LEMAIRE’s latest fragrance campaign featured an image that sparked immediate outrage among Chinese netizens in late April. The visual showed a long black braid (the brand claimed it was a woven linen incense accessory) hanging beside a traditional long gown, with a pair of shiny silver scissors positioned right next to the tail of the braid. The model posed with the braid held backward, creating a composition where the scissors seemed aimed at the hair. This combination—black braid, scissors, and traditional clothing—was quickly interpreted by Chinese viewers as a deliberate reference to the humiliating “haircut and costume change” policy imposed during colonial times.
The brand swiftly deleted the posts and pulled the materials, issuing an apology on April 26 that claimed “insufficient consideration of perception differences across cultural contexts.” But for many, that explanation did little to calm the anger—because what had been touched was not an abstract sensitivity, but a collective historical wound spanning over three centuries.
The Loaded Trio
A braid alone is just a hairstyle. A long gown is common traditional wear. A pair of scissors is a daily tool. But when placed together in a certain way, these three ordinary items become a devastating combination that drills directly into a painful past. During the 19th century, colonial illustrators often used exactly this imagery—a long braid paired with scissors or a blade—to mock Chinese people as the “sick man of East Asia”. In LEMAIRE’s campaign, the braid was styled after the Qing dynasty pattern, the gown was cut in a traditional silhouette, and the scissors were pointed straight at the end of the braid. It was hard for Chinese viewers not to see echoes of the forced tonsure and clothing reforms imposed after the Manchu conquest, as well as the later colonial-era humiliation when cutting off the braid became a symbol of submission.
Why does this particular combination hit so hard? Because for the Chinese, the braid is not just a historical hairstyle. It carries the memory of an order issued in the 17th century: “Keep your hair or keep your head.” Millions were forced to shave their foreheads and grow a queue under threat of death. Later, during the late Qing and Republican periods, cutting off the braid became a revolutionary act—but also one that foreign powers used to degrade and humiliate. Western cartoonists of the time drew Chinese men with long braids being snipped by foreign scissors, implying a nation too weak to defend its own dignity. So when a French fashion brand recreates that exact visual, the reaction is not “oversensitivity”—it’s a reflex born from centuries of recorded trauma.
It’s similar to how Western brands would never casually pair a Star of David with a bar of soap, or place a Black person next to a cotton field. Those symbols carry real historical suffering, not disposable “aesthetic concepts.” LEMAIRE’s defense—that it was merely a “perception gap”—sounds hollow precisely because it ignores this basic truth. The offense was not invented by angry netizens; it was built into the image by a history that fashion marketers should have taken the time to learn.
Repeat Offender
This was not LEMAIRE’s first brush with such controversy. Earlier in the same year, the brand released a Year of the Horse limited edition that also featured braid-related imagery, which had already drawn criticism from Chinese consumers. At that time, the brand received clear warnings that such designs were problematic. Yet here it was again, just months later, with an even more explicit combination of braid, scissors, and traditional gown. It becomes very difficult to explain this as an innocent “cultural oversight” when the company had already been alerted to the sensitivity of the braid symbol.
What makes the situation worse is the tone of the apology. LEMAIRE stated that it “failed to fully consider the differences in perception across cultural contexts,” effectively shifting the blame to the audience. The implication is that Chinese viewers simply interpreted the image wrongly, that their historical memory caused them to see something that wasn’t there. But that’s a convenient evasion. When a brand knowingly or negligently reproduces a colonial caricature, the problem is not in the viewer’s eyes—it is in the creator’s lack of responsibility. Good-faith mistakes happen, but a repeat appearance of a flagged symbol, followed by a non-apology, suggests something closer to calculated provocation or sheer indifference.
The brand’s apology also lacked any acknowledgment of the specific history involved. It did not mention the Qing dynasty’s hair decree, nor did it reference the colonial-era stereotypes. Instead, it offered vague language about “cultural contexts,” as if the issue were a minor misunderstanding between two equally valid readings. But some readings are not equally valid when one side carries the weight of actual massacre and forced assimilation. LEMAIRE’s response was essentially a corporate shrug—and that is precisely why the public anger did not subside after the statement was released.
Red Line for Global Brands
Some online commenters have argued that the reaction to LEMAIRE’s campaign was overblown. “It’s just a piece of art,” they say, “stop being so sensitive.” But this argument misses the point entirely. No society that values its own history would tolerate the trivialization of its foundational traumas. The braid-and-scissors image is not abstract art; it is a specific historical insult that was weaponized against the Chinese people for generations. For a foreign brand to use it as a decorative motif in a perfume advertisement is not edgy—it is deeply disrespectful, whether intentional or not.
Brands that wish to succeed in the Chinese market, or simply to operate globally with integrity, must learn that respect is not optional. It is a baseline requirement. This does not mean avoiding any reference to history or culture—many Chinese consumers appreciate thoughtful cross-cultural designs. But there is a clear line between inspiration and exploitation. Using a symbol of colonial humiliation as a visual gimmick for a luxury product crosses that line. LEMAIRE’s excuse of “perception differences” would be laughable if it were not so insulting: it reduces a three-hundred-year history of violence to a mere mismatch of aesthetic tastes.
At the end of the day, this controversy is not about opposing a single French brand. It is about protecting a collective memory that cannot and should not be forgotten—or, worse, turned into a marketing tool. Chinese netizens are not asking for special treatment; they are asking for basic human decency. Do not take our historical wounds and style them into a window display. Do not turn our ancestors’ forced haircuts into a hipster accessory. And when you are called out, do not hide behind vague talk of “cultural differences.” A real apology would have been simple: “We made a mistake. We used an image that we now understand represents a painful history. We are sorry, and we will do better.” That is the only acceptable standard—for LEMAIRE, and for any other global brand that wants to earn the trust of Chinese consumers.