Status Symbols in China

Since the opening and reforms of the late 1970s, China’s economy has boomed, leading to a rise in wealth and a burgeoning middle class. With new money comes status symbols, and modern China has plenty. Here are 10 of the most ostentatious and intriguing.

1. A Mistress

To anyone familiar with China’s seamier side, the concept of high-powered men taking mistresses will come as no surprise. When a guy’s material needs have been satisfied, an extramarital affair serves to fulfil his carnal requirements as well. Rather than simply meeting up for trysts with his ernai, a man must provide his mistress with an apartment, car and designer wardrobe. Like it or not, sleaze is here to stay, and even high-ranking officials are in on the act. Disgraced railway minister Liu Zhijun was discovered to have 18 mistresses, and ex-vice mayor of Hangzhou, “Plenty” Xu, had a similar harem when he was executed for embezzlement in July.

2. A Luxury Car

Every wealthy Chinese person worth his or her salt counts fancy wheels among the trappings of their material success. German cars are among the most popular when it comes to sedans, with Audi and BMW occupying the top spots in the market. Before a middle class guy can even consider wooing a lady, he must first ensure that he has a decent vehicle. And if he wants to take a mistress? Well, that’s another car he needs to budget for.

 

3. A Pilot License

A car is one thing, but the highest rollers like to go even higher. There are now 1,600 official pilot license holders in China (and doubtlessly plenty more that are unofficial…), and low altitude air spaces have been opened in Hainan, Guangdong and Heilongjiang for them to take their jets for a spin. Getting a license doesn’t come cheap, with courses costing as much as 80,000 RMB. Ownership of private jets is still limited in China, with just 100 registered, but the trend is growing. Celebs like Fan Bing Bing and Chen Daoming have gotten in on the action, each buying a jet of their own.

 

4. A Tibetan Mastiff

Among pedigree dogs, the Tibetan Mastiff is neither the friendliest nor the most attractive, but it is currently the most prized canine in China. Dogs of this breed fetch ridiculous sums; in 2009 a Xi’an couple shelled out over 300,000 RMB for theirs, and show dogs at the annual China Tibetan Mastiff Expo boast names like God, Prince and Warren Buffet (seriously). Pets were banned under Mao for promoting bourgeois attitudes, but ownership of small animals like crickets and birds never really went away. Having the money and space to keep a big dog like a Tibetan Mastiff is a clear sign that you’re doing well for yourself financially.

 

5. Apple Products

To gauge China’s love of iPhones, iPads and Macbooks, you only have to look at the queues outside Apple stores whenever a new device is launched. Desperate consumers were crushed in the fever to get their hands on the iPad two in Beijing in May this year, and a boy even sold his kidney to afford one. Apple products appeal to the wealthy urban youth thanks to their sleek design, cult following, and reassuringly high prices. The fact that they are made on production lines in Guangdong does little to tarnish their appeal.

6. Pale Skin

Contrary to Western women’s fondness for suntanned skin (presumably to imply that they are wealthy enough to take expensive holidays to warmer climes), Chinese ladies prefer the pale and interesting look (presumably to prove that they don’t work outside in a manual job). Beauty products tend to contain “whitening” ingredients, and Western brands operating in China almost always add a special line to their product range, like L’Oreal’s White Perfect. Women hide from the summer sun under decorative parasols, and the pastiest of complexions are prized as the most attractive.

 

7. Fine Wine

China’s domestic wine industry might not be up to much yet, but it is expected to flourish. Until then, wealthy Chinese feed their grape habit with expensive imported wines. These days it’s common to see wine bars with a clientele of mainly locals, as the Chinese palate develops a taste for Cab Sav and Chardonnay. Wine’s growing popularity is partly due to its associations with the sophistication of France and Italy, and partly due to the fact that imported stuff is so darn expensive.

8. Luxury Furniture

Recently, luxury furniture company Da Vinci was found to be peddling goods that were Made in China instead of Made in Italy. However, the scandal has done little to douse China’s wealthy from lusting after plush sofas from the likes of Versace Home, Fendi Casa and Kenzo Maison. Having the ready cash to kit out your home like Donatella’s boudoir is a sign of great fortune and profligacy.

9. Golf

China is catching up with the West when it comes to golf, the sport of the idle rich, or middle class dudes trying to up their guanxi with colleagues and clients. There are now around 600 golf courses in China, up from just a hundred or so at the turn of the millennium. A round on the fairway is seen as proof of your mettle.

10. A Designer “Murse”

Finally, the one thing no rich Chinese guy should be without: a man purse (a.k.a. “murse”) from a recognized brand. Gucci, Burberry and Louis Vuitton all fit the bill, with slightly less kudos for mid-range names like Coach. A guy needs somewhere to stash his cash and his iPhone, and the murse is the ideal accessory. Aspirational and functional.

Strong sales of luxury goods in the bag this year

The Chinese mainland will remain the fastest-growing market for luxury goods in 2011 as sales rise 25 percent to 11.5 billion euros, Bain predicted. The country is on course to become the world's third-largest luxury market in five years, it said. The US is the largest market, accounting for 48.1 billion euros in 2010, according to Bain.

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BEIJING—Italian jeweler Bulgari SpA and sports-car maker Maserati SpA have succeeded in China largely by portraying themselves as the ultimate male status symbols.

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"We chose to launch our first China outlet under the brand name Florentia Village in Wuqing because of its potential to attract a new generation of stylish Chinese consumers with fast-growing disposable income in the luxury sector," said Ivano Poma, chairman and chief executive officer of Florentia Village and managing director of RDM Asia.

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Set in Zanzibar in 1910, it is the story of two people from different worlds falling in love. Susan immerses herself in Zanzibar. Asim falls in love with this woman from the nation that killed his wife. Susan is a spy. Asim is the chief advisor to the Sultan of Zanzibar. Germany and France are holding secret negotiations to form a Pan European alliance, which would isolate Britain and destroy her power. Susan and Asim are caught up in all this and their love is finally dashed on the cold, hard reality of international high politics.

 

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 Chapter One

Zanzibar

'A maharaja’s ruby cast on a Persian carpet by the blackest of hands'

 

Their souls danced, honouring his promise.

The ancient dhow stirred in the soft morning breeze. Like a sleepy lion, it began to move through the water, snuffling about the other boats on the harbour; some scurrying, some at anchor, some darting before a brief gust of wind. The lateen sails a bustling panorama of blood-red and sun-bleached white.

Aft, the woman's eyes searched the skyline, drinking in the architecture of Stone Town, the heart of Zanzibar; its jagged, cluttered silhouette so familiar, so much a part of her soul.

Abruptly, her eyes ceased their restless searching, jagged by an invisible hook, transfixed by the grand buildings on the northern shore, Beit-al-Ajaib, the House of Wonders, Palace to the great Sultan of Zanzibar. The distinctive architecture captured in the tropical light: coconut white outlined by contrasting shadow plays of pepper black.

A smile, ever so slight, started to play on the edge of her mouth then disappeared. A memory that should have been fond instantly turned to sharp unbearable pain. Her eyes hardened and moved on.

Without warning the captain threw the rudder over. Stumbling, the woman barked her shin on a wooden box, a rough-hewn coffin. She recoiled, knocking over an untidy stack of cane baskets. Imprisoned in the baskets, rusty cockerels, their scruffy heads straining through the latticework, snapped at her, cried out to her; their raucous din overwhelming her, drowning her.

Dimly, through the fog of noise, the strident swearing of the sailors in Kiswahili seeped into her conscious. Understanding, she smiled mirthlessly.

The coffin had been carelessly stowed, a chore, rather than a labour of respect or love.

London 1910

“Hello, who are you? I am Oliver, is Edward at home?”

The words were spoken by a tall, impeccably dressed young man as he rushed into Edward’s flat shaking off surplus water and calling for whisky while shoving his umbrella into a stand. It was a blustery, grey, bitterly cold February afternoon in the heart of London. He brushed a curl of soft auburn hair from his forehead and smiled charmingly.

Susan laughed, her hazel eyes dancing with the exhilaration of the new. “Yes, he is having a bath. I think he is trying to get warm. I’m Susan, Susan Carey, his sister.”

“Ahhh yes, from Australia. How do you do?” said Sir Oliver, smiling broadly and offering his hand. He noticed the laughter in her eyes, and the depth, particularly the depth, intensified by jade flecks that made them striking and alluring. “So, you have arrived, good trip I trust.”

“I am very well thank you, and yes, it was a good trip,” replied Susan.

He laughed and glanced at the sitting room, “whisky?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, please come in…….. that was silly of me, after all, it is your flat.”

Oliver smiled and gestured for Susan to lead the way. He followed her into the room, and after helping himself to a generous portion of whisky, walked over to the fire.

Shortly after, Edward, wrapped in a huge ruby-coloured dressing gown and wiping soap from his ear strode into the room. He was of similar age to Oliver, late twenties, well built, if slightly podgy, with dark auburn hair and a full moustache. Susan looked up and smiled to herself, she could see now where he had picked up some of his new mannerisms.

“Thought I could hear voices. I see you two have met, no need for introductions then.”

As he was speaking, Edward walked to the side table and grabbed a whisky decanter by the neck. He glanced at Oliver who nodded. A long finger snaked into one of the tumblers followed by the distinctive clink of crystal. He swept the decanter off the table and carried it to where Oliver was sitting. After pouring the whisky, he sank into a lounge chair and sipped from his glass, enjoying the warm glow as it spread through his body.

Suddenly he sat up exclaiming, “Sorry sis, would you like something to drink?”

“Kind of you to remember, but no thank you, and yes, Oliver has already inquired.”

Edward nodded and sank back into his lounge chair.

They chatted, tentatively at first, getting to know one another. Edward had not seen Susan for two years and was unsure how his sister would take his new relationship. Oliver was intrigued by Susan. An attractive, self-assured young lady of high intelligence with a degree was a rare find. And, as fate would have it, she was also a trained and experienced teacher. He suggested a picnic at Oxford, which was met with ready acquiescence. Arrangements were made for the following Sunday.

“I’ll see if the Rolls is available,” mused Oliver. “Must ring father, haven’t spoken to him in ages.”

Oliver, Sir Oliver Marchmaine, was an unaffected young man of intense intelligence who saw life as a great adventure to be lived to the full. He was also unyieldingly loyal to his country, England, which is why he had joined Military Intelligence on leaving Oxford.

It was 1910 and Europe was stirring. It was a time full of interest, intrigue and danger. The European chessboard was becoming increasingly complex, the moves more subtle. A time when an unexpected move or feint could have profound consequences.

Regaining her balance, the woman’s eyes were drawn, hesitantly at first, resisting back to Beit-al-Ajaib. She wondered if it was still the same. Still the same centre of power and intrigue that had been so much a part of her life all those years before; that had defined her life.

She remembered those first few moments, remembered standing in the foyer of the palace, .………… remembered the breathtakingly beautiful Persian tapestry ........

The sea breeze stirred her clothes. She smiled a little sadly, and in her mind the tapestry gently swayed. Two small apparitions ran giggling up the stairs: two small exquisitely rich burkas disappearing along the first floor landing. Childish squeals of mischief and joy left in the air.......

“Move to seaward, you accused of Allah! Move!”

Her thoughts were clawed back to the dhow, the captain crashing the tiller over to avoid another boat on the crowded harbour. The woman instinctively ducked her head to avoid the heavy boom as it swung over her, the rusty cockerels squawked their raucous indignation, their heads straining through the latticework, relentless.

The collision avoided, the dhow continued on its way. The cacophony dying down to the occasional command by the captain or the cry of a seagull.

The woman's thoughts returned to Beit-al-Ajaib

  …………. laughing and giggling, girls of seven or eight. A door on the first floor slammed and all sounds of them disappeared. Silence. The woman smiled. She could see herself, a young woman, dressed plainly, unselfconsciously, her sexuality tantalisingly just out of reach, hidden beneath the thin veil of her clothing. She remembered standing alone in the foyer, looking around, perplexed. Asim came through a door to the left of the tapestry.

“Salaam.”

The woman started and looked around. Then, realising, was cold again. Alone again. Alone, rocking to and fro to the rythm of the sea. Alone, beside a rough-hewn coffin.

 

 

Now Available on Amazon's Kindle $4.99 - Over 400 Pages