Bonjour Shanghai

by Isabelle Laflèche

  “Clementine, meet Mia. She went to Condé Nast last year and launched her own jewellery line. She also lived in Los Angeles for a while, a few years ago. Clementine is studying in Shanghai for the summer,” Henry says to Mia in English.

  “It’s lovely to meet you. I love these earrings. They’re absolutely gorgeous,” I tell her.

  “Thank you. I hope you’re enjoying our city so far.”

  “Yes, very much.”

  “We’re here for a project for our journalism class,” Henry explains. “Creating a visual story. We’re looking to add some original accessories to this bag, and we’d like to add yours. What do you say?” he asks.

  Mia immediately perks up. “Oh, of course. Is this for Jean-Charles’s class?” she asks. I think back again to his comments about my blog. My embarrassment must show on my face, because she says, “Don’t worry about him, Clementine. Jean-Charles can be a little salty.”

  “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

  But I am glad I’m not the only one who’s noticed.

  “Go ahead, Clementine,” says Henry, “select the piece you think would look best on our bag.”

  He films me as I reach for a pair of chandelier earrings in the shapes of lotus flowers. I attach the earrings to the bag handles, where they contrast nicely against the bold artisanal fabric. Our bag looks marvelous now, like a high-end luxury designer handbag.

  “Thanks, Mia,” Henry says, paying her for the earrings. “You’ll get credit for this in our video, and some free publicity in class, I promise!” He gives her a peck on the cheek.

  “It’s my pleasure! Lovely to meet you, Clementine.” She waves as we rush away. We’ve got to hurry back to class.

  Before we hop in a cab, Henry stops at a roadside stall to grab a bouquet of lilies, which he places inside the bag — the effect is breathtaking. The plain white bag has been completely transformed and beautified.

  In the cab, on the way back to school, Henry films me holding the bag and explaining our creative process.

  Henry finishes with salesy-sounding slogan. “This bag is a blank canvas that transforms the ordinary into the delightful, wherever it goes.”

  “Aw, that’s sweet, but please don’t put that in the video,” I say jokingly. “I don’t want to ruin it.”

  Everyone else is already assembled in the classroom when we hurry in. Jean-Charles gives us a cold stare.

  “You guys are late.”

  “Sorry, we were stuck in traffic —” Henry starts.

  “Traffic? Couldn’t you have created your video here on campus, like the rest of your classmates? Is Condé Nast not good enough for you?”

  Merde.

  Henry’s getting an earful and he doesn’t deserve it. Obviously Jean-Charles dislikes me and is just taking it out on my poor friend.

  “It was my idea,” I say, taking the blame. The teacher just smirks.

  “Okay, Ms. Liu. Since your team was the last to show up, you’ll be the first to show us your work.”

  I tense up. I’m starting to have doubts about our video. I have a feeling it’s going to be strongly criticized. A part of me wants to run out into the street and start again.

  My heart pounding in my chest, I hand over Henry’s phone so that Jean-Charles can plug it into the projector. The video begins, and we see shots of Henry’s hand holding the white bag amidst the stalls of the public market. Then, his hand holds the bag up in front of the Miao embroideries, before the camera zooms in on the actual textiles. So far, so good, I think; the effect is powerful. We’re showcasing traditional textiles and local artisans. I can see from our classmates’ reactions that they approve of the angle we took.

  We see a close-up of me picking out the colourful swatches, then looping them through the bag’s handles. I cringe and try not to look over at our teacher. I don’t want to see his reaction.

  The next scene is of me entering a taxi, then some Shanghai street scenes filmed through the window. Henry has even added some cool background music using an app on his phone — when did he have time to do that? I’m amazed. It looks really good. The camera follows me walking into Mia’s boutique, where we pick out the earrings. From the corner of my eye, I detect a smile on Jean-Charles’s face. He must think highly of Mia, one of his former students. Bless her and her talent — she’s probably just saved us. The video ends with Henry picking the bouquet of lilies and placing them in the bag, and then a close-up of my feet walking into class.

  I think we aced it. Henry wears a satisfied grin.

  But my feeling of joy comes crashing down as soon as Jean-Charles opens his mouth.

  “Interesting concept, but poorly executed. Way too bland and predictable,” he says, looking mostly in my direction. “Boring, boring, boring.”

  Too bland? Boring? We picked out colourful embroideries and intricate jewellery made by talented artisans. We drove around the city to make it happen! I stay quiet, trying to keep calm. I wish I could run out of class and call Jonathan. I miss his support, his kind words, his loving presence.

  “It’s a bit clichéd. It’s been done time and time again, that visit to the local market thing,” he says, rolling his eyes, his arms still crossed over his chest. “Nice try, though. Next time, rather than wasting your energy running around Shanghai, stay closer to school and focus on being more creative, d’accord ?”

  Ouch. I look over at Henry. He looks completely downtrodden. He just stares at the desk and nods in silence.

  “Does anyone else have any comments?” the teacher asks the class.

  One kind soul raises her hand. “I really like how they incorporated the jewellery made by a local artisan. Those jewels sparkled against the white bag. The effect was magical. I like how the video represents the past, the present, and the future of Chinese fashion.”

  “Oui, oui, you’re right, the jewels are probably the one saving grace,” Jean-Charles admits, uncrossing his arms and removing Henry’s phone from the overhead projector.

  Geez, the only saving grace? I try to look on the bright side: adding the charms was my idea. Nevertheless, earning this teacher’s approval is going to be an uphill battle.

  That was a tough lesson in humility, I think on my way home. Henry and I weren’t in a talkative mood after class, so we went our separate ways. On the subway, I begin questioning my creative journey. Is what I’m doing of any value? Am I wasting my time, blogging? Jean-Charles has planted a kernel of doubt in my mind. Should I change Bonjour Girl ? And if so, how? Whereas Brian thinks I should go more commercial, Jean-Charles thinks I’m already too much so. What direction should I take? More importantly, should I listen to either of them?

  After sulking for a good half hour, I notice an elderly lady sitting across from me. She must be in her eighties, at least. She’s sitting serenely, holding her cane in one hand and her handbag in the other, wearing a colourful dress under a bland-looking raincoat. She looks at me with a glint in her eye, like she knows something.

  Suddenly, I relax. Would this peaceful woman across from me get all tied up in knots over some teacher’s opinion of her work? Definitely not. I smile at her appreciatively.

  Regardless of what Jean-Charles thinks, I have a loyal readership, and some teachers back home like what I do just fine.

  I pick up my phone to message Henry.

  Feeling bruised. You?

  No kidding. I’ve never had such negative comments about my work before. It was pretty humiliating. I feel like a gigantic loser.

  You’re no loser! It’s only his opinion. Other people liked our video. I’ve been through worse than this. I was cyberbullied in New York last semester.

  Really? Why didn’t you tell me about it?

  I’ve been trying to get over it and move on. It was a fellow student. She was expelled.

  I’m sorry, Clementine. You don’t deserve crap like that.

  Nobody does. It’s awful. It makes you feel so small.

  Like what Jean-Charles did to us today?

&nb
sp; Much worse. He was just criticizing our work. He didn’t attack our integrity, character, or self-worth.

  Speak for yourself, girl!

  Lol. Try to get some sleep, you’ll forget all about it in the morning.

  I hope so. There must be a lesson in all of this.

  Yeah, it’s that we can’t always be the favourite. We can’t always be number one.

  I guess …

  Anyway, *I* loved our video and your ideas. I thought the whole concept was fabulous.

  Thanks, Clementine. Good night and sweet dreams XO

  Good night, partner. See you tomorrow X

  I can’t believe I’m the one giving Henry a pep talk. I guess being bullied last fall has made me stronger and wiser. I’ve developed a thicker skin. Thanks to Parsons in New York, I’ve learned to own my work and my art, or at least attempt to do so. Thanks to Condé Nast in Shanghai, I’m learning to take it all in stride.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ACCORDING TO THE AUTHOR Dodie Smith, family is “that dear octopus from whose tentacles we never quite escape, nor, in our inmost hearts, ever quite wish to.” I realize how true this is on Sunday morning as I walk into a dim sum restaurant on the busy Dingxi Road in the Changning District to meet my entire Chinese extended family for brunch. Luckily, I took some time to meditate and have a quiet coffee at my favourite café this morning first. I needed a moment to relax and unwind, and get over Jean-Charles’s negativity. I’m trying hard to let go of it, but I still feel the sting. While I sipped my cappuccino, I kept repeating to myself the advice that I gave Henry, as well as the old saying Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. It worked — I left the coffee shop feeling rejuvenated and ready to mingle and practise my Mandarin.

  My cousin Becky jumps up from her seat to meet me just inside the entrance. “Oh, Clementine, we’re so happy you’re here!”

  I look over at the table — there must be at least twenty people sitting there, most of whom I’ve never met. I inhale deeply and brace myself for a noisy meal and, most likely, some nosy questions, too. I may not have met them all, but I know my relatives.

  My father’s sister, Jiao, which means “dainty and lovely,” was the one who organized this reunion, and I’m grateful to her. I get along well with my cousins, and I’m excited to get to see them in their own city. Jiao’s family and her kids used to stay with us in Paris every year; I always looked forward to their visits. On those trips, she would always take me and her daughters shopping, then to some museum exhibit or other, and finally, to lunch. I remember eating mousse au chocolat with my cousins.

  Jiao wears her name well; she’s petite with elegant taste, just like my dad. She’s younger than my father, and he’s always taken care of her fondly. Having overcome a difficult childhood with their highly controlling father, they now both appreciate spending time together in peace.

  “Hello, Becky! You look amazing!” I say in Mandarin, marvelling at how much my cousin has grown since I last saw her. She looks like a woman now. She’s wearing a black dress with chic stockings, and her face is nicely made up with black liquid eyeliner and red lipstick. She doesn’t look anything like the athletic sweatpants-wearing teenager she used to be.

  She kisses me on the cheek, and I hug her back.

  “Thanks! So do you!” she says, looking at my ensemble. I’ve toned down my quirky style a few notches for this family affair. I’m wearing a feminine gingham dress with a ruffle hem that I found in a flea market in Brooklyn, along with a jean jacket and my red booties. I had hoped to avoid the usual side stares, but I can tell from the look on my aunt’s face that she’s surprised by what I’m wearing. It’s far from conventional or conservative. I know she’d never be caught dead in this outfit, but I don’t care. It’s who I am, and your family is supposed to accept you just the way you are, isn’t it?

  I walk up to the table and shake hands with my other cousins, Emily, Ming, and Vince, my Uncle Jaw-Long, and some of his brothers, sisters, and their kids. Everyone is smiling and welcoming me as I take a seat at the round table.

  Then question period begins.

  “So … what exactly are you studying in Shanghai?” my uncle begins. The server comes over with a fresh teapot just then, as if he knows that I’m going to need to clear my throat a lot. I take a sip before responding. My uncle’s the corporate type, a manager at a large insurance company, so this conversation may go off the rails.

  “I’m studying fashion at the Condé Nast Center of Fashion & Design. It’s affiliated with a large international publishing company.” My cousin Becky’s eyes light up. Clearly, she reads Vogue China and knows what I’m talking about. Other family members just give me funny looks.

  “I’m taking online media and marketing classes. It’s a summer program, and teachers from all over the world come to share their specialized knowledge. I love it so far.” I leave out the Jean-Charles Luteau bit.

  “It sounds intriguing,” my uncle says, waving the server over.

  He orders the food, including prawns, crispy duck, and a ton of dumplings. I can tell by how much he’s ordering that it’s going to be a very long brunch. I just hope the questioning doesn’t last the entire time.

  “So, why fashion, Clementine?” my uncle’s sister asks me. “Why not medical school or law school? You’re so smart! And your parents have money to send you to the best schools.”

  I mentally roll my eyes and take a deep breath. “I am going to a good school. Parsons is one of the top fashion schools in the world. It’s at the forefront of innovation and fashion technology.” I hope this will end things right here.

  Alas, it does not.

  “Fashion technology? Is that important?” my uncle asks. “What about real technology, like Amazon or Google? Those types of companies pay for their employees’ food and other good perks.”

  “Really? That would be a great place for you,” my aunt says to her son, Vince.

  “Yes, I’m sure those are great places to work, but that’s not my interest,” I respond, trying to stay calm and collected. My uncle’s name means “like a dragon,” and now I see that it suits him.

  For a moment, I’m grateful that I have an artist mother, no matter what her shortcomings are, as well as a supportive father who’s always encouraged me to pursue my passions and dreams. They’ve always been open-minded.

  “Why not?” my uncle presses.

  “Well, because I’m passionate about fashion. I always have been, ever since I was a young girl, and probably always will be.”

  “Yes, that’s very true,” my Aunt Jiao concedes, giving me a kind, knowing look. “I remember Clementine playing dress-up with her mother’s stage costumes.” She smiles, taking some of the pressure off. Finally, we’re getting somewhere. I make a mental note to try to change seats so I can sit next to her for dessert.

  “I’ve also started a blog called Bonjour Girl. I interview people who make a difference in the fashion industry or in the world at large, and I have a pretty decent following,” I say proudly. “Becky knows about it.” My cousin nods enthusiastically. I wonder if Becky will end up pursuing her own dreams and aspirations, or if her father will decide her path for her. I have my suspicions.

  “Can you make money doing this blogging thing?” my uncle’s sister asks, annoyingly. “Is the fashion industry able to pay you? It seems more like a hobby to me.”

  My other cousin, Emily, finally chimes in. “Of course she can make money blogging! She can make loads of it, too. Haven’t you heard about these bloggers with massive followings who are making a killing on Weibo and WeChat?” I mentally high-five her.

  “If you say so.”

  Some of the food arrives, giving me a breather. I guess the whole follow-your-dreams movement hasn’t reached some of my extended family members yet.

  “You could build a fashion media empire,” my cousin Vince says, grinning as he digs into a pork bun. “Now, that’s how you become rich!” Clearly he’s following
in his father’s footsteps. He’s going to business school next year, presumably to do just that.

  “No thanks. That’s not my dream.”

  “What do you love most about fashion?” my aunt asks between bites.

  “I’m really interested in sustainability — promoting diversity and brands that want to protect the environment and make a difference in this world. That’s the sort of thing I like to talk about on my blog.”

  Silence. Blank stares. Everyone just looks at me. I bite into a dumpling, trying to ignore the awkwardness.

  They just don’t get it, but that’s okay, they don’t have to. Besides, I’m getting used to it. I guess I need to learn to stand up for my opinions and what I think is right.

  Near the end of the meal, when the sweet dishes have been brought out, I take my cup of tea to the other side of the table and sit between Jiao and Becky. Their warm reception makes me feel better.

  “I’m so proud of you, Clementine,” Jiao says, “for doing what you love. Don’t listen to your uncle — he’s so old-fashioned about these things. And he can be difficult, just like your grandfather was. He thinks that money is the only measure of happiness and success. I understand what you’re doing, and I’m impressed by your determination.” I nod and give her a hug. “I’ve been following you on WeChat,” she says.

  “Thank you, Aunt Jiao, I really needed to hear that today.”

  “You will go far, my dear. You have class and tact. Unlike your mother,” she adds with disdain.

  Oh boy, here we go. My aunt has never liked my mother much. She always resented the fact that my dad married a foreign diva with an attitude, especially since that diva turned out to also have a penchant for other, younger men. I stay silent. I don’t want to get into it right now.

  “I always thought your dad should’ve married that nice Chinese girl he was dating in college,” she mutters. I want to respond that if he had, I wouldn’t be here, but instead just drop it. After a brief catch-up with my cousins about their studies and dating lives, I take my cup of tea and head back to the other side of the table. I’ll take an honest discussion about the merits of fashion school over petty gossip any day.