To some, it was a shock to see the "girl next door" suddenly displaying so much flesh, and an affront to accepted standards of propriety. To others, the return of the beauty contest to Taiwan was an event long overdue, and one more symbol of the growing internationalization of all segments of society.
Originally canceled in order to allow "devotion to other more urgent and serious tasks," the return of beauty contests to the ROC indicates for more than a governmental decision on participate in a highly visible public activity; it represents altered grassroots perceptions of self.
Such changes are already clear in the world of high fashion, for example, where the latest styles are no longer viewed as simply a product line that can earn more foreign exchange in overseas markets. People on the street in Taipei, Taiwan, or Kaohsiung want the same selections of contemporary styles for themselves, and they have the money to buy them—whether locally made or imported from New York, Paris, or Tokyo.
But buying stylish clothes and accessories is only the first step. How should they be worn? What are the appropriate combinations that indicate savoir-faire? The so-called "whirlwind of beauties," who in recent months were participations in this year's beauty contests, served to raise new questions about local perceptions of feminine beauty.
But this is nothing new. Evaluating female beauty has long history in China, and the recent series of beauty contests, which culminated in the Miss Universe Pageant on May 24, is only the most recent manifestation.
As Taiwan residents watched the Miss Universe contestants on stage and during local promotional activities, they could not help but feel the subtle impact of cultural interaction, even conflict, taking place. Chinese contestants were competing, especially in the swimsuit portions, in a purely foreign contest with rules quite alien to their own culture.
But the non-Chinese contestants had their problems as well, especially when trying to look demure in publicity photos while wearing chipao, which is not cut in a style generally flattering to the shape and bone structure of non-Asians. And when the Western contestants were asked to sign their names using a Chinese brush instead of a Parker pen, there often was even more confusion.
Probably no scene in the Miss Universe contest carried more symbolic baggage than the opening ceremony, when the contestants wore their national costumes. Behind them on the stage backdrop, written in gigantic calligraphic script, was the Ode to the Goddess of the Lo River by the famous poet Tsao Chih (192-232 A.D.). One of the best known classical poems dedicated to a beautiful lady, Tsao's lines raised pertinent questions in the minds of many pageant observers: Do universal standards of beauty exist? With what kind of beauty should today's Chinese women identify?
Good arguments can be made for varied standards of beauty, female or otherwise. If one is talking, for instance, about the varied colors, shapes, and fragrance of flowers, can it be said that a rose is prettier than a chrysanthemum or an orchid? So it is with human beings. Each race has divergent biological features and cultural backgrounds, and develops its own particular standards of beauty. Is curly blonde hair more beautiful than kinky black hair or wavy red? How can they be compared meaningfully?
The Chinese, like other cultures and peoples of the world, have developed their own particular concepts of beauty through the centuries. Despite periods of racial mixing, these perceptions have evolved in step with the general characteristics of Mongoloid features. Those aspects most often commented upon in the standard anthropological literature on the subject include the following: black, straight, and relatively coarser hair; yellow or brownish skin; dark brown and almond-shaped eyes, which are not too close together and are somewhat slanted; a lower and flatter nose bridge; a flat face with higher cheekbones; less body hair; shorter limbs; and a height in the 5'5" range.
But these dispassionate categories are filled with centuries of analysis and evaluation by those interested in qualitative distinctions in the field of feminine beauty. For generations, Chinese men of letters and artists have immortalized their ideal images of female beauty. Not surprisingly, these have varied over time, just as the concepts of feminine beauty in the West have gone through frequent alteration and even radical change.
The earliest recorded depiction of female beauty is found in The Book of Poetry, one of the most ancient of Chinese classics, compiled by Confucius, but including odes that date as early as the second millennium B.C. In one memorable poem, the noble lady Chuang Chiang, is described in a series of similes conveying an early perception of feminine beauty, and one that has endured:
Like blades of white grass were her fingers fine;
Her skin like purest ointment hard congealed;
Her neck like larvae on the tree which shine
So long and white. Her opening lips revealed
Her even teeth, behind their screen concealed,
Like melon seeds. Her forehead cicada-square,
Displayed her eyebrows curved upon its field,
Like the antennae of a silkworm moth; and dimples rare,
With dark and lucid eyes, showed face beyond compare.
While Western males may find it difficult to be enraptured by thoughts of kissing a larval neck, such shortcomings are the product of cultural ignorance. If familiar with the flora, fauna, and fungi of ancient China, and the similarly delicate imagery found in subsequent volumes of Chinese poetry, responses to eyebrows like moths would be quite different, that is, more refined.
Sung Yu, a poet during the Warring States Period (403-222 B.C.), portrays a beauty with such a perfect figure that "if she were an inch taller, she would be too tall, an inch shorter, too short; her complexion glows like snow which powder would make too white, rouge too pink. Her eyebrows resemble green feathers, her waist slender as a roll of cloth, her teeth like mother-of-pearl." Here the imagery is perhaps more universally understandable, except for the eyebrows again.
Tung Meng-mei, a contemporary Chinese artist who specializes in painting ladies and Buddhist figures, draws upon abstract as well as factual standards of traditional Chinese beauties. "From the Chinese medical point of view," Tung says, "a woman begins adolescence at the age of 14. But she does not exhibit her charm thoroughly until 16, as captured in the expression 'two eights make a beauty' (compare 'sweet sixteen' in the West). Generally speaking, a woman between 16 and 20 is in full bloom."
Traditional aesthetics say that five, six, or six and a half heads should ideally equal a lady's height if she is properly proportioned. But the shape found between temples and toes has varied over the centuries. In some periods, the plumper women were, the better; at other times, slimmer women shifted male pulses into high gear.
Chao Fei-yen of the Han Dynasty (206 B.C.-219 A.D.) was considered so slender and delicate that she gained the reputation of being well-versed "in dancing upon the palm of a hand," a physical lightness that brought her to the admiring attention of Emperor Cheng, who made her one of his favorites. In full contrast, well-rounded Yang Yu-huan (719-756 A.D.), a beloved consort of Emperor Hsuan Tsung of the Tang Dynasty (618-907 A.D.), represented an aesthetic standard that honored more substantial physical size, which some would say fit the affluent and prosperous dynastic period.
The Tang rulers were descended from the strong and healthy northern tribes of China, and the times saw considerable interracial marriage, bringing about altered features in the Chinese race. Wooden and ceramic figures of Tang women are distinguished by their heavy make-up, plunging necklines, and general plumpness.
The phrase "slim Yen and fat Huan", the shorthand names for Chao Fei-yen and Yang Yu-huan, have long been used to refer to Chinese women who are appealing in a variety of ways.
Just as a woman might admire the broad and muscular shoulders of a man, the narrow and sloping shoulders of a woman indicate her delicacy. Long before weight lifting, bodybuilding, and Jane Fonda aerobic workouts became the female macho things to do, "delicacy" carried connotations far beyond "weakness." It meant a demure and gentle manner, in traditional times considered both appealing and appropriate. Thus, males put great stock in the thin and flexible "willow waist". But as the contemporary Western emphasis on a large female superstructure is often overdone, there were extremes in early China as well. As one tale goes, the Emperor Wu during the Warring States Period loved tiny waists, so many women in his harem forced themselves on such extreme diets that some literally starved to death.
Chinese painters like to give a lady a "goose-egg" or "melon-seed" face. Eyebrows (those ubiquitous moths) were considered a sign that revealed one's personality. Besides insect comparisons, willow leaf shapes were also desirable. Elsewhere on the goose-egg face, the eyes certainly offer a contrast to forms of beauty found elsewhere in the world. Although Westerners are likely to stereotype Chinese as having the narrow and upward-slanting "phoenix eyes", these are in fact not common throughout the Chinese populace, as standing on any Taipei street corner can verify. According to artist Tung, "phoenix eyes" have always been "rare cases," and as a result were favored both by painters and general aesthetes.
An ideal nose for a Chinese lady should resemble a "pendent gall" —yes, as in gall bladder—and should have "a rounded tip," quite different from "Western noses in the Chinese eye." Right. Certainly the imagery is clearer to pre-medical students, but if Westerners can "wear their hearts on their sleeves," there is no reason why Chinese cannot "wear galls on their faces. "
Off and on through the centuries, Chinese women sought to make their mouths look like "a small cherry" with their make-up; the illusion was made more effective by smiling with closed lips, roughly like the subtle Mona Lisa smile. Those who viewed "The Last Emperor," saw examples of this lipstick style in a couple of scenes, including the one where Pu-Yi is sorting through the photographs of potential wives.
Other physical comparisons indicate the level of economic development. When fair skin is compared to "fat congealed in cold weather, white, fine and slightly transparent," the pre-refrigerator era of Chinese cooking is clearly evident.
Chinese women's attire was traditionally designed to reveal a combined beauty of repose and mobility. Hairpins serve as a good example. While an elegant woman was expected to be quiet and demure, avoiding excessive motion, the slightly trembling hairpins she wore rendered a touch of liveliness to her demeanor. The same functions were performed by the extended, wavelike "water sleeves" of her gowns, subtle adjustments of her silk shawl, and the movements and sounds from jade pendants attached to her externally wrapped girdle.
Even footbinding was initiated to make women walk with a wavering, enticing motion. This notoriously inhumane custom began around the Five Dynasties Period (907-959 A.D.). With the feet bound and toes deformed, a woman's bosom and hips would become more prominent as she painfully stood and walked. And properly done footbinding, begun around eight years of age, was regarded as a sign of good family discipline. The "lotus feet" became an erotic high for generations of Chinese males.
Of a more enduring, and less painful, nature is the honor paid to the reserved, controlled air conveyed by a shy face and demure smile. Tung says this has been a theme found in centuries of Chinese painting. A familiar motif has a lovely lady's shy face matched with the moon veiled by cloud or a flower in bud. Similar images often appear in poetry, such as a famous poem by Pai Chu-yi of the Tang Dynasty, where a female entertainer, after hearing hundreds of appeals from an admiring audience, finally reappears with her face partially hidden behind a four-stringed guitar she holds in slender, delicate fingers.
Beyond the physical criteria of beauty, there are of course many other essentials. "A woman would not be considered attractive without harboring inner grace," Tung says, "so an ideal mate for a gentleman should have a combination of physical charm and inner virtue." Traditional Chinese women demonstrated their other graces through skills such as music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. Much more could be said of these attainments, for in times ancient and modern the attraction of physical appearance alone was far from a sufficient definition of beauty.
Contemporary Chinese women are as aware of their heritage of "beauty" as are men, but both sexes are facing a period of redefinition in Taiwan. Events such as the reinstated beauty contests force rethinking that is already underway because of the expanded numbers of foreign TV programs, magazines, and advertisements inundating the island. But how does Max Factor fit in with the Book of Poetry? Is the ideal woman still 5' 5" tall?
Although Tung has painted "traditional women," he personally prefers women who are somewhat taller and healthier looking. He rejects the heavy make-up tradition of the Tang—and of today among some more adventurous types. "A natural look expresses individual personality better," he says. In order not to appear too chauvinistic, he quickly adds, "Of course, inner charm is the most attractive part of a woman, and the most enduring."
Liu Shiu-man, was a beauty queen in the final years of local competition over two decades ago, becoming the 1962 Miss China and the third runner-up of that year's Miss Universe Pageant in Miami. She is happy to see the revival of beauty contests in the ROC, but does not think Miss China is really the fairest of the fair. "We just choose a girl scoring the highest number of points among the local contestants. Then she participates in an international activity which is exposed to media attention as intense as the Olympics," she says.
Liu has her own ideas about contemporary concepts of beauty: "Compared to Westerners, Chinese women enjoy more tender, gentle, sweet, and fine features; and a modern Chinese beauty should represent the characteristics of self-confidence, health, tolerance, and amiability—these are reflections of her heart and culture."
The fame brought by her beauty queen crown was not disruptive. Although Liu was grateful for the experience, it did not impose excessive pressure on her life. Now a mother of two children and an active businesswoman, she says: "The contests enabled me to have a chance to see the outside world, and to compare myself with others. I became more humble and tolerant, because there was always someone better than 1."
Shen Shueh-yung, a veteran music educator in Taiwan, was a member of the panel of judges for this year's Miss China Contest, and was also the chaperone of the ROC representative to the 1961 Miss World Pageant. She says "Beauty contests are one of the activities to be accepted in a free and diverse society, but excessive fuss and bother should be avoided."
In this year's judging, Shen says she put greatest importance on the contestants' "deportment, disposition, speaking ability, and wit." Since the winner was to compete with Western contestants, "height and proportion had to be taken into consideration as well."
"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," says Tad Tadlock, choreographer for the 1988 Miss Universe Pageant and a frequent visitor to Taiwan. "The concept of beauty varies considerably in different parts of the world, and each individual has a different ideal image of beauty. There are so many ways and possibilities to be beautiful that a contest is really subjective."
But Asian criteria for beauty are taking root in the West. "Western beauties today tend to have luxuriant hair, slim shapes, and a more natural look with subtle make-up. This compares well with an Asian beauty that is not only outer, but inner—a kind of inner calm. This is why Chinese, Thai, and Japanese models are now in greater demand in the West," Tadlock says.
There are in fact universals in the realm of feminine beauty, at least according to Rosemary Raven, a British journalist who has spent two and a half years observing ROC society: "There are universal standards of beauty which surmount ethnic and temporal fashions, and the basis of this lies in proportion. As any figure drawer knows, the human body has fixed proportions. For instance, seven heads make the whole height, the hand covers the face, the distance from nose tip to top of the forehead is the same as from nose tip to chin, and so on. Large eyes and smooth, healthy skin seem to have been universally admired in time and place too. Above all, radiant health and confidence are also constants contributing to beauty—actually in both sexes."
There are differences as well. "Despite the present fad for slimness to the point of emaciation, Western beauty tends to be more voluptuous than that in Asia, while Asians are daintier and more delicate than in the West," Raven says. "Western skins have higher coloring, but Asian skin usually has a finer texture and more even creaminess." While Raven is quick to indicate that her own observations are often contradicted by others who argue just as forcefully for other standards, "there always is common ground on the desirability of going beyond mere physical analysis of 'beauty. ",
"Beauty reflects a loving heart." This was the theme for the 1988 Miss China Beauty Contest. In a phrase, it cuts to the heart of the concept, both traditional and modern. Despite the difficulty of defining the elusive and controversial concept of beauty, this quite effectively grasps one idea that definitely appeals to both East and West.