These days, the girls on the MTR are my primary fashion inspiration. They wear delicate, feminine skirts, or longish, ballooning, multi-pocketed shorts. They wear either strappy heels (but low ones), or a very specific type of Birkenstock. They carry big leather satchels. Sometimes it’s hard to imagine myself pulling off the outfits I think are way cool on these local girls. But the frilly shirt is an exception. Worn with skirts and jeans alike, these shirts are structural, usually cotton, and often open in the front in button-down shirt style. They are absolutely covered in frills: lace, pearly buttons, bows, collars, layers. The effect is usually beautifully feminine, and occasionally, over the top. Soon after my arrival in Hong Kong, I entered a tiny store in Tsim Sha Tsui called “In Fashion” to buy myself a frilly shirt. Racks of them before my eyes, in a very specific spectrum: white to pink. The salesgirls ignored me as I circled the store to make my decision. There was neither brand label nor size; only a hand-written price tag. I found a white model that ties in the front, with lace bottom and collar. There was no fitting room, and, besides, you can’t try on tops at most local stores here. I brought it over to the salesgirl. “Do you think this will fit me?” I asked, holding it up to my torso and gesturing. She took it from me, nodding, and stretched the waist tie (which is slightly elastic) out in front of me a few times. The lack of size labels and the meaning of her gesture hit me: I realized she was telling me this shirt, this store, and the Chinese girls I see on the MTR, were one-size-fits-all. I bought the shirt for $60 HK ($8 U.S.) and wear it proudly.

¶ 12:36 AM