when your culture becomes a 'trending' aesthetic.
A note on 'mandarin jackets' and what cultural appreciation actually looks like (& how to do it properly). A Chinese-Australian's perspective on fashion's latest obsession with Asian aesthetics.
I was scrolling through the fashion trend forecasts of 2026 when I stopped cold.
There it was: a traditional Chinese silhouette, labelled confidently as a “mandarin jacket”. Videos calling it “a trend”, “a niche trend”, “quiet luxury”, “Elevated minimalism”.
When I looked further, I found it everywhere. European fashion houses. Quiet luxury brands. Fast fashion retailers. All selling variations of the same silhouette — the Tang jacket (唐装 táng zhuāng) my grandmother wore, the cheongsam or qipao (旗袍 qípáo) I grew up seeing at family gatherings — without a single mention of China or Chinese culture.
As an Australian-born-Chinese, I feel conflicted.
And I want to talk about why.
The Joy and the Grief
Let me be clear about something: I am genuinely happy to see elements of Chinese fashion entering the mainstream.
For years, Asian aesthetics in Western fashion existed in one of two categories: costume or exotic. The cheongsam was something you wore to a themed party or to a school cultural day. Our silhouettes were interesting enough to reference but too foreign to respect.
So when I see these same silhouettes appearing on runways and in trend reports (with little to no acknowledgement of Chinese culture) —normalised, celebrated, desired — part of me feels seen. Part of me thinks: finally.
But another part of me feels something harder to name.
It’s the grief of watching an element of my culture become … a trending aesthetic. It’s the frustration of seeing my culture worn without understanding. It’s the specific ache of growing up embarrassed by your heritage, only to watch it become “cool” once it’s been filtered through Western approval.
When I was a child, I dreaded Lunar New Year. Not the celebration itself: the red envelopes, the family dinners, the firecrackers. I dreaded the outfit. The traditional clothes my parents dressed me in felt foreign, even though they were my own culture. I wanted to look like everyone else. I wanted to blend in.
Now those same silhouettes are being sold as 2026’s hottest fashion trend for hundreds to thousands of dollars. The same aesthetic I was embarrassed by is suddenly “chic.”
I should feel vindicated. Instead, I feel something closer to whiplash.
The Problem With “Mandarin Jacket”
Let’s start with the terminology, because it reveals everything.
“Mandarin jacket” is not a Chinese term. It’s not even an accurate term. It’s a Western construction that conflates several distinct garments and flattens thousands of years of sartorial history into a single, vaguely Oriental-sounding phrase.
Here’s what’s actually happening:
The Tang Jacket (唐装, Táng zhuāng)
The jacket silhouette currently trending — with the Mandarin collar and frog button closures (盤扣, pánkòu) — is a Tang jacket. Named after the Tang Dynasty (618-907 AD), this style represents over a thousand years of Chinese fashion evolution. It’s not a nameless “mandarin” anything. It has a name. It has history.
The Qipao/Cheongsam (旗袍, Qípáo)
The form-fitting dress with the high collar and side slits is a qipao (Mandarin) or cheongsam (Cantonese). It evolved in 1920s Shanghai, blending traditional Manchu dress with Western tailoring influences. It’s a symbol of Chinese femininity, modernity, and cultural pride.
The Mandarin Collar (立領, Lǐlǐng)
“Mandarin collar” actually refers to a specific collar style — the standing band collar without a fold. This terminology, at least, has some accuracy. But a collar style is not a jacket.
So when fashion calls a Tang jacket a “mandarin jacket,” what’s actually happening?
The industry is borrowing the aesthetic while erasing the specificity. It’s taking the look without learning the language. It’s the sartorial equivalent of calling all Asian food “Oriental cuisine” — a flattening that reveals ignorance dressed as sophistication.
The West is naming our clothes with words we never used.
A Brief History of Fashion’s Orientalism
This isn’t new. Western fashion has a long, uncomfortable history with Asian aesthetics.
The Chinoiserie Era (17th-18th Century)
European fascination with China produced “chinoiserie” — a decorative style that borrowed Chinese visual motifs (pagodas, dragons, cherry blossoms) while creating a fantastical, fictional “Orient” that had little to do with actual Chinese culture. It was appreciation filtered through projection. Europe wasn’t interested in understanding China; it was interested in consuming an idea of China.
The Orientalist Runway (20th Century)
Fashion designers from Paul Poiret to Yves Saint Laurent have drawn on Asian aesthetics for over a century. Some did so with genuine research and respect. Many did not. The “Chinese collection” became a recurring trope—a way to signal exoticism and artistry without engaging with actual Chinese designers, communities, or traditions.
The 2015 Met Gala: “China: Through the Looking Glass”
The Met’s 2015 exhibition and accompanying gala was supposed to celebrate Chinese influence on Western fashion. Instead, it highlighted the gap between inspiration and understanding. Many attendees wore costumes rather than fashion — yellow face, chopsticks in hair, stereotypical “geisha” looks that weren’t even Chinese. The exhibition was criticised for presenting a Western fantasy of China rather than engaging with Chinese designers and perspectives.
The 2018 Dolce & Gabbana Disaster
When Dolce & Gabbana released promotional videos showing a Chinese model struggling to eat Italian food with chopsticks, accompanied by a stereotypical “Chinese” voiceover, the backlash was immediate and severe. The brand’s Shanghai fashion show was cancelled. Chinese retailers pulled their products. It was a stark reminder that fashion’s engagement with Asian culture often oscillates between fetishisation and mockery.
This is the context the “mandarin jacket” trend exists within. It’s not a blank slate. It’s the latest chapter in a long story of extraction without credit, fascination without understanding, profit without reciprocity.
The Economics of Cultural Extraction
Here’s something that doesn’t get discussed enough: who profits when culture becomes trend?
When a European luxury house sells a Tang jacket-inspired piece for €2,000, the money flows to shareholders in Europe. When fast fashion produces a “mandarin collar top” for $40, the profit goes to corporations in the USA.
Meanwhile, Asian designers who’ve been creating these silhouettes for generations (i.e. rooted in actual cultural knowledge, often using traditional techniques) are categorised as “niche.” They’re not featured in the same trend reports. They don’t get the same marketing budgets. They’re not stocked in the same department stores.
The asymmetry is staggering.
Western fashion gets to extract the aesthetic and own the narrative. Asian designers get to watch their heritage become someone else’s “discovery.”
This isn’t a new dynamic. Scholar Minh-Ha T. Pham has written extensively about fashion’s racial capitalism — the way the industry extracts value from communities of colour while excluding them from profit and credit. The “mandarin jacket” trend is a textbook case.
What Cultural Appreciation Actually Looks Like
I want to be very clear: I’m not arguing that only Chinese people should wear Chinese fashion.
Culture has always moved, mixed, blended, evolved. Borders have never been sealed containers. Some of the most interesting fashion happens at cultural intersections.
But there’s a difference between appreciation and appropriation. And the difference isn’t mystical or subjective.
It’s actually quite concrete:
Give Credit
Appreciation names the source. It says: “This silhouette comes from Chinese fashion tradition. It’s called a Tang jacket.” Appropriation erases the source. It says: “This is a mandarin jacket. It’s the new quiet luxury trend.”
Understand the Context and History
Appreciation engages with meaning. It understands that the qipao evolved in a specific historical moment, that the Tang jacket carries cultural significance, that these garments are not just shapes but symbols. Appropriation flattens meaning. It treats culture as aesthetic resource to be mined.
Question Compensation
Appreciation directs resources toward origin communities. It asks: who should benefit from this cultural exchange? Are we supporting Asian designers? Are we acknowledging Asian contributions to fashion? Appropriation extracts without return. It profits from culture without investing in the people who created it.
This isn’t about gatekeeping. It’s about respect. And respect has tangible markers.
What I’m Asking For
I’m not asking fashion to stop being inspired by Chinese aesthetics. I’m not asking non-Chinese people to avoid these silhouettes.
I’m asking for something simpler: intention.
Learn the real names.
It’s a Tang jacket. 唐装. It features pankou i.e. frog button closures. If you’re going to wear it, design it, or sell it, know what it’s called. The specificity matters. It’s the difference between engagement and erasure.
Acknowledge the source.
A single line in the product description. A mention in the trend report. “Inspired by traditional Chinese Tang jacket silhouettes.” It costs nothing. It changes everything. Credit is free.
Support Asian designers.
If you want to participate in this aesthetic, consider where you buy. There are extraordinary Asian designers — both heritage houses and emerging talents — who have been creating these silhouettes with cultural knowledge and artisanal skill for decades. Your money is a vote. Vote for the people who actually understand what they’re making. Scroll down for a list of my favourite Asian designers.
Stop the “trend” framing.
If you’re a fashion writer, editor, or content creator: push back on the “trend” language. These aren’t trends. They’re cultural garments with deep histories. The way we talk about fashion shapes how it’s understood. Language is not neutral.
Fashion’s trend cycle is designed for disposability. Something is “in” for a season, then “out.” The whole system depends on constant churn.
When you call a Tang jacket a “trend,” you’re implicitly framing it for disposal. You’re suggesting it has an expiration date. You’re positioning thousand-year-old cultural heritage as something that can (and should) be discarded when the next season arrives.
The language of trends is fundamentally incompatible with the language of culture. Culture doesn’t expire. Culture isn’t “over.” Culture evolves, but it persists.
When fashion reduces Chinese garments to trends, it’s not celebrating Chinese fashion. It’s consuming it. And consumption, by definition, destroys what it takes.
Lunar New Year Is Coming
As I write this, we’re approaching Lunar New Year: the most significant holiday in Chinese culture.
Across the diaspora, families will gather. We’ll wear red. We’ll exchange hongbao. Many of us will dress in traditional clothing — the same Tang jackets and qipao that are now appearing on Western runways.
For us, these garments aren’t aesthetic choices. They’re connections to ancestors, to homeland, to identity. They carry the weight of memory. They signify belonging.
So when I see them stripped of context and sold as “quiet luxury,” I feel something complicated. I feel the joy of visibility and the grief of extraction. I feel proud that Chinese aesthetics are being celebrated and frustrated that Chinese people are being erased from the celebration.
Both things are true. Both things matter.
A Living List: Asian Designers to Support
If you want to engage with Asian fashion aesthetics intentionally, start here. These are designers who bring cultural knowledge, artisanal craft, and authentic perspective to their work.
This list is living — I’ll continue adding to it based on my own research and from your comments on this video. If you have favourites I’ve missed, leave a comment.
Sau Lee — Founded by Hong Kong-based designer, Cheryl Leung, Sau Lee draws ispiration from Chinese culture and heritage to create modern, feminine designs that blend Eastern traditions with contemporary style
Shushu/Tong — Founded by designers Liushu Lei and Yutong Jiang, Shushu/Tong blends Chinese femininity with avant-garde silhouettes. Romantic, subversive, distinctly Chinese.
Edition — The wardrobe of the ‘gentle woman’
Sandy Liang — This Chinese American’s playful and fashion forward designs draw inspiration from her upbringing in New York by Chinese grandmothers
Uma Wang — Known for her artisanal approach, layered silhouettes, and textural richness. Uma Wang creates wearable art that draws on Chinese aesthetic philosophy without resorting to literal references.
LEO LIN — A Sydney-based womenswear brand known for blending the founder’s Chinese heritage with Australian art and culture. They have the most beautiful Lunar New Year capsules.
Anna Quan — Vietnamese-Australian label with next-level tailoring and modern silhouettes.
Huong Boutique — Based in Hanoi, Huong Boutique’s collection of resort, ready-to-wear and bridal pieces blend structure with softness, with inspiration drawn from Vietnamese culture.
Shanghai Tang — The OG of contemporary Chinese luxury. Founded in 1994, Shanghai Tang has been creating elevated Tang jackets, qipao, and Chinese-inspired pieces for three decades.
Blanc de Chine — Understated, artisanal, rooted in Chinese philosophy and craftsmanship. If you want the Tang jacket silhouette done right, start here.
Cult of 9 — Built on Chinese craftsmanship passed down through generations, Cult of 9 is an independent, slow-fashion brand using natural and reclaimed materials to create unique garments thoughtfully constructed to last. The brand envisions reframing ‘Made in China’ as a mark of skill, intention, and uncompromising quality.
URBAN REVIVO — A more affordable, everyday Chinese brand (aka. the Zara of China)
Final Thought
My culture is not a trend.
It’s not a seasonal aesthetic. It’s not a “look” to be adopted and discarded. It’s thousands of years of history, artistry, meaning, and memory.
I want Chinese fashion to be celebrated. I want these silhouettes normalised rather than exoticised. I want to walk into any store and see Tang jackets without having to explain why they matter.
But I want that celebration to come with credit. With context. With care.
That’s not a high bar. It’s the bare minimum.
If you’re going to wear another culture, know what it’s called. Know where it comes from. And consider buying it from someone who actually understands it.
That’s what appreciation looks like.
Everything else is just extraction with better lighting.
恭喜發財. Wishing you prosperity this upcoming Lunar New Year.
Did this resonate? Share it with someone who needs to read it. And drop your favourite Asian designers in the comments — I’ll keep adding to the list.
Further Reading (for the overeducated girlies)
On Fashion and Cultural Appropriation:
Minh-Ha T. Pham, “Why Fashion Should Stop Trying to Be Diverse” — on racial capitalism in fashion
Edward Said, “Orientalism” — the foundational text on Western constructions of the East
Tanisha C. Ford, “Liberated Threads” — on fashion, race, and identity
On Chinese Fashion History:
Antonia Finnane, “Changing Clothes in China” — comprehensive history of Chinese dress
Juanjuan Wu, “Chinese Fashion: From Mao to Now” — modern Chinese fashion evolution
Valerie Steele & John Major, “China Chic: East Meets West” — accompanies the Met exhibition
On Diaspora Identity:
Cathy Park Hong, “Minor Feelings” — on Asian-American identity and racial consciousness
Erin Khue Ninh, “Passing for Perfect” — on Asian-American achievement and identity
Really appreciate you writing this and sharing your perspective! That being said, the word “Tang” in Tang jacket 唐裝 actually doesn’t reference the Tang Dynasty: it’s from the Qing Dynasty and the use of the word “Tang” in this context borrows from the word that references the Chinese people: 唐人
Just wrote an article on the same topic. Everyone calling the shirwel balloon or Aladdin pants like it’s not orientalist. And that’s where something becomes appropriation and not appreciation