I arrived in Ohio four years ago after flying half the world from Beijing. On a bright summer afternoon, I experienced my first jet of cultural-shock. In front of my apartment building, a scantily-clad young girl spread her limbs on a patch of grass. She then relaxed in the amber sunlight as if she didn’t know it could bake her brown!
I was even more dumbfounded when I learned that she eagerly anticipated to look brown. At that time I would die to look as milky-white as she did, because where I am from, the lighter the better.
Chinese beauties are subtle and delicate. Their skins appear as pale as a snowflake. The legend goes that a real snow-white beauty could melt under the gentle touch of a warm finger tip. Therefore, Chinese ladies put on sun blocks advertised to prevent tanning, AND wear wide-brimmed hats or carry umbrellas so as to stay in the shadow on a sunny day. If God forbids, tanning happens, they would immediately apply lotions that are supposed to reverse “the darkening process.”
Unfortunately, none of those procedures could work for me. When I was born, I looked as if I came out of a furnace instead of my mother’s womb. My complexion was so aberrantly dark that my parents’ friends couldn’t even fake adoration at the sight of me. After a few seconds of silence, maybe internally reconciling being polite and being honest, the best they could produce was: “Maybe she’ll be a rugged kid.”
It turned out that I had to be rugged in order to survive numerous humiliating moments through childhood and adolescence. When boys whizzed by and yelled at me “charcoal” or “toast,” evoking roaring laughter from everyone around, I swallowed tears and looked indifferent. Trying to prop up my shrinking self-esteem, mom would say: “It’s ok, At least you are smart.” I know she meant well.
So after a lifetime bracing for the fact that all I had for me was inner beauty, I was overjoyed to discover that Americans adore tanned girls. I don’t have to hide my brown limbs in long sleeves and pants in sweltering summers, or coil in self-pity under inquisitive stares. It’s liberating!
After the initially ecstasy wore off, however, I decided my appreciation of this aesthetic difference between Chinese and Americans should not just be skin-deep. I started asking: “Why?” After months’ of observation and deliberation, I concluded that Chinese and Americans actually think the SAME.
In China, people associate suntan with outdoor labor, such as construction and peasantry. Those jobs are called “bitter labor” because they are physically demanding but produce meager rewards. Although the communist party advocates for equality among all professions and promotes slogans such as “every profession produces champions,” people look at “bitter laborers” with both pity and scorn. On the other hand, “those who work in offices” command respect and envy, because they are the decision makers and monetarily better-off. Since the office-sitters are sheltered from the sun in their daily routines, they are able to preserve lighter complexions. In a word, dark skin usually comes from bitter labor, which equals lower class, and less privilege.
In the US, people associate suntan with outdoor sports or beach vacations. A tan is only sexy when it’s displayed on well-groomed skin, and accompanied by leisurely manner and trendy attire. An often heard compliment to a tan goes: “Look like you got some sun. Back from a vacation?” Those who look pale, in contrast, often are scorned as being “office slaves.” So the poor and pale toil away in front of computers, while the wealthy and tanned sprawl on the beach and sip tropic drinks.
Therefore, my theory is that both Chinese and Americans associate beauty with privilege.
All that said, I still relish in my skin-deep pleasure when Americans adore my permanent tan. Last week, when I was lingering in front of a skin-care product counter in a Chinese store, the sales assistant touted to me all sorts of whitening lotions. I said: “I don’t want to be whitened,” and walked away. It felt GOOD.
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