Therefore, when I found a plain black wool jumper with a Carol Little label that looked authentic (you would not believe how many misspellings of Calvin Klein we've seen) I knew that I would buy it. I suspect this jumper falls into a category of merchandise that is said to have "fallen off the back of a truck" before it could be exported. In the eyes of the Chinese, this jumper must look like the latest in Amish fashion, but I was thrilled. I bargained fiercely and got it for 80 yuan less than the marked price. But I still paid 200 yuan (US$25), which is Miss Pi's weekly salary.

The first day I wore it to work, Mrs. Liu, the head of the waiban praised the jumper and asked how much I paid.

"A lot," I said. "I'm embarrassed to tell you how much."

"You must tell us!" ordered Miss Pi.

"200 yuan," I sheepishly admitted.

"That's not expensive!" they both exclaimed. I didn't believe them for one second. I though this answer was given to save face for someone, but I wasn't sure if it was mine or theirs.

Later, I asked my closest friend, Zhou Xueying, if spending a week's salary on one item of clothing really was as normal as Miss Pi would have me believe.

"Oh yes," she replied. "Women sometimes spend a whole month's salary on an outfit." She eyed my plain jumper, felt the fabric and added, "but I think I cold have gotten this for 150 yuan."

A few weeks later, at least some of Zhou Xueying's words were proven true. Miss Pi spent her entire December paycheck on an admittedly beautiful winter coat. I went out and bought a second Carol Little jumper, bargained like a demon but still ended up paying 200 yuan. I didn't feel a twinge of regret.

DESIGNER FASHION
Within the first half hour of conversation with any Chinese woman here, she will inevitably ask what I do for exercise or sports. I always say I just do yoga and bicycling; most people who speak English have at least heard of yoga. Then, without fail, she will remark, "That is why you are so thin!" as if yoga were comparable to triathlon training.

90% of the time, the woman making this comment is actually much thinner than I am. When I protest that I am not so slender, the woman will eventually concede that I am thin only by American standards. Of course, Chinese woman are thinner.

This was excruciatingly obvious when I would shop for pants in Kunming. Even though I wear size medium in long underwear, I have yet to find a pair of even size extra-large pants I can zipper closed. This became rather demoralizing, and besides, I really needed new pants. I finally solved this problem by having Bailongsi's dressmaker replicate my American size 6 petite trousers in various fabrics. Each pair costs less than US$10.

I was so pleased with this solution that I decided to have the dressmaker copy my American jumper too. In a fabric store downtown, I bought the striped handwoven cotton cloth various ethnic minorities wear. Because I was concerned that the dressmaker line up the stripes correctly, I brought along Zhou Xueying to clarify this point.

First, from my market bag, I took out my American jumper and discussed which features to keep and which to forego. Then I took out the fabric I'd bought. There was a stunned silence before Zhou Xueying said, "But that's what minority women wear!" Of course, one might argue that in China, I too am a minority woman. She quickly recovered: "This is very unusual, you know, but I think for you it may be suitable." The dressmaker held up the fabric to my face and observed that it was a flattering color. "I think it is a very interesting idea," Zhou Xueying continued, "but a Chinese woman cannot wear this." I pointed out that since every single thing I do in China is abnormal, I hardly feel the need to conform to Chinese fashion standards.

READY-TO-WEAR MILLINERY
If you come looking for me during Kunming's daylight hours, here's a hint: I'm the one wearing the black NY Yankees cap. As a fashion development, or shall we say decline, this surprises even me. Until this past winter, I had worn a baseball cap in public exactly once in my whole life--at the kind of rah-rah event a political job sometimes necessitates.

Not to complain about the weather here, but we're just above the Tropic of Cancer. Note the word "Tropic." The sun is powerful enough to inspire a religious following, and during the dry season, not so much as a wisp of a cloud drifts across the sapphire expanse of sky. Soon after we arrived, people started nagging me to wear a sunhat. I think it pained them that Allegra and I, with the palest complexions in Bailongsi, were so indifferent about protecting them.

What finally motivated my purchase of a straw hat was not social pressure, but the way the sunlight manages to sneak between my sunglasses and my eyebrows, straight into my eyes! I soon found that straw hats and bicycles are not a happy combination. Also, if I wear the hat on my late afternoon walk up to campus, what do I do with it when I'm teaching? What do I do with it as I head home in the twilight? Bu fangbian (not convenient).

So I took a fashion cue from Zhou Xueying who carries a baseball cap in her purse when she's not wearing it. Of course, in China, there's no such thing as a plain cap. The most popular caps say "Nike" or "Addidas," or feature Mickey Mouse. I could also have bought one that says "Lucky Boy" or "Happy Bear." Small wonder that I preferred a Yankees cap, especially since they *are* my favorite team, at least to the extent that I think about baseball at all. During our New York childhood, my brother was a Mets fan. Since conflict was the foundation of our relationship, I naturally favored the Yankees. Interestingly, when I see Chinese people wearing Yankees caps, and I tell them that is my favorite baseball team in the United States, not a single person has known that the NY stood for anything at all, never mind the winner of the 2000 World Series.

SOMETHING ENTIRELY DIFFERENT
If you look at what the market vendors, waitresses, or female laborers are wearing, you will immediately notice something called sleeve protectors. These are cylinders of cotton fabric, often royal blue, with elastic at the top and bottom. The bottom comes to one's wrist, the top somewhere around one's elbow. You have definitely not seen this in the United States.

When Allegra noticed her female students wearing sleeve protectors that coordinated with their winter jackets, she thought it was fad. When she saw Miss Pi wearing delicately printed sleeve protectors over her silk blouse, she became convinced it was a fashion statement.

Not!

For the vast majority of Chinese who lack a washing machine, laundry is no small task. And for Miss Pi, dry cleaning is no small expense. That's why one protects the forearms of clothing.

You might wonder how the sleeves of college students and waiban program assistants get so dirty. That's because the college's custodians don't actually clean anything. They take locking doors very seriously, but the bulk of their workday involves drinking tea and reading the newspaper. It amazes me that a nation which employs flocks of women to diligently wash the guardrails along highways cannot get school custodians to wipe desktops every decade or so, but this remains one of the big questions of Chinese life, and explains why sleeve protectors are a fashion staple.

I have not yet gone sufficiently native to wear sleeve protectors, but it's probably only a matter of time. After all, the sandals here are starting to look kind of cute to me.