In Tang Dynasty China, women’s fashion followed a consistent formula: a layered ensemble of shan (衫, a short top), ru (襦, a lined jacket), ku (袴, trousers or leggings), and qun (裙, skirts), often draped with a long, flowing pei (帔, a silk stole). But like modern trends, styles evolved—shifting from slim, fitted cuts in the early Tang to voluminous, relaxed silhouettes by the late Tang.
This piece traces the evolution of women’s fashion across the Sui, Tang, and Five Dynasties. Each section opens with a vignette inspired by legendary figures—like the runaway courtesan Hongfu (红拂), the politically savvy Shangguan Wan’er (上官婉儿), or the tragic beauty Yang Yuhuan (杨玉环)—paired with reconstructions of their likely outfits. Drawing from archaeological finds, paintings, and sculptures, we’ve pieced together how these women might have dressed.
But first, a primer on Tang textiles.
The Fabric of Tang Fashion
Silk fabrics were woven from intersecting threads: jing (经, warp, the lengthwise threads) and wei (纬, weft, the crosswise threads). Variations in these threads created intricate patterns.
1. Plain Weaves: Juan & Shi
Juan (绢): A basic plain-weave silk, utilitarian and widely used.
Shi (絁): Similar to juan, but with uneven weft threads, creating subtle horizontal stripes.
2. Sheers: Sha & Hu
Sha (纱): A lightweight, gauzy fabric with an open weave. The finest variety, qingrong (轻容), was nearly transparent—nicknamed "fog silk."
Hu (縠): A crinkled sha, twisted and treated to achieve a soft, textured surface. Poet Bai Juyi (白居易) described it as "a pale hu robe, light as mist; embroidered sha trousers, thinner than clouds."
3. Luo: The Aristocrat’s Choice
A delicate yet slightly heavier open-weave silk, luo (罗) was crafted by twisting warp threads around the weft. The elite prized ultra-thin dan si luo (单丝罗, "single-thread luo") from Sichuan—some bolts weighed as little as five liang (about 190 grams). Poet Li Qiao (李桥) likened it to "clouds unfurling, cicada wings taking flight." Beyond plain luo, there was also hua luo (花罗), woven with intricate patterns.
4. Ling & Qi: Subtle Elegance
Ling (绫): A monochrome damask with faint geometric motifs, wildly popular in the Tang. By the mid-Tang, liao ling (缭绫), an exquisite variant, became a status symbol.
Qi (绮): Similar to ling but woven with two contrasting colors (warp and weft), creating a muted iridescence.
5. Jin & Zhicheng: Opulence Woven In
Jin (锦): Brocade, where pre-dyed threads formed lavish, multicolored designs. Variants included warp-patterned, weft-patterned, and even double-faced jin, often woven with gold or silver threads.
Zhicheng (织成): The haute couture of fabrics—custom-woven to shape for garments, often incorporating metallic threads.
Dyeing & Embellishment
Colors
Tang dyers relied on plants: madder and sappanwood for red, gardenia for yellow, indigo for blue, and acorns for black. While the imperial palette was officially limited to six hues (blue, crimson, yellow, white, black, purple), the actual spectrum was far richer.
Techniques
Xie (缬, resist-dyeing): The Tang version of tie-dye (jiao xie, 绞缬) or the now-lost jia xie (夹缬), where clamped wooden blocks created intricate patterns.
La xie (蜡缬, batik) and hui xie (灰缬, ash-resist): Wax or alkali paste blocked dye penetration, leaving designs in negative.
Yin jin (印金, gold stamping): Adhering gold leaf to glued patterns, then brushing away excess.
Freehand painting with pigments like jinni (金泥, gold paste) elevated textiles to art.
Embroidery
Unlike woven patterns, embroidery allowed for vibrant, fluid designs. Early Tang favored split stitching; later, satin stitching dominated. The ultra-luxurious cu jin (蹙金) technique coiled gold-wrapped threads into raised motifs.
Tang textiles weren’t just clothing—they were engineering. A single bolt of dan si luo represented both technical mastery and a rejection of excess. For modern readers, these fabrics blur the line between craft and identity, proving that fashion, even in the 8th century, was never just about covering up.
Sui to Early Tang: Two Styles, North and South
The Tale of Hongfu
"At dawn, a knock came at the door—soft but insistent. Li Jing rose to find a figure in purple, a hooded stranger holding a staff and a bundle. When asked, the visitor replied: ‘I am Hongfu, once a courtesan of Minister Yang’s household.’ She removed her cloak, revealing herself: a beauty of eighteen or nineteen, her face unpainted, her robes elegantly adorned..."
This scene captures a moment of rebellion—and fashion. Hongfu’s "painted robes" (画衣) and bold escape reflect the Tang’s emerging aesthetic: a blend of northern pragmatism and southern grace.
A Divided Fashion Landscape
Even after the Sui unified China, regional differences persisted. As contemporaries noted:
The South: "The soft rivers and mild climate bred clear, delicate speech—but also frivolity."
The North: "Harsh mountains forged blunt, sturdy words, steeped in ancient cadence."
These contrasts extended to clothing.
Northern Style: Practical & Bold
Under centuries of hu (胡, non-Han) rule, northern women moved freely—attending social events, even petitioning courts. Their wardrobe reflected this:
Fitted silhouettes: "Narrow-collared jackets (夹领小袖) and short coats (小襦袄), paired with boots."
Functional: Designed for horseback and mobility, a legacy of steppe cultures.
Southern Style: Restrained & Flowing
In contrast, Jiangnan women adhered to rigid Confucian norms, their lives largely domestic. Their attire:
Broad sleeves: "So wide, one could cut them in half"—ideal for humid climates.
Layered drapes: Heavy robes (褒衣博带) inherited from Han and Six Dynasties elites.
By the Sui, southern styles became synonymous with "Han tradition" (汉衣冠), adopted by northern courts for ceremonial wear. The result? A dual system:
Everyday wear: Northern-inspired narrow sleeves, high-waisted skirts, and pei (帔, stoles).
Formal attire: Southern-style wide sleeves and floor-length robes, reserved for rituals.
Early Tang: The Slim Silhouette
Post-unification, women’s fashion leaned into northern practicality—but with a new elegance.
Key Pieces
Shanzi (衫子):
A cropped, narrow-sleeved jacket, often sheer ("light as mist").
Worn over baowa (宝袜, a wrap bustier)—akin to Tang lingerie.
Ru (襦):
A shorter jacket with a peplum-like yaoru (腰襦, waist panel).
Collars: Straight or curved, overlapping or front-fastening.
Skirts & Pants:
Jianqun (间裙): Striped, high-waisted skirts (red/green popular).
Longku (长袴): Slim-fit trousers tucked into boots (see The Emperor’s Chariot (步辇图), Yan Liben’s (阎立本) painting).
Layered looks: Sheer longqun (笼裙, overskirts) added movement.
Pei (帔):
A silk stole, draped like Greek himation. Initially mocked as "omens of war", it soon became ubiquitous.
Ceremonial Splendor
For court and dance, southern influences shone:
Daxiushan (大袖襦): Wide-sleeved jackets with detachable panels (bibixi, 蔽膝).
Dance costumes: Qingshang (清商乐) performers wore "azure gauze, phoenix-painted sleeves"; the Qingshan dance featured purple robes with "serene, floating motions."
A surviving sleeve fragment in Nara’s Shōsōin Repository confirms the cut: fitted elbows flaring into dramatic cuffs.
Legacy in Threads
From Hongfu’s daring escape to Yang Yuhuan’s legendary wardrobe, early Tang fashion was a negotiation—between north and south, function and flair. The jianqun’s stripes, the pei’s flutter, even the hidden baowa: each layer wove together a new cultural identity.
Fashion mirrored the Tang’s melting pot—where a courtesan’s "painted robes" could defy empires, and a sleeve’s width signaled cultural allegiance.
The Wu Zetian Era
"The Lady Shangguan Wan’er—granddaughter of disgraced minister Shangguan Yi—was born under an omen: her mother dreamed of a giant handing her a scale, saying, ‘With this, you shall weigh the world.’ As a baby, Wan’er laughed when teased about the prophecy. By her teens, she was drafting imperial decrees for Empress Wu. Later, under Emperor Zhongzong, she became the most powerful woman in court, judging poetry contests where gold cups were awarded for the finest verses."
This wasn’t just politics. Wu Zetian’s reign (624–705 CE) shattered norms—and fashion was no exception. For the first time, women dressed not to please men, but themselves. Silhouettes shifted from delicate fragility to bold, athletic elegance.
Four Phases of a Revolution
1. Early Tang (649–663): The Subtle Shift
After Taizong’s death, Gaozong inherited a court where women still wore:
Skinny silhouettes: High-waisted skirts masking the body, paired with narrow-sleeved shanzi (衫子, cropped jackets).
Stark makeup: Thick, unblushed rouge—a look so harsh it reportedly drove Gaozong into the arms of Wu Zetian, then a nun with a bare face at Ganye Temple.
But when Wu became empress in 655, trends softened:
"Pomegranate skirts": Deep red hunsè qún (浑色裙, solid-panel skirts) inspired her poem:
"Lost in longing, I mistake red for green;
Open my chest—see tears staining this pomegranate skirt."
Layered mystery: A 665 CE tomb in Astana revealed an 18-year-old bride’s outfit—a sheer longqun (笼裙, overskirt) floating over embroidered silk, her wig adorned with cloud-cut paper flowers.
2. The "Two Saints" Era (664–683): Power Dressing
With Gaozong ill, Wu ruled from behind a curtain. Women’s fashion responded:
Higher hair, lower waists: Topknots towered; skirt belts slid from bust to high waist.
The mofu (陌腹): A detachable peplum—previously sewn onto jackets—now tied over skirts as a standalone piece.
Stripes gone wild: Jianqun (间裙, striped skirts) used up to 42 narrow panels ("seven-cuts" or "twelve-cuts"). A court edict even scolded: "Empress Wu wears seven-cut skirts to promote thrift—why must you waste fabric?"
Samarkand murals show Wu’s court ladies in this style: twin buns, round-collared jackets, and rainbow stripes.
3. Wu’s Solo Reign (684–705): No Apologies
After Gaozong’s death, Wu’s regency unleashed daring trends:
The beizi (背子): Originally a sleeveless overdress with gold-thread phoenixes (a Sui legacy), it became a statement piece—whole jackets made of brocade. Central Asian art shows Tang women in these, while Japanese records call them "outer robes of woven glory."
Peekaboo politics: To dodge sumptuary laws, women hid bling under draped pei stoles—but let a flash of striped skirt slip through side-slitted qunku (裙袴, skirt-pants).
A Turfan tomb’s doll-sized outfits (689 CE) prove the look:
Vermillion luo blouses under jeweled beizi.
Sky-blue gauze overskirts teasing at striped hems.
4. The Aftermath (706–712): Too Much, Too Fast
Even after Wu’s fall, her disciples—like Empress Wei and Shangguan Wan’er—kept pushing boundaries:
Men’s wear, women’s rules: Wei posed in carvings wearing a crown with dangling beads (miǎnliú, 冕旒)—a male emperor’s privilege.
Necklines plunged: Blouses gaped to reveal "snowy breasts half-hidden by skirt bands" (per tomb murals).
Feather mania: Princess Anle’s legendary "hundred-bird skirt" shimmered with iridescent plumage—"one color front-on, another in shadow, every feather distinct."
Then, the backlash. After a 713 coup, Emperor Xuanzong burned the wardrobe: tons of "decadent" silks went up in flames.
Wu’s era wasn’t just about hemlines. It was female agency written in thread:
A nun’s pomegranate skirt seduced an emperor.
A secretary’s brocade beizi outshone ministers.
A princess’s feather dress literally changed how light moved.
For half a century, fashion wasn’t frivolous—it was power.
The High Tang
The Myth of "Fat Beauty"
"Lady Yang—radiant, musical, sharp as a blade—knew how to hold an emperor’s gaze. They called her ‘Madame’ in the palace, but she ruled like an empress… Until the An Lushan Rebellion. Forced to flee, the court strangled her at a roadside shrine. When they exhumed her body later, the flesh had rotted, but the sachet at her waist still held its scent. Emperor Xuanzong kept her portrait in his chamber, staring at it daily."
The cliché that Tang women "worshipped plumpness" is a half-truth. Beauty ideals evolved:
Early Tang: Slender, like willow branches.
Wu Zetian Era: Tall and athletic—power dressed in brocade.
High Tang: Full-figured, but with a twist—this was voluptuousness as political statement.
Fashion as Rebellion
1. Early Kaiyuan (开元初期, 713–725): Austerity & Subversion
Fresh from purging Wu’s female court, Emperor Xuanzong banned extravagance:
The Great Burning: He torched "decadent" silks in 714 CE.
Black-Only Edict: Citizens had to dye existing finery dark.
Yet women cheated:
Hidden Luxury: A Turfan tomb revealed a general’s wife, Qu Xianfei (麹仙妃, d. 715), buried in:
A painted beizi (背子, overdress) with phoenixes and lovebirds.
A gauzy skirt layered over pomegranate-dyed silk—flouting the monochrome rule.
The Huadie Hack: Instead of embroidered flowers, they used resist-dyeing (jia xie 夹缬)—pressing fabric between carved boards to create kaleidoscopic patterns.
"Morning: her brush brought cranes to life on paper.
Evening: her loom wove mandarin ducks into silk."
—Qu Xianfei’s epitaph
2. Mid-Kaiyuan (开元中期, 726–735): The Rounded Revolution
By the 720s, prosperity softened edges—literally:
The Woduo Ji (倭堕髻): A low, side-swept bun that framed "peach-blossom cheeks."
Silhouette Shift: Dresses flared at the hips, tapering at the hem—accentuating curves without bulk.
Secret Structure: Despite the brocade ban, women wore stiff beizi under sheer robes to widen shoulders.
A Turfan screen painting captures the mood:
Two ladies stroll under apricot blossoms, their dresses sprinkled with tiny flowers.
One leans on a cross-dressing girl (male attire was trendy)—hinting at gender play.
3. Late Kaiyuan (开元末期, 736–745): Peak Opulence
Enter Yang Yuhuan. By 740 CE, "plump" was official:
Hair: Voluminous side buns (pian ji 偏髻), like "clouds crowding the moon."
Makeup:
"Tear-streaked" blush (啼妆): White powder under the eyes.
Emerald freckles: Tiny jade patches glued to cheeks.
Dresses:
Skirt Tents (qun wo 裙幄): Noblewomen used stitched-together skirts as picnic pavilions.
Transparent Layers: Gauze so thin, poems compared it to "lotus trembling in autumn mist."
"Her robe—a cloud? Her face—a flower?
Spring wind parts the balustrade, dew glistens…"
—Li Bai, Qing Ping Diao
4. Tianbao (天宝年间, 746–756): The Fall
Even luxury couldn’t save them:
Yang’s Signature: Purple and gold gowns, perfumed with "Dragon Brain" incense (imported from Borneo).
The An Lushan Rebellion: In 756 CE, fleeing nobles dumped jewels and wigs into rivers. Yang was strangled with a silken sash.
This wasn’t just about size. It was women using fashion to negotiate power:
Qu Xianfei’s hidden paintings defied censorship.
Yang’s perfumed veils became political props.
Even "tear-streaked" makeup mocked courtly performative grief.
When we reduce Tang beauty to "fat," we erase their agency—and the fact that every ruffle hid a rebellion.
Mid-Tang Fashion
The Legend of Nie Yinniang (聂隐娘)
"In the Zhenyuan era (贞元, 785–805), General Nie Feng of Weibo had a daughter, ten years old. One day, a nun came begging. Seeing the girl, she declared: ‘I must teach this child.’ The general refused—but that night, Yinniang vanished. Five years later, the nun returned her, saying: ‘Her training is complete.’ With a touch to the girl’s skull, a dagger slid out painlessly. ‘Use this when needed,’ the nun said, then disappeared."
This tale of a female assassin mirrors Mid-Tang fashion: once-bold styles turned inward, blending martial pragmatism with poetic restraint. After the An Lushan Rebellion (755–763), as xenophobia rose and the empire fractured, women’s clothing shed its "Northern Dynasty" tight cuts for the flowing elegance of the "Southern style."
The Four Phases of Mid-Tang Style
1. Da-li Era (大历, 757–779): The Quiet Reset
Post-rebellion austerity birthed subtle shifts:
Hair: Pian shu weizi (偏梳䯼子), a lopsided chignon once favored by Yang Yuhuan, now paired with jian bin (片鬓)—razor-straight side locks framing the face.
Makeup: Abstract forehead huadian (花钿) gave way to realistic floral motifs.
A key artifact:
The Daolian Tu (捣练图): Long attributed to Zhang Xuan (8th c.), this "Laundry Beating" scroll likely reflects Da-li styles—note the pian shu hair and narrow-waisted robes with jianqun (间裙, striped skirts).
2. Zhenyuan Era (785–805): Melancholy Chic
As the economy rebounded, so did extravagance—with a twist:
The duoma ji (堕马髻): A "fallen horse" chignon, tilted as if bruised by heartbreak.
Tearful aesthetics: Ti mei (啼眉, "weeping brows")—delicate downward arcs paired with pale xue zhuang (雪妆, "snow makeup").
Poet Yuan Zhen (元稹) immortalized his lover Cui Shuangwen (崔双文) in this look:
"Her hundred-layered chignon (baiye ji)—trend of the hour;
Gold-stitched slippers—palace newest.
A skirt of trembling gem tones,
Pants woven with lovers’ knots (hehuan ku)."
3. Yuanhe Era (元和, 806–820): Controlled Chaos
Under Emperor Xianzong, fashion turned defiantly "weird" (guai 怪):
The naosao (闹扫): A towering "broom sweep" hairdo—so heavy it required wooden armatures (per Shōsōin artifacts).
Gothic glam: Wu gao (乌膏, black lipstick) with ba zi mei (八字眉, "character-eight brows"), creating a "tearful, ghostly pallor" (Bai Juyi).
A courtesan’s toolkit (per Youxian Ku, 游仙窟):
Fish-scale xie (缬, resist-dye) gowns.
Phoenix hairpins dangling like "cicada wings."
4. Changqing Era (长庆, 821–824): Baroque Excess
Emperor Muzong’s reign saw peak decadence:
"Hundred-unknowns" (bai bu zhi 百不知): Headpieces crammed with gems, jade turtles, and dangling buyao (步摇, "step-shakers").
Blood makeup: Xueyun zhuang (血晕妆)—shaved brows replaced by purple streaks mimicking bruises.
A tomb in Luoyang revealed the ultimate flex:
Princess Qi’s burial: Gold-wire jin kuang (金筐) hairpins inlaid with turquoise—matched by a near-identical comb in Korea’s Silla Kingdom, proving Tang’s pan-Asian influence.
The Backlash: Emperor Wenzong’s War on Fashion
By 828, Emperor Wenzong (文宗) had enough. His reforms targeted:
Silhouettes: "Sleeves no wider than 1.5 chi (45 cm), skirts dragging no more than 3 cun (9 cm)."
Hair: Banning "high chignons, shaved brows, and broad foreheads."
Accessories: Outlawing "gold/silver overuse" in hairpins.
Even his sister, Princess Yan’an (延安公主), was fined for wearing a skirt "so wide it could sail a boat."
Yet the laws failed. As poet Wen Tingyun (温庭筠) wrote of a courtesan-turned-concubine:
"Her old-style hairpins and light robes—
Yuanhe’s grace with dark brows.
Who cares if it’s not ‘Chinese’?
The wind still carries her perfume."
Mid-Tang fashion was cultural resistance:
From Nie Yinniang’s daggers to wu gao lips, women weaponized aesthetics.
Xenophobia vs. hybridity: "Southern" flows mixed with Central Asian bling (jin kuang).
The birth of guai: A precursor to Japan’s basara and Harajuku’s defiance.
As the empire crumbled, style became the last rebellion.
Late Tang & Five Dynasties
The Tragedy of Princess Tongchang (同昌公主)
"In 873, Emperor Yizong (唐懿宗) bestowed unprecedented honors on his daughter Tongchang: a dowry fit for an empress, a procession that shook Chang’an. When she died months later, the emperor executed her physicians and imprisoned their families. At her funeral—where officials were ordered to compose elegies—Yizong and Consort Guo wept at the city gates as her coffin passed."
This excess defined late Tang fashion: a world where silk whispered of lost grandeur, and every stitch carried the weight of a crumbling empire.
The Huajian Ji Aesthetic
The Huajian Ji (花间集, Among the Flowers), China’s first erotic poetry anthology, became an accidental style guide. Its verses—written for courtesans to sing—preserved fashion details archaeology often misses:
"Her skirt of sheer luo, gold threads shimmering,
Beneath it, duck-yellow trousers perfumed."
—Wen Tingyun, "Song of the South"
These lyrics align perfectly with relics from the Famen Temple crypt (874 CE), where Emperor Xizong buried his aunt’s wardrobe:
Key Pieces
Pishan (披衫) & Piao (披袍)
"Long as the body, wide sleeves, open collar" (per Xu Shishi).
Silhouette: Side slits (a Central Asian legacy) now purely decorative.
Layering: Thin pishan under embroidered piao—matching Huajian’s "double gauze veils the painted phoenix."
Skirts That Defied Gravity
6-panel luo skirts with silver-traced birds (Famen Temple).
24-segment "wave" skirts, each panel narrowing like "ripples where she walks" (Huajian Ji).
The Chanqun (襜裙) Scandal
A detachable overskirt for horseback riding ("flowered apron suits the steed"—Bai Juyi).
Prostitute origins: Adopted by nobles, later banned by Song moralists.
Five Dynasties: Fractured Glamour
As China fragmented (907–960), regional courts turned fashion into propaganda:
1. Later Shu (934–965)
Tomb of Zhao Tingyin (Chengdu): Musician figurines wear side-slit skirts with chanqun, their hems embroidered with "mandarin ducks in golden battle."
Court style: "Peacock skirts drag through incense, hairpins tinkle like wind chimes" (Huajian Ji).
2. Southern Tang (937–975)
The Ladies with Flowered Hairpins painting:
Visible lingerie: A rebellion against Tang modesty, with sheer pi robes revealing decorated mo (抹胸) undergarments.
"Floating skirts": Weightless luo draped over kua (袴) trousers—"six panels sweep the floor, trailing green waves."
3. Liao & Khitan Influence
Tuerji Mountain Tomb (Inner Mongolia): A noblewoman’s chanqun embroidered with phoenixes—worn over her robe, a northern twist.
Why This Era Still Resonates
Late Tang fashion was performance art:
Material irony: Gold-stitched skirts in a bankrupt empire.
Gender subversion: Courtesans like "Soft Willow" (柔卿) setting trends nobles copied.
Cultural fusion: Central Asian slits + Sogdian embroidery + Han draping.
When the Song Dynasty condemned these "decadent" styles, they weren’t just banning clothes—they were erasing an era that dressed its despair in poetry.
Epilogue: Threads of Legacy
The Tang Dynasty’s sartorial revolution didn’t vanish with its collapse. Its innovations—like the beizi’s side slits and luo’s sheer artistry—echoed through the Song Dynasty’s restrained elegance and the Ming’s revival of Han aesthetics. Even today, designers mine Tang silhouettes: Guo Pei’s gold-wrapped embroidery mirrors cu jin techniques, while modern hanfu enthusiasts reconstruct pishan from Famen Temple fragments.
Yet Tang fashion’s true legacy lies deeper. It proved clothing could be both armor and manifesto—whether Wu Zetian’s brocade defiance or Yang Yuhuan’s perfumed rebellion. In an era when women’s voices were often silenced, their garments spoke volumes. As we unearth more textiles (like the 2023 Ningxia discoveries of Tang jin), each thread rewrites history—not of emperors, but of the hands that wove, the bodies that moved, and the ideals they stitched into being.
The Tang didn’t just wear silk; they spun it into power.
