Bonjour Shanghai

by Isabelle Laflèche

  While I wait for a reply, armed with Sandra’s advice, a good night’s sleep, and Dr. Ho’s herbs, I try to come up with something intelligent to write for my blog, but just blank out. I decide to go for a walk instead.

  I head to Fuzhou Road, the avenue with all the bookshops that I read about in Vogue China. Maybe I’ll find a book about how to handle social media disasters.

  I exit the subway in front of Shanghai Book City, the largest bookstore in town, a literary shrine that reminds me of some of my favourite bookstores in New York City. At the front of the store, popular English titles like the Harry Potter series are displayed. I’m curious to know how many locals actually read these titles.

  I stop a young sales clerk with cool hipster glasses and speak to him in Mandarin. “Hi, I was wondering, are these books popular with locals?”

  “No, not really, they’re more for you tourists,” he answers in English.

  How does he know I’m a tourist? Is it the way I speak or dress? Should I be offended? I don’t know what to think anymore.

  “So what is popular? What do you recommend?”

  “Young people don’t read paper books that much anymore. They mostly read stuff online: short stories, blogs, social media posts.”

  “I see.” As a book lover, that’s sad to hear.

  “But they do seem to like these types of fantasy books,” the sales clerk continues, pointing to some large stacks of martial arts novels. The cover art looks like something out of an action-themed video game, and the authors apparently use pen names like “Eagle in the Dust” and “Addicted to Your Pale Cheek.”

  I pick one up. I could give it to Jake as a souvenir. I bet he’d get a kick out of it. I’m flipping through the pages when I hear a vaguely familiar male voice. I freeze. Who is that? A fellow student? I close my eyes and then it hits me: it’s Henry’s friend and website partner, Stephen.

  He’s talking to someone in an aisle nearby.

  In no mood to talk to him, I start to discreetly make my way toward the exit. But then curiosity gets the better of me. I duck behind a book display and peer around it.

  Stephen is leaning against a bookcase, talking to a woman I know. It’s Masha, the karaoke queen. They’re giggling and whispering, and then he kisses her. So I guess the two of them are dating. That’s not so surprising; from what Henry has told me they both love fashion, selfies, and the spotlight. I’m about to tiptoe away when I overhear something that pulls me up short.

  “Pretty sure she still has no clue what happened to her account,” Stephen murmurs. “But she’s about to find out in a big way!”

  Masha giggles in response.

  I stand there, feet frozen on the grey-tiled floor. They’re talking about me. My mind spins furiously in search of an explanation. What the hell is going on?

  The answer arrives in the form of a buzzing on my phone — an email from the WeChat customer service team.

  Hello, Ms. Liu,

  Your account was shut down after we received a complaint from an account called Eco-Couture. It claims you violated our terms of conduct by profiling a piece of gifted merchandise without full disclosure. Also, it was alleged that your most recent post was offensive. You may appeal this decision by taking the following steps …

  There it is, in all its glory. What Dr. Ho predicted and what my intuition failed to detect yet again. Major deception.

  I can’t believe it. Who knew people could wear such false masks so convincingly? Well, okay, I guess I did — or should have. Another lesson I’ve learned: all that shines on the internet isn’t gold. As a matter of fact, it can be as dark as a piece of coal.

  Was Henry in on this crap all along? Was his over-the-top charm offensive all an act? Was he scheming with Stephen since before I even arrived here? The fact that my relationship with Jonathan was jeopardized because of this fake-ass guy makes me want to vomit on the bestsellers.

  I’m right in the middle of another Tower moment, as they call it in tarot card readings — a moment when you fail to pay attention to the signs and go against your better judgment. I’m on a roll these days.

  I drop the paperback on a random shelf and run out onto the street, looking for some way to regain my sense of self-respect. At this point, that may be hard to do.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  BACK AT MY APARTMENT, I’m feeling completely dejected. I didn’t listen to my inner voice, and now I’m paying for it. As soon as Henry and Stephen announced their new website, I should’ve known they were up to no good. More than anything, I feel like a fool. I almost lost Jonathan over what was, apparently, a stupid, fake flirtation.

  I go straight to my laptop and discover tons of negative comments on my last blog post about the local fashion scene. I long ago turned off phone notifications for blog comments, so I can make sure I’m in a proper frame of mind before reading them. I’m actually glad that I didn’t see these negative comments sooner. And “negative” doesn’t really do justice to some of these comments. “Brutal” would be more accurate. Words like “insulting,” “offensive,” “traitor,” and even “racist” jump out at me.

  My heart pounds in my chest. For a split second, I wonder if this is some kind of revenge plot orchestrated by Stella, my bully from last year. But it isn’t. One of the commenters shares a link to a website called Bloggers Unveiled. Their mission statement: “To enlighten the public on the deceptive activities of the world’s most prolific influencers.” The short article says,

  At a time when anxiety and depression are at a high, you would think these bloggers would know better than to engage in shady practices! But some of them do not! In her most recent post, Clementine Liu shares photos of herself wearing a comped shirt without acknowledging that she received it in exchange for her coverage. She also shares affiliate links to the Victoire & Sophie website. Her collaboration with the offensive designer is demeaning to the people of Shanghai, where she’s currently studying in an exchange program at a posh fashion school.

  Comped shirt? They must mean the blouse from Henry … but it was a gift! I don’t get it.

  And worse, an offensive designer? Demeaning to the residents of Shanghai? My post mentioned that Victoire & Sophie were investing millions into an upcoming local runway event. How could that be construed as offensive?

  A quick online search turns up the answer. My face falls as the headlines pop up. There are multiple articles from prominent international news sites, all dated less than forty-eight hours ago.

  Victoire & Sophie’s Shanghai runway show has been cancelled after head designer Olivier Leroux made disrespectful comments to a popular blogger about Shanghai designers, calling them “a bunch of backward dilettantes with little taste or talent.”

  Oh merde. I feel faint, and my stomach clenches. I missed all this while I was holed up at Sandra’s. I’m usually so on top of these things. I can’t believe this is happening. I quickly delete the offending post and drop my face into my hands. I feel terrible, bruised and raw. Being attacked like this again is bringing back such painful memories, but unlike last semester, I’m all alone. I don’t have Maddie, Jonathan, or Jake here to support me. I’m so far away from them.

  Even though those angry comments have now been deleted along with the post, one of them is burned into my memory: “How could you, Clementine Liu? You say you promote ethics in fashion and YOU’RE acting unethically! AND COLLABORATING WITH RACISTS!”

  I can barely suppress my tears. I’ve been pouring my heart and soul into this blog. How could anyone question my ethics? My integrity? What will the faculty of Condé Nast think of me now?

  All the anxiety I felt after Stella’s attacks comes flowing right back. I feel like I’m being stabbed in the chest.

  I failed to pay attention to my intuition big time. I should have listened to my inner voice when I had doubts about doing business with Victoire & Sophie.

  I’m reminded of that old saying, Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. How could
I have been so careless?

  Thankfully, Jake appears online, not a moment too soon. I phone him immediately.

  “Thank god you’re still up. Some pretty nasty stuff has been going on.”

  “I know. Whatever you do, Clem, don’t panic, okay? You’ve been down this road before. You’re a champ.”

  “It’s so awful! People think I intentionally collaborated with a racist? What will the school think? And my dad’s family? What will my cousins and Aunt Jiao think? Will anyone believe this was a colossal misunderstanding?”

  I undo the topknot in my hair, kick off my sneakers, and lie down on the living room floor. I try to breathe deeply and relax as Jake’s voice floats out of my phone.

  “I do believe you, but I don’t know about the readers. I’m sorry to say this, honey, but the noise has reached a fever pitch. There are over five thousand retweets of that Bloggers Unveiled article denouncing you as an irresponsible …”

  Holy crap. I fling an arm over my eyes, trying to get my bearings, but it doesn’t work. My mind spins. What will everyone at Parsons think? And my dad? He’ll be devasted by all this negative attention. I want the floor to swallow me whole.

  I’m suddenly filled with rage. Why was I following someone else’s vision for my blog instead of my own, anyway? The only reason I tried the affiliated link was because Brian pushed me to be more commercial. So much for thinking outside the box — now I’ve been placed in one.

  “What is Twitter saying about me, exactly?”

  “A few things … That blouse you’re wearing in the photo — was it a gift from the store?”

  “No, Henry bought it for me.”

  “Just a friend, huh?”

  “This isn’t the time, Jake.”

  “Sorry. Are you sure it was from him? ’Cause this Bloggers Unveiled page did some research, and it looks like it was gifted by the store … and that’s the problem, kiddo. You didn’t disclose in your write-up the fact that you received free merch.”

  “Henry told me he was buying it for me.”

  “Maybe he wasn’t telling you the whole truth?”

  “Obviously. I swear I had no idea it was a freebie … damn it.” I never should have accepted that blouse. Even then, I knew something wasn’t right. I could never have predicted this particular course of events, but I still should’ve listened to myself.

  Jake continues. “And then there’s the issue of the Victoire & Sophie …”

  “I obviously had no clue the designer was such an A-hole! God, how awful! I need to go deal with this fallout.”

  “I wish I could be there to help, Clem.”

  “You are helping. Now wish me luck.”

  “You don’t need luck — you’re a pro.”

  I finish the call, then slip into my PJs and try to figure out how to deal with this mess. I could report Henry to the Condé Nast program director for unethical behaviour, but that just feels childish.

  I could have Jake and Ellie start an online smear campaign against Henry and Stephen to give them a taste of their own medicine — but again, I’m not going there. It would only create more chaos.

  I could publicly accuse Henry of stealing my blog concept and scheming to get my WeChat account shut down, but then I’d only be replicating what all those trolls are doing to me now. As Maddie would say, two wrongs don’t make a right.

  As I sip on Dr. Ho’s herbal concoction, it dawns on me that most of the world’s most talented artists share an important quality: vulnerability. A sense of vulnerability is what connects you to others, doubly so in the case of artists like writers and bloggers — it creates an important connection to your audience.

  I’ll roll up my sleeves and simply share my truth. I will put down my weapons and reveal no names.

  I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I take a deep breath and let the inspiration flow.

  Dear readers,

  The recent firestorm surrounding posts on this blog and to my social media accounts has brought nothing but negative publicity and pain, so I’ve decided to set the record straight.

  It’s been heartbreaking to be the target of accusations that are hurtful and, more importantly, untrue.

  I’ve been portrayed as unethical, a racist, a traitor, and a fraud. I am none of those things. BUT despite that fact, I’m taking full responsibility for what is being said about me. Yes, that’s right: total, complete responsibility.

  All of it is my own doing — or undoing — ALL of it.

  Why? Because I didn’t listen to my INNER VOICE, which has gotten me through thick and thin in the past. In the effort to pump up my own sense of self-esteem and the influence of this blog, I ignored my inner voice. And as a result, I connected myself with people who would end up bringing me down.

  At the Song Liung boutique, I was offered a Liu Min blouse. My belief was that the blouse had been bought for me by a friend who was present. In fact, it was gifted to me by the store, unbeknownst to me — however, I should have asked more questions, and ultimately, I should have avoided writing about the blouse altogether, according to my editorial standards.

  Since the launch of my blog, I have refused paid endorsements, as I wish to maintain my creative freedom at all costs. But I recently went against those principles and accepted compensation from a designer in exchange for publicity. This was a huge mistake. I compromised my own standards, and I did not do nearly enough to vet the standards of the designer I was affiliating myself with, something I regret immensely. I certainly did not intend to offend anyone, especially not the people of Shanghai, one of the world’s greatest cities.

  And still I have gone even further down a deep black hole of misery; all of this nonsense has nearly caused me to lose the most precious relationship I have with a person that I love. I treated him poorly, and he didn’t deserve that.

  If I could share one piece of advice, it would be this: whatever you do, dear readers and friends, never put your self-respect, friendship, or love on the line in exchange for more likes and follows, or the lure of fame and material success, because I can promise you that in the end, it’s not worth it. It’s all an illusion. And it can be taken away from you in an instant — poof!

  As an esteemed teacher of mine said recently, the bubble of social media influence will burst one day —it’s just a question of when. So I ask you, what is truly important? The answer is you: your instincts, your heart, your talent, and your strength. None of that can ever be taken from you. Ever. That is, unless you choose to give it away …

  I could place the blame on a deceptive person who I’d thought was a friend, but turned out not to be. I could blame a teacher for encouraging me to veer off course, or my own family and my complicated childhood. I could blame social media for becoming a breeding ground for mean-spirited trolls. But the fact of the matter is that I created my own reality. Overconfidence made me think I deserved to be paid for advertising a designer’s content, regardless of who the designer was. I have learned my lesson. This was a colossal error on my part.

  Thanks to the help of a very wise man and a kind new friend, I’ve discovered that what happens to us is often a direct reflection of how we feel inside. I have been conflicted about my blog and its editorial direction, and conflict is what I attracted — lots of it — as well as an individual who didn’t have my best interests at heart. Why? Because I didn’t have my own best interests at heart, either.

  But that’s a thing of the past, starting today.

  From here on out, I know where I’m going. I have a mission, and I promise to stick to it, with heart, passion, and compassion. Conflict begone!

  I’m not writing this to earn your sympathy. I own my misdeeds and accept that I am paying the price for them. I’m sharing this for the sake of clarity and understanding. I’m sharing so that others might benefit from the lessons I’ve learned.

  After all, we’re only human, doing the best we can with the cards we’re dealt. Personally, I’d like to see less criticizing, less comparing, l
ess hating on social media. (I’ve had lots of experience with all of that, believe me, and it needs to stop.)

  And I would love to see less judgment of others. Let’s focus on the important questions: What do you believe in? What do you cherish? That’s what I want to know about you. Those are the meaningful conversations I want to promote, so we can better relate to each other.

  I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me, respect me, and give me another blogging chance.

  Because I love you, dear readers, and this time, I promise to not disappoint.

  Sincerely yours,

  Clementine Liu, a.k.a. Bonjour Girl

  I take a no-makeup selfie. The dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep and the pimples caused by emotional stress are visible. My hair is pulled up in a messy bun, and I’m wearing my most unattractive pyjamas. I sip from Dr. Ho’s herbal tea and smile. You can’t get more honest, raw, or vulnerable than that. I include the photo in the blog post and hit publish.

  I’m happy with my post. It was a different approach, and I like it. We’ll see what tomorrow brings.

  I’m not sure if it’s the herbs, the act of writing, or the relief of getting everything off my chest (or a combination of all three), but I fall into the deepest, most restful sleep I’ve had in ages.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  I WAKE UP TO A COLD, half-empty mug of Dr. Ho’s herbal concoction sitting on my nightstand. The day after, it smells even funnier, like damp seaweed. For some reason, this makes me smile.

  It certainly gave me the boost I needed to write that blog post. I have no idea how all that text poured out of me. Was I somehow channelling some higher source? Or maybe was Cécile giving me the confidence to speak my mind? I managed, after all, to follow the wisdom offered in her book: a lady never retaliates; instead she uses her cunning intellect to find creative solutions to her problems.

  I’m not sure what to expect from my readers this morning; I’m anxious, but also strangely calm. Maybe the confidence came from Sandra, who exudes it in spades. She would tell me to go online and face the music like a champion. There’s no point just wondering what people think; I need to see the truth for myself.