its rules collapsed too. The old Confucian rules that held the Han dynasty together became challenged by a new This was an intellectual movement focused on individualism, spiritual freedom, and a return to nature. It was the ancient equivalent of dropping out of society to become a free-spirited artist, poet, or philosopher. And what does a free-spirit rebel do? You change your clothes. The tight wrapping robes of shenyi started to fall out of fashion. The ruching became one of the most prominent styles in women's fashion and became the new standard. But this wasn't a simple, practical ruching of the Han dynasty. It's been transformed into a new look, with a slimmer upper garment paired with a fuller skirt. The defining feature of this new look was the wide robes with large sleeves. Think really massive, flowing sleeves that hang down to the knees. They were impractical sleeves. You couldn't work in them, you couldn't fight in them, and that was the point. These sleeves were meant to say, I am above the mundane work. I am a philosopher. I am an artist. To balance out the giant sleeves, the skirts were made to be long and flowing, dragging on the floor. The tops themselves also became shorter and were worn in a way that could slightly reveal the upper chest. Garments also became decorated with new details, like delicate tassels and intricate embroidery. But this was only the fashion of the powerful and normal women, the ones who had the luxury to be philosophical rebels. For the commoner women, life was hard, and fashion was practical. She wore a much simpler, more functional ruching made from hemp or wool. Some historical accounts even claim that this new philosophy of freedom changed undergarments, with the creation of the liángdǎng. This new undergarment was more like a vest that covered both the front and the back, a much more practical and secure garment to wear under the new flowing robes. This was a chaotic but incredibly important time period, where personal expression and philosophy visibly broke free from rigid social rules. After years of rebellious fashion, China is reunified. The short-lived Sui dynasty started to put the pieces back together. But it was its successor, the Tang dynasty, that brought back the rules. This was the dynasty that many refer to as China's Golden Age. The capital, Chang'an, was the biggest city in the entire world. It was the heart of the Silk Road, and its streets were filled with merchants, monks, and artists from Persia, India, and all over Central Asia. And the fashion was confident and bold. Here we see the three-piece set as the iconic attire for women of this period. First, you had the blouse, or shān, and second, the skirt, or qún. The big change, which actually started in the Sui dynasty, was that the skirt was tied high. Instead of riding at the waist, the skirt would go right up on the chest, just under the arms. This created a long silhouette that made the wearer look tall and graceful. And third, the essential accessory, the píbó. This was a long and thin silk scarf, often over two meters long. It wasn't for warmth. It was just for style. It would be draped over your shoulders and looped through your arms, floating around with you as you moved. And one of the most popular skirts during the Tang dynasty was the shí liǔ qún, or the pomegranate skirt. The deep red skirt was actually first introduced during the Southern and Northern dynasties, but really came to be known in the Tang dynasty through various legends and folklore. One of these legends is even about the most powerful woman in Chinese history, Wu Zetian. The story begins when she was just a young concubine for Emperor Taizong. The crown prince, Li Zhi, supposedly saw Wu Zetian wearing a vibrant pomegranate skirt and was instantly captivated. But when Emperor Taizong died, Wu Zetian was sent away to a monastery to live out her days as a nun. Her life in the palace was over. But she didn't give up. From the cold monastery, she wrote a passionate poem to Li Zhi, who was now the new Emperor Gaozong. The poem read, I've been staring at red flowers until they blur to green thinking of you. I am wasting away all from missing you. If you don't believe that I've been crying for you, open the chest that I sent and see the tears on my pomegranate skirt. Her plan worked. Emperor Gaozong remembered the beautiful woman in the red skirt and summoned her back to the palace, opening the door for her path to become the only female emperor of China. This legend is one of the supposed origins of the famous Chinese phrase, to bow under before the pomegranate skirt. Today, it's used to describe a man who was hopelessly captivated by a beautiful woman. Now let's talk about how fashion got even bolder through the Tang Dynasty. In the early Tang Dynasty, a popular attire was the banbi, or half-sleeve. This was a short-sleeved vest worn over the blouse but under the pibo. But by the mid-Tang Dynasty, showing half of an arm was no longer enough. And this is where the low-cut dresses came in. This dress had a low, U-shaped neckline called the tanling. We've all seen the paintings and movies of Tang Dynasty women looking incredibly open and confident. This was the dashoushan, which means long-sleeved gown, similar to the robes that we talked about for the Weijing period. These had really large sleeves, supposedly over a meter wide. But that's where the similarities ended. The dashoushan was a formal outer gown that was worn over underlying garments, such as the shanchun or the ruchun, appearing like it's flowing open over them. And at the very top of the social ladder, the empress and certain high-ranking consorts wore the Tang Dynasty style diyi, which had evolved from previous versions into a wide-sleeved gown and continued to be worn for rituals and grand ceremonies. In order for these low-cut dresses to work, a new kind of undergarment was needed. By the late Tang Dynasty, this was the hezi. This was a bodice-like garment worn without shoulder straps, allowing for the shoulder-bearing necklines. The Tang Dynasty also wore their wealth in their fashion. They used pearl embroidery and gold or silver thread embroidery to make their clothes literally sparkle. Building on the basic concept of the buyao from previous dynasties, the Tang Dynasty sought a fascinating new headpiece for the empress, known as the huashuguan, or the flower-tree crown. This wasn't a single solid crown. Instead, it was an intricate set of gold, pearl, and gemstone ornaments, all shaped like blooming flowers, leaves, and branching trees. These were built directly into the popular Tang Dynasty haiban hairstyles, making it look like a spectacular glittering garden was growing right out of the hair. While the most elaborate flower-tree crown was for the empress and certain high-ranking consorts, high-ranking noblewomen were also allowed to wear scaled-down versions. But of course, this was not what every woman wore every day. That vibrant red pomegranate skirt, bright colors, and jewelry were for noble and high-ranking women only. It was a high-fashion style that was more primarily seen in the palace or in the private quarters of the nobility. It was a sign of immense wealth and status, not your average streetwear. A woman's outfit, especially her color, was legally tied to her husband's official rank. The families of high-ranking officials wore purple, while lower-ranking officials' family wore green or blue. In 668 CE, a law was passed that restricted the color yellow to only the imperial family, making this color illegal for commoners. The commoner women were generally limited to humbler fabric like hemp and linen. They were also barred from certain colors, like bright purple, certain yellows, and specific reds. And instead of the fancy flower tree crown, they would have worn a simple wooden or boned hairpin with a flower wrapped around it, known as zhan hua. For most women, this would have been a real flower, but wealthier women could have used an artificial one made of silk. This simple hairpiece was created long before the Tang dynasty, but became iconic during this time thanks to a new cultural focus on elaborate hairstyles. However, even though class distinctions remained, what was interesting was that fashion trends in the Tang dynasty were allowed to travel downward, even if the common people were only allowed to wear simplified imitations. After the golden age of the Tang dynasty, the vibe changed again. Let's visit the Song dynasty, which began in 960 CE. If the Tang dynasty was a loud, confident party, the Song dynasty was the quiet and introspective morning after. The new keywords were subtle and reserved. The Song dynasty promoted a new state philosophy known as Neo-Confucianism. This was a more rational and academic way of looking at the world. The goal of society was to be proper, modest, and moral. The empress's diyi was the grand exception to the new modesty rule. Based on official portraits, the Song dynasty diyi continued to be a wide-sleeved gown decorated in pheasant embroidery. But the colors became darker, and the patterns more subdued. This was a ritual garment, a symbol of high rank, that followed its own ancient rules, separate from everyday fashion. The Song dynasty diyi was worn with a giant fengguan, or phoenix crown. This was a formal, intricate headdress for the empress that evolved from the huashu guan of the Tang dynasty. This was primarily built as a towering structure of gold, pearls, and carved figures. It was also sometimes decorated with kingfisher feathers, through the earlier versions of a technique known as diancui. This fancy robe and crown, however, was only for the highest ceremonies. The new philosophy of moral discipline was seen in all other forms of clothing. The waistline for female attire dropped back down to the waist, and the iconic garment of this period was the beizi. This was a long and straight-cut robe, worn on top of a blouse and skirt. Its defining feature was a straight, parallel collar that ran all the way down the front, hanging open to show the modest layers underneath. It came in both sleeveless and sleeved versions, but the look was always slender, straight, and graceful. And a key part of this quiet luxury for the Song dynasty nobles was the evolution of the cloud shoulder. It was here that the cloud shoulder was first seen as a separate shoulder ornament that sat on the shoulders, covered with its distinct cloud patterns. It was another layer of refined, symbolic fashion that separated the nobles from the commoner. This new modesty went all the way down to the skin. The Song dynasty saw a new undergarment known as the moxiong. This was a bust-wrapping undergarment used to cover and secure the chest so the body fit the new, straight-cut, modest silhouette. But again, who got to wear what? The divide between the nobles and the commoner continued to be enforced. The elite woman's clothing reflected what we'd call quiet luxury. It was made of soft silks and gentle earth tones, with the craftsmanship hidden in the details. The common woman, on the other hand, was defined by her work. As with earlier dynasties, she was still limited to practical, simple-cut garments made from hemp and sometimes cotton. Clothing also distinguished between social classes within the same household. While the baits was worn by almost everyone, paintings from the time period show that noble women tend to wear the traditional cross-collar robes underneath, while servants and attendants often wore round-collar robes. Your rank had to be visible at a glance. But this new philosophy of restraint and confinement had a much darker expression. It was here, in the Song dynasty, that the horrible custom of foot-binding began to spread to the noble families. Smaller feet became a symbol of beauty and feminine attractiveness. But it's important to clarify that this was seen as an elite status symbol. A commoner and the average woman still needed their feet to function as normal. It was only for the prestigious noble families that this practice was seen as a blessing. Because it meant that these women did not have to perform any manual labor. In addition to beauty, it was a symbol that these women would be taken care of. This terrible custom created a tragic new accessory, the lián lǚ, or lotus shoes. These were tiny shoes made of silk and heavily embroidered. They were designed not for walking, but to be looked at. It was a symbol that a woman was so high-class, she didn't need to walk at all. And then, in 1279, the Song dynasty was conquered by the Mongols, who established the Yuan dynasty. And in this new dynasty, the scholarly approach of the Song dynasty came to an end. The new Mongol rulers had their own language, their own customs, and their own clothing. Their aesthetics were more about nomadic practicality. For high-ranking women's fashion, this meant the Song dynasty's slender, open-front bèizi fell out of style at court. It was replaced by the Mongol-style páo, which was a wider, cross-collared, closed robe. The entire silhouette changed, from the Song dynasty's vertical, reserved look to one that was more robust. However, the Mongol rulers did not force the Han Chinese population to adopt Mongol fashion, and many continued to wear Song dynasty-style garments. One of the most spectacular fabrics of this period was zhī tīng, which meant gold-woven. This was cloth woven with real gold-wrapped threads. Not just embroidered on top, it was heavy and stiff. And during the Yuan dynasty, it became a dominant fabric of the imperial court. And Yuan dynasty opulence wasn't just about gold fabric. The cloud shoulder became more structured and highly popular, and it was a perfect way to display rich embroidery and status. The common Han Chinese women continued to wear their Song dynasty style rú quǐng and bèizi, but with heavy Mongol influence. The Yuan dynasty popularized the practical use of buttons, shorter jackets, and high collars, setting the stage for the next iteration of Chinese fashion. But what about the Song dynasty's terrible custom of foot-binding? The new Mongol rulers found the practice bizarre and did not adopt it for themselves. However, they also didn't ban it for their Han Chinese subjects. So while the Mongol women walked freely, the practice of foot-binding continued to spread among Han Chinese noblewomen, becoming even more entrenched as a distinct symbol of the Han Chinese identity. In 1368, the Yuan dynasty fell, and the Han Chinese were back in charge as the new Ming dynasty. Emperor Hongwu, the first Ming dynasty emperor, had a clear mission. He needed to restore and revive Han Chinese customs. He ordered that the system of attire would follow the traditions of earlier Han Chinese dynasties, such as the Tang and Song dynasties. But the results weren't just a simple copy. It was an evolution. The Ming dynasty revived the ancient diyi as the official ceremonial dress for the emperors. It was an incredibly complex robe, decorated with several elements of the Twelve Ornaments, which contained ancient symbols of virtue like the sun, moon, mountains, and pheasants. Along with the diyi, the Ming dynasty also brought back the phoenix crown of the Song dynasty. The Ming dynasty built upon the Song dynasty versions and continued to make them even taller and larger, with an increased focus on the kingfisher feathers. The technique of diantui became even more advanced and refined, creating the truly iridescent blue feathers on these crowns that we see today from famous surviving examples. It was the ultimate wearable symbol of the ritual system, reinforcing that the empress was at the very top of the world's social order. Below the empress, the wives of officials wore simplified ceremonial robes based on their husbands' rank. And at the bottom of the social structure, the commoner woman's clothing remained practical, plain, and with dull, simple colors. The laws continued to ban them from wearing the finest silks or using gold-thread embroidery. But within these legal boundaries, Ming dynasty fashion did see new styles. The biggest change is one that sounds simple but changed the entire silhouette. For over 700 years, from the Weijing period to the Song dynasty, the most common outfit was the ruchun, where the blouse was tucked into the skirt. The new standard was the aochun. This was still a two-piece outfit, but the ao was a longer, lined jacket, and it was worn over the skirt. The ao featured a lining, or standing collar, which was directly influenced from the Yuan dynasty fashion. This idea of a high collar was adopted from the practical, windproof Mongol robes of the Yuan dynasty. But Ming dynasty tailors took this foreign inspiration and completely refined it, turning it into the crisp, formal, and elegant collar that became a defining feature of the late Ming fashion. The standing collar was one of the foundations for the modern qipao that many of us recognize today. They also popularized the pipa shou sleeves that were wide at the shoulder but tapered to a narrow, tight cuff. And metal buttons became a much more common and visible part of clothing design, probably also inspired by Yuan dynasty influence. To protect the expensive silk at the collar, women would sew on a huling, which wore a protective collar that was a detachable strip of cloth that could be removed and washed. And then there was the skirt. The iconic skirt of the time was the ma mian qun, or horse-face skirt. This was a wrap-around skirt with a flat panel in the front and two sets of sharp, densely folded pleats on the sides. When you were standing still, the skirt would look flat and structured, showcasing the flat panels in the front. However, when you moved, the folded pleats on the sides would open up, revealing hidden fabric and colors. A commoner woman's ma mian qun was made of plain, dyed cotton or hemp. However, for noblewomen, the ma mian qun became a canvas of artistry. These skirts had decorative bands of gold thread and rich embroidery. By the late Ming dynasty, the fanciest version of these skirts were no longer made of just a few panels of fabric, but instead, ten panels, to create even more pleats. This led to the creation of the yue hua qun, or moonlight skirt, which was a shimmering garment where every single pleat was sewn from a different colored piece of silk. When the noblewoman walked, the pleats would open and close, revealing a dazzling, shifting rainbow of colors. On top of the ao qun, a woman might wear a bi jia, which was a sleeveless, paralleled collar vest, and for formal occasions, she would wear a pi feng, a long, flowing cloak. The Ming dynasty also saw the true golden age of the cloud shoulder. It reached its most ornate form here, and became a fully distinct and often detachable accessory, a stunning capelet that was a peak of nobility fashion. For noblewomen, it was worn for festivals and ceremonies, and it was covered in numerous status symbols as another layer of wearable rank. Near the end of the Ming dynasty, the cloud shoulder also started appearing as a symbol of high rank in Chinese opera performances. Even the undergarments saw an evolution. The Song dynasty's binding mo sheng gave way to more structured, bodice-like undergarments like the zhu yao, which was often bright red and heavily embroidered with personal symbols. It could be pomegranates for fertility, or peonies for wealth. But as Han Chinese traditions were restored, the darker customs were, too. The Ming dynasty saw the peak of the horrible custom of foot binding. It spread beyond the noble families and into wealthy families and even some middle-class families as a crucial status symbol. This was when the insane ideal of the three-inch golden lotus feet became the new standard of beauty. This forced an evolution of the lotus shoes from the Song dynasty, which now had to fit this new, tiny three-inch standard. This trend went all the way to the top, as having bound feet became expected of Han Chinese consorts in the Ming dynasty imperial harem. From the grand phoenix crown to the tiny, crippling lotus shoes, Ming dynasty fashion was a wearable symbol of its opulent dynasty. In 1644, the Ming dynasty officially fell and was replaced by the Manchu-ruled Qing dynasty. This was another massive cultural collision. The new Manchu rulers imposed some of the most brutal fashion policies in Chinese history, forcing all Han Chinese men under penalty of death to adopt Manchu hairstyle and attire. This created a complex and confusing reality, which was summarized by a famous folk saying that circulated among the Han Chinese people, not an official law. It was called the Shi Cong Shi Bu Cong, or the Ten Do's and the Ten Don'ts. It was a way for people to remember the new rules, the exceptions, and the compromises. And the very first rule was the most important one for our topic, as it exempted Han Chinese women from being forced to adopt Manchu clothing. This meant that for the Qing dynasty, China had a split screen of fashion. Two completely different traditional outfits, representing two different identities, were being worn by women at the same time in the same cities. On one side of the street, you had the Han Chinese woman who still wore the Ming dynasty style Ao Qun with the pleated Ma Mian Qun below. Underneath it, she wore the final evolution of the Han Chinese undergarment, the Du Dong. This is the one you've probably seen in movies. It's a diamond-shaped piece of embroidered silk that ties at the neck and the back, leaving the back bare. It continued the Ming dynasty tradition of being a private, personal canvas for embroidery. The commoner Han Chinese women wore their Ao Qun made of plain dyed cotton or hemp. A noble Han Chinese woman wore her Ao Qun made of silk, satin, and brocades, often covered in the same kind of intricate embroidery that a Ming dynasty noblewoman would have worn. The Han Chinese cloud-shoulder became more widespread across different social classes, especially for weddings and festive events. Later in the Qing dynasty, the cloud-shoulder concept was adopted by the Manchu people and incorporated into ceremonial Manchu attire. And this Han Chinese identity was defined by one other crucial detail, their feet. The new Manchu rulers, like the Mongols, did not adopt foot binding. They found it barbaric and crippling. In fact, Manchu women and women of the Eight Banners were forbidden by imperial order from ever binding their feet. And only women who did not have bound feet were allowed to enter service in the Qing dynasty imperial palace or harem. But the Han Chinese noblewoman held on to the practice more fiercely than ever. A bound lotus foot became the tragic and unmistakable visual symbol of Han Chinese identity. And on the other side of the street, you had the Manchu woman. And her look was completely different. She would have worn the qi zhuang, or banner dress. The qi zhuang was a long, straight cut, and often loose, one-piece robe. It was elegant, but it was also practical, originally designed by a culture of women who rode horses. It didn't have the high-cut slits or the form-fitting silhouette of the modern dress. This robe was often layered with a ma jia, a type of vest that came in various styles and added another layer of color and texture. But the divide between the noble and commoners still applied. The Manchu qi zhuang was not just one single look. It was just as rigidly divided by class as any Han Chinese robe. A commoner Manchu woman wore a qi zhuang that was a simple, practical robe made of cotton or hemp, often in plain blue or gray. Her ma jia would be simple and unadorned, often made of cotton, a practical vest worn for warmth and utility. The beautiful outfits that we see in many modern Xi dramas today were the exclusive privilege of the noble Manchu woman, who wore the qi zhuang as a symbol of her leisure. Her qi zhuang was loose, but not simple. It was a canvas for some of the most intricate textiles of time period. They were made of rich satins and silks, often in bright, bold colors. And embroidery was large and vibrant. In winter, these robes would be lined with thick fur with white, fluffy trim showing at the collar and cuffs. These noble Manchu women would wear their ma jia as a fashionable layer. It would be made of expensive silk, satin, or fur, and would be covered in intricate embroidery that matched her qi zhuang. But the noble Manchu look wasn't just about the robe. It was about the entire silhouette, which was designed to be tall and spectacular. First, there was the popular flower pot shoes, or hua pen di xie. These were towering platform shoes with the platform in the center of the foot. They forced a slow, gliding, dignified walk. And just as importantly, they kept the long qi zhuang robe from dragging in the mud. And then there was the headwear. Starting around the mid-Qing dynasty, imperial consorts wore an extravagant and rule-bound headdress called the dian zi tou for formal court ceremonies. The dian zi tou was like a fitted cap or frame that sat on the head, often over a bun. It was also covered in decorations, but its primary purpose was to display rank. The cap was adorned with inlaid ornaments called dian, and the number and style of these jewels was rigidly regulated by your exact position in the imperial harem. And Empress's dian zi tou was completely different from the lower-ranking concubines. It was the ultimate symbol of the court's hierarchy, worn right above the forehead. High-ranking women that were not part of the imperial harem may wear similar headpieces for formal ceremonies. These headpieces may also be decorated with floral plaques and jewels, but were generally smaller and less fancy than the dian zi tou for imperial consorts. While high-ranking Manchu women always wore their hair in elaborate styles, the late Qing dynasty saw the creation of another stunning piece of head fashion, the da la chi. This was not a hairstyle, it was a literal headdress. It was a massive, T-shaped, fan-like frame, wrapped in black satin, which was worn like a crown. It was then covered in silk flowers, pearl tassels, and glittering jewelry. Interestingly, the da la chi was believed to have been invented for convenience. It was a shortcut to replace the older, incredibly time-consuming liang ba tou, which was a complex hairstyle that required frames, wigs, and real hair. The da la chi provided the same grand, winged silhouette, but it was much easier to put on. As a bonus, its sturdy frame meant it could hold even more decorations. The Qing dynasty also effectively ended the use of di yi in the imperial harem. Instead, the Manchu drew from the imagery of the Ming dynasty di yi to create their own versions. This new robe for the empress took the official Manchu court robe, known as the chao pao, and combined it with an outer vest called long gua. The Manchu traditions were blended with Han Chinese symbols to create a new, hybrid image of imperial power. In addition, ranks within the Qing dynasty imperial harem saw even more organized restrictions. Only the empress and the highest-ranking consorts could wear certain shades of yellow. Lower-ranking concubines wore different shades of blue, brown, or red. The embroidery that was allowed depended on your rank, with the exact number of certain symbols on your robe, such as phoenixes, strictly regulated. Even your accessories were restricted based on your rank, where its material and color could instantly tell everyone your position within the harem. It was an entire look, from head to toe, that was totally distinct from the Han Chinese style. This was the final complex image of ancient Chinese fashion. So now, at the end of our ancient timeline, we have two distinct traditions living side by side. The Han Chinese ao qun and the Manchu qi zhuang. This sets the stage for one of the most famous Chinese dresses of all time, the qi pao. Contrary to many modern popular beliefs, the qi pao was not an ancient Chinese garment. Instead, it was invented around the 1920s. The qi pao took the core idea of the Manchu qi zhuang and adopted Western tailoring techniques to make it form-fitting. It had a high collar, high-cut side slits, shortened hems, and was often sleeveless. It was a symbol of a modern Han Chinese woman. After this journey through ancient Chinese clothing, what do you think about using clothing as a language that described your status? And of course, which dynasty's style was your favorite? 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