Hanfu is back in style, and it serves both fashion and function

Chuyan Wang, the Seattle-born hanfu content creator, also reconnected to her culture in 2020. She watched Shanghai Animation Studio’s A Deer of Nine Colors, a childhood favorite of hers. “The evil queen in the film was wearing peculiar and flowing dresses and I was entranced,” she recalls.

Until then, the only traditional clothing Wang had been familiar with was qipao, the tight-fitting collared dresses associated with the Roaring ‘20s era in Shanghai. However, it is not Chinese—or “Han”—in origin. Instead, qipao came from the Manchurian ethnic group that ruled China until 1912. It is hard to pin down the exact point where Chinese people made the switch from hanfu to Manchurian clothing, but the latest estimate would have been roughly the 1700s.

“For so long it never even occurred to me to look further into the clothing of my own heritage, even though I was well acquainted with the histories and attire of Korean hanbok and Japanese kimono,” Wang says. “After weeks of research into the history and learning about the vast diversity of garments, I felt ready to purchase my very own.”

She runs Nüwa Hanfu, an online store. While traditional fits are mass-produced in China and readily available on AliExpress, Taobao, and even Etsy, she features stock from lesser known and indie brands. “This means that hanfu is made in smaller batches, has longer restock periods, and there’s no guarantee that the item will return to the market,” Wang says. Other obstacles include finding higher quality fabric, as the bulk of fast-fashion hanfu is made with synthetic materials. Because most stock comes from China, clothing sizes tend to slant smaller than for American audiences. This proves particularly challenging for Wang, who promotes body inclusivity by featuring a plus-size section on Nüwa Hanfu. Another struggle is sourcing historically accurate hanfu, as most of her searches on English-language sites turn up fantasy-based fits.

Chinese Australian creator Mofuguniang wore her first hanfu to a convention.

Courtesy of Mofuguniang

That isn’t a problem for the Chinese Australian content creator Mofuguniang. “As long as you can sort of understand where the hanfu style is coming from, if you’re open to learning, don’t let anyone tell you you can’t wear that style,” she says. “It’s still something that’s worn by Chinese girls in China. It might be considered a different subculture, but if you enjoy it, don’t feel like you have to wear a particular style to be seen as acceptable.”

Before her own pandemic gateway through the Chinese fantasy drama The Untamed, Mofuguniang was already cosplaying for her favorite sci-fi and fantasy shows. The first time she wore hanfu to a convention, she was a little nervous. “I thought that would be safer because everyone’s dressed weird and different, right?” she says. But her mother was worried because anti-Asian hate crimes were still at an all-time high. “She thought wearing a hanfu would paint a target on me. But when I wore it to Sydney Supanova, everyone was like, ‘You look really beautiful, I love what you’re wearing.’”

This is a development hundreds of years in the making. In China, the beginning of the Hanfu Revival Movement can be traced back to 2003, when Wang Letian, a power utility worker, strolled through the streets of the city Zhengzhou in traditional clothing. Before that, the centuries of Manchurian clothing had been replaced by westernized clothing.

By the time the first Chinese immigrants came to the United States as railroad workers, the distinct appearance with which they would forever be associated in western countries was already Manchurian-style—another kind of clothing entirely. Still, their long dresses and braided queues were radically different from the norm in American society, and they did paint a target on the backs of the earliest Chinese Americans.

At conventions, Mofuguniang said, “people were just like, ‘Oh, what are you cosplaying as?’ And I’m like, ‘My culture?’”

That 2019 iiMedia Research study found that young people make up the bulk of hanfu enthusiasts in China. For diaspora members like Wang and Mofuguniang, who are in their 20s, it is an entryway into reconnecting with their roots. At conventions, Mofuguniang said, “people were just like, ‘Oh, what are you cosplaying as?’ And I’m like, ‘My culture?’” Although she attended Chinese language classes and dance lessons growing up, her family watched dramas set in the modern era. “My mom still thinks it’s kind of cheesy to watch ancient Chinese dramas, and she can’t understand why I would enjoy watching them,” she says.

As these enthusiasts incorporate hanfu into their everyday lives, the ultimate challenge is wearing it to work. “I think I might get a few eyebrow raises if I came in, like, Tang Dynasty dress,” Mofuguniang says, referring to the late-second century era when people wore ostentatious, low-cut clothes.

However, “low-cut” does not mean “light.” The iconic Tang Dynasty outfits, like many others, emphasize wearing multiple layers. “Can you imagine going to work in a Tang Dynasty outfit? You’re gonna be dripping by the time you step out the door,” laughs Lili Lai, a Toronto-based content creator of Chinese and Vietnamese heritage.

The movement is not without controversy. There are purists who insist clothing is not hanfu unless it can be linked directly to historical records. Conversely, because Chinese history experienced cultural diffusion, such as when it was ruled by Manchurians, there is some debate as to what is considered hanfu.

That doesn’t stop Lai, for whom it’s a personal goal to normalize traditional wear. “There's just so much that we sort of lost along the way,” she says. “It’s just like appreciating culture on a new level.”