You have seen it a hundred times. A noblewoman in a lavish historical drama retires for the night. Her hair is still pinned in an elaborate updo, her face is fully made up, and she is wearing the same heavy, embroidered robe she wore to the imperial banquet. She simply lies down on the bed, covers herself with a blanket, and goes to sleep. It is a small moment, easily dismissed as a cinematic shortcut. But it is a historical falsehood that has quietly irritated costume drama enthusiasts for years.
The idea that ancient people slept in their day clothes is a myth as persistent as the notion that everyone in the past wore drab colors. The reality, as meticulously documented in ancient Chinese texts, is that the sleeping attire of our ancestors was a sophisticated system of garments that was both practical and elegant. It reveals a culture that valued rest as much as it valued ceremony, a world where even the private act of sleeping had its own code of dress.
The Private Wardrobe
To understand what historical figures wore to bed, one must first understand the concept of Xieyi (亵衣). The Shuowen Jiezi (说文解字), the great Han dynasty dictionary, defines it simply as “private clothing.” This does not mean underwear. A common mistake is to equate it with a bustier or a simple undergarment. The Xieyi was a garment worn between the inner, skin-tight layers and the outer formal robes. It was the dedicated clothing for sleeping and relaxing at home. It was not what people slept in; it was what people slept in. It was a separate category of clothing, and its existence proves that the concept of “loungewear” is not a modern invention.
This garment was also known as Zhongyi (衷衣). The character “Zhong” means inner or middle, accurately describing its position in the layering system. The Shiming (释名), another classic text, clarifies that it sits “outside the small garment, but inside the great robe.” This delicate layering was not just for modesty but for warmth and comfort. It was a thoughtful system. The Xieyi was a garment of transition, moving the wearer from the public sphere of the court or the street into the private world of their own room. It was a mental and physical signal that the day’s duties were done.
Practical Elegance
The most common form of the Xieyi was a cross-collared top with matching trousers or a skirt. It was practical. The cross-collar, or Jiaoling (交领), was the most popular style. Its overlapping front provided extra warmth and could be adjusted for comfort. However, there were other styles. The Duijin (对襟), or parallel-collared robe, was also worn. When a woman slept in a Duijin robe, it would often reveal a hint of the bustier underneath, which was considered a very authentic and natural look for the time. It was not meant to be provocative; it was simply the accepted way to dress for sleep.
The color of these garments was almost universally pure white. It was not a matter of fashion but of function. First, white was versatile. A person could wear the Xieyi alone at home, but also use it as an inner layer under a formal coat when going out. It was a two-in-one garment that maximized utility. Second, white made stains immediately visible. This was a crucial advantage for maintaining hygiene in an era before modern detergents. A spot of dirt or sweat could be quickly noticed and cleaned, ensuring that the garment closest to the skin remained fresh. This focus on practicality shows that ancient people were not so different from us. They valued cleanliness and efficiency.
Corrections and Misconceptions
Despite the practical elegance of the Xieyi, many historical dramas ignore it. They show actresses like Jing Tian (景甜) in the drama Si Jin (似锦) wearing a sleeveless or short-sleeved version, which could be a stylish interpretation for a woman in her chambers. But even then, it is often incomplete. In reality, a sleeveless top would have been worn over a long-sleeved undergarment. The costume designers often prioritize a “clean” look for the screen over historical accuracy.
Furthermore, it is a persistent myth that ancient women wore skirts to bed. They did not. They wore trousers. The fitted, crotched trousers were already common as early as the Warring States period. The skirts we see on screen are often purely for visual appeal, left on while the inner layers are changed. This is done for aesthetics, not history. Similarly, the heavy, wide-sleeved robes that characters frequently sleep in are pure fantasy. They are cumbersome, covered in ornaments, and utterly impractical for rest. They are designed to look beautiful in a slow-motion shot, not to help a character get a good night’s sleep. The truth is, from silk for the wealthy to cotton and hemp for the common folk, the materials were always chosen for breathability and comfort.
So, why do costume dramas spend millions on sets, hairstyles, and accessories, only to neglect the most basic detail of daily life? The answer might be simple: it is not considered dramatic. A character changing into a plain, white robe is not as visually exciting as a dramatic entrance in a golden gown. However, this neglect creates a disconnect. It makes the characters feel less like real people from the past and more like fashion dolls. The elaborate, sleepless costumes suggest a world where people are constantly performing, where even the privacy of the bedroom is a stage. In their quest for grandeur, these dramas often sacrifice the humble, humanizing details that would make their characters more relatable.
