Chapter Twenty-Five
“DID YOU KNOW THAT in certain parts of China, India, and Indonesia, residents can predict fashion trends merely by looking at the colour of the water in nearby rivers?” Henry asks the large crowd. The room goes quiet and there are a couple of gasps. I’m excited for him — several hundred people are squeezed into this room for his panel discussion today, which confirms how relevant this conversation is right now. Fashion students really do care about the future of our planet, and it’s exciting to see.
Henry is looking confident in a pressed white shirt, black pants, polished black loafers, and red argyle socks. He reminds me of Maddie when she leads panels at Parsons. I know she’d be thrilled to see me sitting here. Thanks to Henry, I’m in the front row.
He’s interviewing the creators of a documentary about the effects of fashion on rivers worldwide. A large screen set up high above his head is looping a sequence of shots of unnaturally blue water flowing through villages around the world. It’s an alarming sight. The blue dye comes from the manufacturing of blue jeans, which are worn by at least half the world’s population. If only consumers knew about this. I’m proud of Henry for sharing this important message. Thanks to the filmmakers and talks like this, more people are learning about this kind of pollution, and this might convince them to shop more conscientiously.
I recently watched a TED Talk by an activist who admitted to owning more than twenty-five pairs of jeans. She said she hadn’t been fully aware that she had bought so many. “Who needs so much?” she asked the audience. The answer is no one. I feel good about doing my part; I hardly ever wear jeans.
Louder gasps fill the room as Henry points to the images of polluted rivers and oceans. The strong reaction is no surprise since China is the largest manufacturer of clothing on the planet, including blue jeans. Sadly, this means that China produces vast amounts of pollution, too. The good news is that the students gathered here today will become the decision makers of tomorrow and agents of social change, so their reaction gives me hope.
Henry looks my way and flashes his boyish grin.
The young woman sitting next to me catches this exchange and smiles. She probably assumes there’s something going on between us. I quickly look down at my phone and pretend I haven’t noticed, then cover my bare shoulders with the light-pink silk shawl I picked up yesterday at an outdoor market on my way home from brunch.
I busy myself by snapping a photo of the stage with my phone, catching the polluted blue rivers in the background, and post it to my WeChat account.
Attending a terrific panel hosted by Conde Nast in Shanghai. I’m in a #bluemood learning about #bluerivers caused by #toomanybluejeans #Shopconsciously
“If you care about water quality and ethical textile production, then this is a project worth supporting,” Henry says as the two documentarists take their seats. “Thank you, John and Lisa, for visiting Shanghai to talk about your film. We’re thrilled to have you here. Can you please tell us what motivated the making of it?”
“Sure,” Lisa replies. “It’s a hard truth to swallow, but fashion is killing the planet and, more specifically, the world’s rivers. They’re becoming extremely polluted, more so every single day, as textile manufacturers dump waste water directly into nearby waterways. The denim industry is particularly destructive, as it uses a toxic mix of chemicals to create the jeans we all love. We’ve come to China to help spread the word with the objective of creating change.”
Lisa’s answer makes me smile. This is why I applied to fashion school in the first place. I want to make a difference, too. I’d far rather talk about issues like this on Bonjour Girl than write traditional fashion editorials. I wish Brian had never put any doubt in my mind.
“No one wants to buy a shirt that someone died to make,” John says, referring to the building collapse in Bangladesh a few years ago that killed thousands of garment workers. “But what about a pair of jeans that are destroying and polluting our planet?”
“For most people, it doesn’t register because it’s happening far from their homes,” Henry adds, “but it should, considering how many villages rely on this water. The pollution also causes widespread illness.” I sit up in my chair. I’m so proud of him. “China produces huge amounts of textiles, and this country is facing massive ecological disaster.”
The conversation goes on for a solid thirty minutes, Henry leading the panel with tact, intelligence, and thoughtful questions. From time to time, he looks my way with that luminous smile. Why does he have to be so damn attractive?
He opens the floor to questions, and dozens of hands go up. It’s obvious these students are interested in sustainability, ethics, and the environment. I share some of their questions on social media as I follow along.
When I raise my hand, I feel several hundred pairs of eyes on me. This is my big coming out at the Condé Nast Fashion Center.
“Given the widespread use of chemicals in the fashion industry, what prompted you to use the manufacturing of blue jeans as the focal point of your documentary?”
The girl sitting next to me gives me an approving nod.
“I’m glad you asked,” Lisa responds. “When I started my research, I came across an image of the Pearl River here in China as seen from space. You could see that the river had turned blue. It was indigo-blue, and I thought to myself, ‘Oh dear, it’s the ever-popular blue jeans.’”
“Blue jeans are that iconic item that everybody owns, but as we’ve seen, they’re actually a problem,” says John.
After the question period, Henry stands in the middle of the stage, full of confidence and swagger. He has clearly gotten over the negative comments we received from Jean-Charles Luteau. He thanks the guests and the audience, then adds that he has an announcement.
“If you appreciate this type of content, there’s an online resource I’d like to talk to you about.” He looks my way out of the corner of his eye.
Is he about to … No, please no, don’t do that …
I shrink in my seat, waiting for him to call out my name and mention Bonjour Girl. After what happened with Stella last semester, I really don’t like attracting attention to myself. It’ll only end up causing some kind of trouble, which I want to avoid at all costs.
I pull my baseball cap lower on my head and cross my arms. I didn’t ask for him to bring it up. I mean, first the over-the-top video, then the surprise welcome at the airport, the expensive blouse, and now this. It’s a bit much.
“You can read more about the impact of the fashion industry on the planet on my new website, Eco-Couture!”
It takes a second for me to register what he has said. I look up at the stage — now he’s avoiding my eye.
Did I hear correctly? Henry is launching his own website? My eyes bulge and my jaw goes slack. Where did that come from?
“I’ve been working on this new site for several months now, and I’m excited to tell you about it today. For more information, you can check us out online or talk to me. I look forward to having you with us on this new journey …”
On the screen overhead, his website appears. The graphic design is quite polished and impressive; it’s the sort of slick design that makes Bonjour Girl look pretty damn boring. His friend Stephen walks up on stage and begins to display all kinds of fancy videos and other impressive bells and whistles that appear on their new platform. My mouth goes dry. Maybe I should hire Stephen as a consultant so that he can upgrade Bonjour Girl with all of this stuff?
The young woman sitting next to me gets up and immediately goes up to Henry to find out more. He already has a fan. As for me, I’m at a complete loss for words. He said he was planning to launch an NGO or a branding agency, not a website. What the hell is going on?
My mind spins. Is this why he’s been asking me so many questions about Bonjour Girl ?
I almost laugh. Well, it’s not like I had the monopoly on ethical fashion blogs, did I?
He sees me standing there with my mouth wide
open and brushes past his fans and over to me.
“What did you think?”
“The panel was awesome. The announcement … a bit unexpected. Why didn’t you say something about it before?”
“I wanted to surprise you.” He gives me a worried look.
“You certainly did. I mean, what you’re doing is terrific, don’t get me wrong. I like the concept — obviously, I do. It’s just … we’re friends, aren’t we? Don’t friends tell each other about these things?”
Jake would never keep something like this from me.
“I’m sorry.” Henry puts his hand on my shoulder. “I don’t want you to think that I’d hide anything from you. I was so excited to share this. I’m in awe of you. You’re an inspiration to me. You know that, right?” He gazes deep into my eyes with a smoldering look that makes my knees go weak. His eyes are pleading with me to believe him.
I shrug and sigh. “It’s okay. You wanted to do a grand dévoilement, I get it. I’m happy for you,” I finally say. “I’m impressed with your graphics. You can count on me being a loyal reader.”
“Impressed, or super mega impressed?” he asks, putting his hands on his hips and grinning.
“Both,” I say, knowing it’s what he wants to hear.
He responds by kissing me on the cheek. My face burns.
Then he reaches for my arm and leads me toward the stage. “Come on, I want you to meet the filmmakers.”
“Oh, great. I’d love to interview them for Bonjour Girl.”
He stops in his tracks and gives me a funny look. “Oh, well, I was hoping to have an exclusive interview for my site,” he says, completely serious.
I take a step back. Since when do bloggers claim exclusivity on their content and interviews? Especially bloggers who are supposedly friends?
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t mean to offend you. But you know how important exclusive content can be when you first launch, right?”
“Sure, I understand,” I mutter.
But do I really?
Chapter Twenty-Six
JUST WHEN YOU think you have a person figured out, they surprise you in more ways than one.
Henry and I and two of his friends from school are all sitting in a subway car after the panel discussion. Masha and Lilian are both studying fashion marketing, and they seem to be in complete admiration of Henry and his big plans.
I look on as he chats up the girls, talking animatedly about his new website. I can’t say I blame them; he’s nice to look at, he’s convincing, and his intentions of saving the planet are admirable. He mentions his friend Stephen, who’ll be the technical genius behind the scenes, and his intention to launch advertising campaigns all over Chinese social media and to get local celebrities and NGOs to endorse the site.
It all sounds impressive. So why am I feeling so put out by it? Probably because these are the very things I’d like to do with my own blog, but can’t afford to right now. Although I’ve amassed a solid following, I’ll need many more page views and subscribers before I can invest in new technologies and advertising.
I sit quietly across from the other three, watching the scene with detachment. Henry’s lapping up all the attention. I can also tell he’s trying to make me jealous of these girls, but it’s not working. He’s being far too obvious, I’m still miffed about the whole Eco-Couture thing, and I have an amazing boyfriend back home. At least I hope I do. I still haven’t been able to get through to Jonathan.
I try to snap myself out of this mood and put on a happy face. Apparently, we’re going somewhere fun, and I don’t want to bring down the vibe. Henry has been such a good host so far, I don’t want to spoil our friendship over a spat about blogging. Maybe that’s one of the lessons I needed to learn: it really isn’t a race to the top.
My dad once told me about the importance of being a good sport, in all areas of life. Support the plans and successes of others, and that goodwill will always come back to you in spades.
“So, where are we going?” I ask, interrupting their conversation. I can tell Henry is relieved that I’ve finally said something.
“We’re going somewhere supremely Shanghaiesque.”
“Is there a dress code? Do I need to change?” I look down at what I’m wearing: bright-blue palazzo pants, a kimono-style jacket with red-and-blue embroidered silk bird motifs and delicate ribbons at the collar, and the navy-blue baseball hat I got on a street corner in New York. I’m also wearing some funky white booties that I got on sale before leaving the U.S. They give my look an avant-garde feel.
“Of course not. You look amazing and on point, as always,” Henry says. The two women stare at me. As fashion school students, being complimented on the way you dress is the ultimate feedback.
We get out at the station closest to Zhaojibang Road and walk a few blocks, with Henry leading the way. This gives me the chance to talk with Masha and Lilian, who, Henry has told me, both love a lot of the same things I do: vintage shopping, books, doing research for school projects, and romantic comedies.
One of them actually spent a year in Paris as an intern at the same magazine I worked for, so we gossip about some people we both know.
Eventually, Henry stops in front a tall building where the words Haoledi KTV flash before my eyes.
I’ve heard of KTV, or karaoke television, a high-end kind of karaoke with private rooms, high-tech tablets for picking songs, loudspeakers, comfortable sofas, and mood lighting. These bars are super popular here. I’ve also seen videos of my relatives at KTV bars, looking and sounding foolish as they sing songs by people like Mariah Carey. But they don’t seem to care, which is the best part.
“Karaoke? Really?” I poke Henry playfully.
“Sure, why not?” He pokes me back.
“Because I can’t sing, that’s why! I sound like a wailing cat.”
“Do you think most people in there can? It’s about loosening up and kicking back with friends.”
“Let’s go in, then!”
“Yeah!” Lilian yelps, twirling on the sidewalk, her rainbow-coloured trench coat floating in the wind.
Henry grabs me by the hand and leads me inside. It’s like a cross between a hip nightclub and Disneyland. There are costumed hostesses, thumping music, elaborate drinks menus, and private rooms, each with its own theme and decor. Karaoke in Shanghai isn’t like in New York, where the entire bar can hear your pathetic performance. Thank god for that.
“I booked this room especially for you,” Henry says.
As soon as we walk in, I understand what he means. There are pink Marie Antoinette–style sofas and dreamy illustrations of hot air balloons on the walls. Low coffee tables hold magazines and candles and funky drink holders.
I think of Jonathan and how much he loves going out. He’d love this place. I try not to think about him too much, though — it’ll only make me feel bad again. I think of Jake instead, and of how much he’d love to be here. I can picture him doing his thing to some old Destiny’s Child song. I feel a pang in my stomach, a deep yearning for him and his bold presence. But this is no time to be sad.
I look up at Henry, and he grins proudly. He knows he’s scored major points by selecting this room. I take a seat on a hot-pink sofa while he begins to set up the system.
“Start thinking of a song, Clementine. You’ll be up soon.”
I give him a pleading look. “No way!”
“Yes way, you’re our guest star, and it’s your first time at KTV.”
“Come on, are you kidding me? You’re the one who likes being in the spotlight, not me,” I shoot back.
“All right, then.” He does a few sound checks to some Katy Perry song, and we all start to get in a fun mood.
Lilian hands me the drinks menu.
“What are you having?” I ask her.
“A Tsingtao.”
“Okay, I’ll have one, too.” I remind myself to go slow on the drinking, remembering again that time I ended up pole dancing in a nightclub. Thi
s is no time for a repeat performance.
As soon as the machine is set up, Masha gets up from the pink sofa, her flowy purple shirt floating behind her.
“I’m going first!” she announces, saving me.
The waitress brings our drinks, Henry sits down in the middle of the pink sofa, and we prepare for Masha’s performance. I can tell it’s going to be epic; she’s getting into it, rolling her neck like a boxer before a match, shaking out her arms and legs as though she’s going to fully embody the star she’s about to cover.
She picks “Simply the Best” by Tina Turner.
The song begins and Masha twirls her small hips around, kicks her heels, and shakes her head like Tina Turner. She belts out the lyrics with such gusto and conviction — I’m in awe of her moves and her singing skills. I pump my fist in the air to punctuate that part about being better than all the rest.
“She really is the best!” I say to Henry over the loud music.
He shakes his head and bends over my ear. “You are.” The words float into my ears, as though suspended in mid-air. Feeling his lips beside my ear sends a frisson of desire throughout my entire body. Unable to move, I just sit there while Henry’s words, Tina Turner’s lyrics, and Masha’s singing blur together.
After Masha finishes her spectacular performance, I wake up from my trance and give her the standing ovation she deserves — we all do. Her faces lights up.
“You’re amazing!” I give her a hug. “You belong on stage!”
She covers her face with her hands shyly, as if she doesn’t realize the power of her stage presence. “Thank you.”
“It’s the truth! You rock!”
I sit back down and take a few sips of my beer while Henry picks up the mike. He seems to have forgotten his plans to rush me onstage, thank goodness. Masha is a tough act to follow, but that doesn’t seem to faze him. He picks “Purple Rain” by Prince, a surprising choice. Can he sing that high? He begins shaking his hips in an unexpectedly sexy way.
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