The Atlantic recently compiled some thoughts and links about Dior's new "Shanghai Dreamers" campaign. In the ads, white Dior models stand amongst groups of Chinese models. "And no, your eyes have not deceived you," writes Jenny Zhang for The Guardian: the Chinese models within each ad are all identical - a mere copy-and-pasted image, repeated dozens of times to produce an eerie composite of clones.


So what does this say? That all Chinese people look alike? That, as Madelenine O'Dea writes for ARTINFO, "the Chinese are a featureless mass, while Dior (and the west) represent individuality"? That Chinese people aren't beautiful? That there are too many of us?

Chinese photographer and ad artist Quentin Shih is on the defense though, brushing off the accusations of racism that have been shot his way. Shih says his art is meant to be a dialogue between 20th century Chinese fashion and Western Haute Couture: "I don't think the Chinese models are in some way demeaning. The Dior model for me is also a 'model' - I mean she stands there only to represent the clothes, not herself and not a western people."

Photographer Quentin Shih in front of his "Stranger in a Glass Box" photographs. The "Stranger" series was Shih's first photos for Dior.

There are two ways to really look at it then: the first being in line with reactions like those of Zhang's and O'Dea's; the second, as The Atlantic points out, is that the campaign is "'clueless,' not racist." Shih is a Chinese artist whose purpose isn't to make a political or social comment about China's role in the world. In fact, Shih has done photos for Dior before, posing top Chinese model Du Juan in Dior couture and in a glass box for a series called "Stranger in a Glass Box." Shih treads dangerous ground this time around though by including only white models as the representation of glamour. But that's not so much his own personal fault as it is that of the fashion industry as a whole. After all, Shih adds, "I was not lucky enough to shoot a Chinese model wearing Dior - if I did I would have put her in my work."

So who supplied the models? In this case, we should be lashing out at the industry and not the photographer. Sure, the ads are in poor taste when you thoughtfully consider the critiques it has drawn, but this should serve as a jumping off point for a greater conversation about the definition of beauty in popular culture. Who defines it? Why do we adhere to it?

The stereotype created by the beauty industry persists because of the media's biased representation of women. The industry's tendency to feature a single type of look creates a one-dimensional idea of beauty that is idealized as a model of perfection in America. An important aspect about the average woman that the media fails to accurately represent is the rich racial diversity present in society. Caucasian women are portrayed as being a dominant example of beauty, which is an inaccurate illustration of American women as a whole.

Children of diverse races do not see themselves reflected in the mainstream media, creating a belief that a single type of woman, one who mirrors light-skinned Barbie dolls, defines beauty in America. In the Youtube short documentary "Kiri Davis: A Girl Like Me," Jennifer, an eighteen-year-old African-American girl, observes, "When I was younger, I used to have a lot of dolls but most of them were just white dolls with long straight hair that I would comb and I would wish I was just like that Barbie doll."

Though Barbie was originally intended to empower and motivate young girls into pursuing a wide range of professions, the unattainable image of beauty and perfection created an opposite effect. For light-skinned girls, Barbie represented a standard to aspire to, whereas for dark-skinned girls, achieving that look was physically impossible. Despite a slow progression toward representing minority races amongst dolls, the lasting impression left by Barbie is still prevalent in the minds of many.

Beauty, as defined by the industry, is presented as something to be desired, so women continue to chase after the dream in hopes of being seen as “beautiful.” The fault in this one-sided representation is also due to fashion designers, who are boxed into a single look on their runways. Designers and companies are more concerned with the profits they are making rather than the effect they are leaving. Diversity is not as important to the fashion industry because the images of tall, thin models has done its job in selling products for so long that change is not seen as urgent.

But as long as we continue to buy products in order to attain a certain look, the industry will continue to thrive exactly the way it is.

So who should we be aiming our torches and pitchforks at with "Shanghai Dreamers"? Shih, the Dior company or ourselves?

I was listening to an old This American Life show today titled "Somewhere Out There." Basic question: Is there such thing as fate? Are we all destined to find that one special someone?

The show opens with a catchy math equation that makes you feel like you'll always be "just" a number. Of the hundreds and thousands of people in your city, you may think you've got a whole sea to fish from. But, in reality, your choices are not as big as the ocean might trick you into believing.

It's the premise of so many TV shows and movies: how do you find your "one true love"? And, by that concept, is there just one person out there for everyone? How do we know that at the end of every rom-com, the happy couple doesn't split up? Where's our guarantee that Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan stay together in every one of their movies?

Lately, I've been adverse to these messages, finding them trite and unmoving. True love doesn't happen at first sight, and who knows if there is even such a thing as "true" love. Just when you thought you've found it, something happens. People split up, people get divorced. It's possible to fall out of love just as quickly as you fell into it. Also, is there only one person out there for everyone? And if so, how the fuck are you supposed to find that person in your short lifetime? What do you do when it feels like settling? Online dating sites like eHarmony and Match.com tell you that they'll help you find your One True Love, but what if your actual One True Love (you know, the one you're "supposed" to be with) is on a different dating site than you are. Or what if they're not on one at all. These websites are just pulling your best match from the pool of people who are using their services.

But I am, by no means, any sort of expert on this topic, so take my words as a series of over-thought smatterings.

Tangent aside. Back to This American Life: act one presented the story of an American professor who fell in love with a Chinese fiddle player. After hearing their story, you'd think they were destined to be together. My question, though, is how much of that is "fate" and how much of it is just a coincidence? (And do coincidences exist?) There are many reasons why they ended up together, but the one simple answer that we all like to use for situations like these is that of fate/destiny. "If it's meant to be, it'll happen," people have often said to me before. But I wonder: how much of that can we rely on? It almost seems like an excuse for people not to take control of their lives.

Somebody once described a situation to me as "grandma meets the Road Runner." (Ignore the inconsistencies in the universe and bear with me.) Grandma is driving home when suddenly the Road Runner, out of nowhere, crashes into her as he's running from the coyote. Both have different reasons for being on that road and neither of them were looking for the collision. But it happened and that's that, and now the two can proceed with their respective days (granted, granny and her car makes it out alive). Maybe after this, the two will have a long lifetime of interaction; maybe they'll never see each other again. So...is this something we leave up to fate to control for us? You meet a lot of people in your life. How many of them will you continue to know ten years from now? Five years? Or even five months? When do we stop relying on fate as a fallback and stop being passive in our lives and with the people in it?

I'm not sure if I'll ever have concrete answers to any of my questions, but it can't hurt to ponder them.

I'm sitting here in an empty apartment surrounded by a few things that should make me very happy, and yet I just spent the past 10 minutes crying my eyes out...for honestly no goddamn reason. I don't even know if the best thing to be doing is blogging because now this is just a Livejournal, but bear with me - I have a point, or as much of a "point" as my blogs normally have.