Can a simple costume design from a historical drama truly bridge the gap between ancient divinity and modern pop culture? When Bai Lu (白鹿) appeared in the upcoming drama The First Jasmine (莫离) wearing a layered ensemble of a Beizi (褙子, Chinese open-front long jacket) and a Duijin Shanqun (对襟衫裙), the internet took notice.
The look was immediately praised for its “divine beauty,” drawing direct visual comparisons to the celestial beings depicted in ancient Chinese murals. It’s a striking parallel that prompts a deeper question: is this merely a coincidence of fashion, or a deliberate, calculated nod to a cultural archetype that has persisted for millennia? The answer leads us to the very foundation of Chinese clothing, a system that has dressed emperors, commoners, and gods alike.
Imperial Origins and Universal Wear
The core of this aesthetic lies in a principle known as Shangyi Xiachang (上衣下裳), which simply means “upper garment, lower skirt.” This is not just a style; it is the fundamental blueprint for traditional Chinese attire. The system dictates a clear separation between the top and bottom, creating a distinct visual balance that has proven remarkably durable. The outfit Bai Lu wears, with its inner jacket, contrasting red and blue hues, and a practical Ban Bo (襻膊, a strap used to tie up sleeves for work), is a direct descendant of this ancient template. It proves that even the most basic forms can be adapted to feel fresh and character-specific.
What’s particularly fascinating about this Shangyi Xiachang structure is its social universality. This wasn’t a garment reserved for a single class; it was the great equalizer of ancient Chinese wardrobes. At the highest echelons of power, it took the form of the emperor’s Mianfu (冕服), a ceremonial robe worn for sacrificial rites. From the Xia and Shang dynasties through the Ming and Qing, this robe maintained the dark upper garment and reddish lower skirt, adorned with the “Twelve Ornaments” — twelve distinct symbols of imperial authority. At the same time, for the common folk, the same structural principle was found in their everyday Hanfu. The curved-collar ruqun of the Han and Jin dynasties, the high-waisted skirts of the Tang, and the elegant jackets of the Song were all variations on this same timeless theme. It was a form that suited both the grandeur of a throne and the simplicity of a farmer’s life.
Murals, Deities, and Enduring Aesthetics
This brings us back to the celestial realm. Why did ancient artists, when tasked with depicting heavenly beings, so consistently clothe them in this same fundamental style? The logic is surprisingly pragmatic. To make the divine relatable, painters incorporated the most familiar and emblematic clothing of their own time. The Shangyi Xiachang structure was the visual shorthand for “proper attire.” It was the most dignified and recognizable form they knew. But to transform a mere mortal garment into a celestial one, it required the addition of two key elements: a flowing Pi Bo (披帛, a long silk scarf) and intricate Ying Luo (璎珞, a type of necklace or ornate jewelry).
The Shangyi Xiachang provided the dignified foundation, but the flowing Pi Bo injected the necessary sense of ethereal movement, making the figure look as though it were floating on air. The Ying Luo added a sense of ritual and solemnity, distinguishing the immortal from the human. This combination created a powerful visual formula: the structural stability of the skirt and jacket, combined with the dynamic, airy lightness of the scarf. It’s a formula perfectly captured by the brush of the legendary Tang Dynasty painter Wu Daozi (吴道子), whose depictions of gods and heavenly processions remain the gold standard for this aesthetic. The lines are fluid, and the figures seem to move with a divine grace that is both inspiring and serene.
A Formula for Modern Screens
The genius of this system, however, lies not just in its history, but in its inherent harmony. The “golden ratio” of the Shangyi Xiachang shape — narrower on top, wider and flowing below — has a flattering effect on nearly every body type. It creates an illusion of grace and poise, a silhouette that feels both elegant and approachable. This is why it has proven so durable. The specific styles may have shifted over the centuries, from the tang-style jacket and skirt to the Song dynasty Beizi and the Ming dynasty Ao Qun (袄裙), but the core principle remained unshaken. It is a classic, and classics are timeless.
In the context of modern historical dramas, this classic nature has made the Shangyi Xiachang the most reliable “hit” in the costume designer’s toolkit. Bai Lu’s appearance in The First Jasmine, and similar styles seen in her other works like Feud (临江仙), is a testament to its continued relevance. When a modern audience sees this silhouette, it’s not just about appreciating a beautiful piece of clothing. It triggers a deep-seated recognition, a collective memory of a shared cultural history. It connects the character on screen to thousands of years of artistic tradition and everyday life. Her portrayal in the Beizi and jacket-skirt combo taps into this profound, resonant chord. It’s more than just a costume; it’s a symbol of a continuous cultural thread. And when we see her dressed this way, we instinctively feel that connection, understanding that some aesthetic truths are simply eternal. What do you think? Does this classic look evoke a sense of timeless beauty for you, too?