As a history enthusiast and frequent viewer of period dramas, I’ve noticed a troubling trend: even well-received shows often stumble when it comes to historical accuracy in costumes. Ming Dynasty in 1566 (大明王朝1566), a political drama lauded for its intricate plot and acting, is no exception. Despite its sky-high ratings, the series fails to accurately portray Ming-era official attire—a surprising misstep given the wealth of surviving records and artifacts from the period.
Historical Accuracy vs. Creative Liberties
The drama revolves around court politics, featuring emperors, ministers, and bureaucrats. Ming official clothing, meticulously documented in texts like the History of Ming, leaves little room for ambiguity. Yet the show’s costume design strays far from reality. Take the officials’ headwear, for example. The odd, box-like crowns worn by characters resemble a simplified version of the Longjin (笼巾), a ceremonial headpiece reserved for nobility—not regular officials.
According to the History of Ming, the Longjin was part of formal court attire (chaofu, 朝服) worn during grand ceremonies. It included intricate accessories like jade or gold cicadas, pheasant feathers, and layered silk bands. Yet in the show, the design feels cheap and anachronistic—closer to a generic “ancient official” costume bought in bulk for low-budget productions.
Mixing Up Ming Dress Codes
One glaring error lies in the mismatched pairing of headwear and robes. The Liangguan (梁冠), a tiered crown denoting official ranks, was meant to be worn with plain, unadorned chaofu. Instead, the show pairs it with Changfu (常服)—the everyday office attire consisting of a black wushamao (乌纱帽, black gauze cap) and a round-collar robe (tuanlingshan, 团领衫) embroidered with rank badges (buzi, 补子). This blend of ceremonial and practical clothing creates a confusing visual mess.
For instance, the character Xu Jie (徐阶), a historical Ming statesman, is depicted in the show wearing overly decorated robes with unnecessary shoulder straps and flashy trims. Compare this to Xu’s actual portraits, which show him in a simple black wushamao and a robe with minimal embroidery—proof that Ming fashion valued subtlety over ostentation.
A Missed Opportunity
What’s baffling is that Ming costume research is far from obscure. Museums like the Confucius Family Mansion hold well-preserved examples, such as the chiluo chaofu (赤罗朝服, red silk court robes) and wuliangguan (五梁冠, five-tiered crown) These artifacts reveal that Ming officialwear was structured yet understated—a far cry from the show’s cluttered designs.
Even recent dramas like The Imperial Doctress (女医·明妃传) repeat these errors, adding unnecessary flourishes (think glittery collars or dangling sashes) that never existed in Ming wardrobes. Ironically, historical accuracy could have saved production costs. Instead of splurging on fictional embellishments, studios could focus on replicating the Ming’s sleek, dignified aesthetic—something audiences rarely see on screen.
Why Does It Matter?
For international viewers, Ming-era dramas offer a window into China’s past. But when costumes prioritize theatrics over authenticity, they distort history. The Longjin wasn’t just a hat—it symbolized status and ritual. The buzi badges weren’t mere decorations but strict markers of rank. By glossing over these details, productions risk reducing a rich cultural legacy to a costume party.
Final Word
Ming Dynasty in 1566 remains a masterclass in storytelling, but its costume inaccuracies highlight a broader issue in historical dramas: the gap between research and execution. As viewers, we deserve better—a marriage of compelling narratives and painstaking attention to detail. After all, the Ming Dynasty’s elegance lies in its simplicity, not in cheap sequins.
