UNIQLO has become a location for photo ops after the scandal.

A video of a young couple having sex in a fitting room of Uniqlo’s Sanlitun store in Beijing went viral on Wednesday and was deleted shortly after by censors. The discussion about this latest episode of “pornographic” private content leaks online that has continued in its wake, however, touches on issues that are gaining attention from the Chinese public.

The minute-long video, taken with a smart phone and showing a young couple — allegedly two college students — was spread on social media such as Sina Weibo and WeChat and viewed by millions of people before it was deleted on the order of the Cyberspace Administration of China (CAC) for violating the “socialist values.”

This isn’t the first time that explicit images and videos were leaked online in China despite the fact that the distribution of pornography is a criminal offense in the country. In 2008, more than a thousand of naked photos of several Hong Kong A-list movie and pop stars taken by singer-actor Edison Chen were leaked, which resulted in the arrests of at least ten people. In the Mainland China, a number of sex videos of government officials (e.g., Lei Zhengfu and several Fuzhou officials) and university professors (on a side note, in 2014, an appalling 57% of female college students in China said they had been sexually harassed by their professors) were leaked by their mistresses, whom have been hailed by many as a sort of heroines in combating corruption.

The Uniqlo’s sex video leak, however, is a different case in that it doesn’t involve celebrities or public/semi-public figures. This couple in the video are private persons and their sexual act appeared to be consensual, that is, with no apparent power imbalance or coercion implied as in the cases of officials and professors. Perhaps that was partly why rumors arose saying that the leak was either a marketing stunt by Uniqlo or the young couple’s attention seeking attempt. The Japanese fast fashion giant has since issued a statement denying its role in the distribution of the video. As to the young couple, their identities have not been officially disclosed, although attempts of revealing them, or what Chinese Internet users call “renrou,” have been made by hackers and several people’s personal information has been published online. In this Internet frenzy, one also sees ultra nationalist chatters advocating boycotting Japanese goods (as every time a Japanese company is involved in a controversy) and of course, slut shaming rhetoric springing from a self-righteous sense of morality and perhaps a kind of voyeuristic impulse.

No surprise there, but what’s worth noting is that in the midst of all this noise, there are thoughtful voices that demand our attention. For instance, in an article titled “Uniqlo and Lewinsky: the Price and Profit of the Shaming Economy” trending on the popular social media platform WeChat, author Wen Yan draws attention to Internet privacy and public shaming. Relating to Monica Lewinsky’s TED talk in March, she argues that in the age the Internet, there’s a certain “shaming economy” at work that allows corporations and individuals to profit at others’ expense:

The shaming economy is a tightly knit industrial chain, which, relying on an central event and by leaking private content via viral distribution, shames a particular individual while extracts value from public attention and profits from it. The price to pay in the shaming economy may be a young woman’s youth and reputation, but the profits are shared by leakers and certain groups. Everyone who has shared embarrassing photos and videos is a promoter of this economic chain, who amplifies the harm done to the victims and accumulates profits for those who benefit [from such distribution].

The author then challenges her readers: “Precisely because power can be easily put in your hand, will you chose to take the whip and wave it recklessly, or keep silence and think for yourself?”

On a different note, Dou Wentao of Phoenix TV, a Hong Kong-based Chinese television network, reflected on the phenomenon of ungrounded speculation of publicity stunt in the aftermath of the leak, attributing it to the seemingly ubiquitous presence of marketing and advertising in every slip of the Chinese social and private life and a growing fame-seeking culture. He said on his talk show:

Nowadays in China, many things in society perplex me. My judgment on this event is no judgment, because nothing is what it appears, and people’s thinking has become conditioned [accordingly]. Our producer, for instance, at once believed it was a publicity scheme. Have you noticed that nowadays, there isn’t any serious discussion, because all the discussion is about things being a media hype. This makes one not want to discuss anything.

Not without irony — since he himself is a high profile media personality — Dou expressed a deep anxiety rooted in the suspicion of the media in the grip of the government AND corporate power. Because of the lack of transparency, both in the sense of censorship and the aggressive marketing culture in today’s China, it’s very difficult for the public to construct a reality that corresponds accurately to the reality they live in as citizens and consumers. For years, the Chinese government has been cracking down “rumors” spreading on the Internet and failed, precisely because “rumors” are only a way in which people respond to the conditions of communication greatly shaped by, obviously, the government and the cut-throat materialistic culture it supports.

Like others preceding it, the Uniqlo viral video will die down from the media — perhaps sooner than we think — as we move on to a fresh scandal. Let’s hope that next time we’ll deal with it better, with a bit more humanity and decency.

The photos that got Wang, a 23-year old model in China, in serious trouble

We live in a world that’s anything but shy of conflicts. That’s why I’m constantly amazed by how much we citizens of the world share many similarities in our taste in uniforms. We love babes in police uniforms, I mean, both Americans (Hello, Magic Mike!) and Chinese, except, while posting sexy photos of oneself wearing, or almost wearing, a police uniform on the social media can get one a few followers and likes, or, with some luck, the status of the “Internet sensation,” in China, that can actually get one some sweet jail time. That’s how “dignified” the Chinese police uniform is. Or not.

That’s what happened to Wang, a 23-year old model who was convicted on the charge of “fraud” — for the lack of an appropriate translation for zhaoyaozhuangpian zui, or 招摇撞骗罪 — and sentenced to 9 months in prison with a one-year reprieve by a district court in Beijing earlier this week. A few months ago, Wang posted on Weibo as @馨儿徽安:

I became a police officer in my hometown, and everything is starting from zero, so I’m learning very hard. As a jinghua (or a “police flower,” a term used in China to refer to female police officers — author), I have a lot of presure on me… Jinghua is just a title. I use these titles such as “jinghua” or “model” for business negotiations at the dinner table, and get deals and investment.

To this post, Wang also attached three photos of herself wearing a police reniform and bikinis.

Wang was reported to Weibo by a user and her post was flagged as “false information” by the website’s administrator. The post was taken down by Wang shortly after, and by then it had been reposted and commented on for hundreds of times, which was, however, pretty inconsequential considering Weibo’s 300 million users.

It’s unusual for somebody to be prosecuted for a post that has so little impact. In fact, Wang is reported to be the first in China who has been sentenced to prison for posing as a police officer online. Many people expressed on Weibo that they think the punishment she received is too severe for her deed. “I don’t think [Wang] should have been punished so severely. Wang was just wearing a police uniform; she didn’t con anybody out of money,” as @笔者楚觉非V commented on Weibo.

The problem with the case, however, is not just about the degree of punishment, but about principles too. What really constitutes “fraud” in China is unclear, both in principle and in this specific case. As a netizen @lucan路璨 has pointed out, Wang has stated in her profile (and her account is “verified” for her identity) that she’s a model. If she did reveal her true identity, that means that she didn’t have the serious intent to mislead others to believe her false identity as police officer. In that case, her posing would be a performance — Wang herself also stated herself that she did it just “for fun” — rather than serious impersonation, or fraud.

If that’s the case, Wang shouldn’t be punished for “fraud,” an opinion shared by some netizens, such as @lucan路璨, who wrote, “Please tell me which law prohibits people from wearing police costume?” Technically, @lucan路璨 was right. Wang’s “uniform” was just a “costume” that she kept after a photo shoot where she was hired to pose in it. So where should we draw the line between performance and fraud? Or, in other words, where should we draw the line between speech and action, for performance is a form of speech, while impersonation is an act?

Now, speech can be the basis for legal action in China, but many Chinese are aware of the lack of freedom of speech in China and their expressions of grievances and demands for the rights to free speech are not rare in online discourse in recent years. However, unfortunately, few have brought up the issue of speech in the debates surrounding Wang’s case. (I have made some comments on Weibo about Wang’s case and free speech. The responses I got were pretty negative and off the point.)

A couple of people did bring up the idea of “thought crime.”

One of them is @NOD净化者, who wrote, “Faint. Only when there’s a victim who has been conned and when her action resulted in serious consequences should we use the Criminal Law. Should we prosecute people for thought crimes?”

@NOD净化者‘s comment is in response to the comments by a user who claims to represent “Central China University Law School Student Union” (@华中大法学院学生会), who supported the court’s decision because “many countries have criminal laws that include crimes of impersonating public servants.”

However, even if the question of speech is put aside, the truth is, Wang is not in trouble just because she’s an impostor, but also because she’s a “slut.” Not only her originally post attracted much criticism, but even after she was convicted, many continued to attack her unsympathetically:

This whore wants a good reputation. Die! — @东坑家人.

[Wang] deserted morality for fame? So sad. — @-必修课.

Look, [you’re] obsessed to be famous, and can’t you be famous in jail now? This is what you get by following the fad. — @zeeyorl

Stupid, you deserve it. Hahaha… Still want to show off, want to be famous? — @红烬Ash

It is safe to read these allegations as misogynistic vent of anger, jealousy, and hatred, from both men and women. Sexism, coupled with the good old authoritarianism, are what Wang is truly up against.

@笔者楚觉非V‘s comment seems to have hit the hail on the head here:

As to her indecent poses, they got her in jail because she tarnished the image of people’s police force. [However,] imagine if Wang was dressed up as a nurse, a teacher, or a maid; would she be punished like this? No. They’re all occupations, but are treated so differently. Why?

The logic behind this hypocrisy is that it’s acceptable to degrade nurses, teachers and maids — occupations traditionally taken by women — but it’s a crime to degrade police officers — an occupation traditionally taken by men — remember? A woman police officer is sexualized as a “police flower” — and, more importantly, an occupation that represents the state and its (masculine) power over its people.

The truth is, Wang’s offense doesn’t lie in her posing as what she is not. There have been plenty of images of beautiful young women and men posing as police officers “with dignity” in the public space but no one would have even bothered to ask whether they are models or real police officers. There’s also plenty of sexy photos that can be considered way more indecent than her photos floating online, but rarely anybody has gotten into trouble with the law for them. (“What if she didn’t wear any clothes? What would that be? Pornography, body art, or body painting… I want to ask how many years can she get for that?” as @烦人先生2447486305 asked.) Wang’s offense lies in her juxtaposing an image of a desired — sexually objectified — young woman with the image of the police force. At the same time, she dared to do so with a certain “shameless” spectacle. And that — THAT is the worst HUMILIATION thrown in the face of the stern-faced paternal state. (Even the name of her crime, zhaoyaozhuangpian zui, screams out this frustration of a self-righteous patriarch. Literally, zhaoyao means to bluff, to show off, or to parade. Zhuangpian means to con, to trick, or to swindle.)

“Don’t you repeatedly make fun of the system. [Remember,] the system has power,” as netizen @林水邑风 wrote. Read: if you dare to disgrace the state, you’re going to jail.

What do all the horny Chinese do without pornography? (And yes, Chinese do get horny despite what the rumor says.) The fact is, although we do not have a porn industry, people in China consume plenty of porn on pirated DVDs and the Internet, usually illegally. Chinese porn consumers have geographical and cultural advantages too. One of our neighbors, Japan, happens to boast the world’s biggest porn industry, which supplies Chinese abundant porn, all for free (although involuntarily).

So, it is not that surprising that Sola Aoi (Sora Aoi), one of the most popular Japanese porn idols, has taken China like a storm since she launched her acting and modeling career in China in 2010. Aoi launched her Sina Weibo page on November 11, 2010, the “Singles’ Day” as Chinese jokingly call it, and within 24 hours, she had 130 thousand followers, a record-breaking number in Sina Weibo’s history. As of today, she has more than 10.6 million followers on Weibo and literally every one of her posts are reposted and commented for thousands of times. This popularity would have been impossible without her Chinese fan base nurtured by the semi-underground porn market.

It is fair to say that Aoi’s success in China has gone way beyond the popularity of a porn idol. She acts in big budget films, makes millions from sponsors, and appears in media events with respected celebrities such as Yang Lan, Song Zuying, and Mei Baojiu (Peking opera actor and son of the late Peking opera master Mei Lanfang). It has been reported that for a long time, Aoi’s page on Weibo was the only one that the official Weibo page of the police department of an Eastern coastal city followed.

What’s amazing is that the Chinese government haven’t given Aoi any trouble in launching a career in China, despite her porn idol status. Although Aoi already announced “retirement” from pornography before she landed on the Chinese market, considering the government’s puritanical position on sex and strict media regulation, hers is still a rare case.

Indeed, the Chinese government’s and the public’s acceptance of Aoi does pose stark contrast with their attitudes towards Chinese and Taiwanese actresses who have exposed their bodies in media. Tang Wei, the lead actress in Ang Lee’s Lust, Caution (2007), was banned in China after she made the film. The film itself was only released in China after significant editing that cut all the sex scenes and nudity. Recently, Shu Qi, a former erotic film star and nude model who’s successfully transformed to an awarding winning film actress, was forced to delete her Weibo page because of the vicious verbal attacks directed to her because of her past.

Si Yi, a freelance writer for Nanfangdushi Bao, offered a plausible interpretation (ZH) of the Chinese government’s “double standard” in treating Sola Aoi and Tang Wei: “maybe they think that actresses who grew up in Mainland China cannot strip… but when a Japanese actress strips, because she does not bring shame to China, she is fine.”

Although many Chinese regard working in the porn industry as extremely shameful and humiliating, it is acceptable if a Japanese actress uses her body for economic gains because she is not one of us Chinese women and thus does not belong to Chinese men. Her action, thus, does not bring shame to “China,” that is, the Chinese man, by violating what should belong to him. Aoi’s popularity in China, fogged by derogatory or ridiculing remarks towards her, reflects a dilemma Chinese live in as the traditional and new morals clash.