Hair has never been just hair.
In Chinese cultural tradition, it is considered part of the body — a symbol of morality and social order. The ancient saying goes, “The body, hair, and skin are given by our parents; we must not harm them — this is where filial piety begins.” This belief established a fundamental idea: the body belongs to the family, not to the individual. Hair, therefore, was never merely a matter of appearance; it carried the meanings of lineage, continuity, and identity. For women, this view of the body implied a gentle but profound constraint — their hair was expected to be neat, obedient, and unaltered.
It was not until the early twentieth century that this order began to crack. The May Fourth Movement in 1919 became a turning point for intellectual awakening. Female students took scissors to their long hair — an act that symbolized both a break from feudal morality and the birth of a “new woman.” Cutting their hair was not simply a matter of style, but a political gesture: they used their bodies to express independence and resistance.
Meanwhile, in the Pearl River Delta of southern China, another group of women chose a quieter but equally radical path. They combed their own hair in a self-initiated ritual — the self-combing ceremony — to declare lifelong celibacy. These self-combing women rejected marriage as an institution and took their hair as an oath, using daily ritual to reclaim sovereignty over their bodies.
In the 1930s, the image of women in cities changed again. The fashion of permed hair swept from Shanghai across the country; “iron tongs” and “water curls” became the new symbols of modernity. Western styling and cosmetics entered daily life, and women began to converse with modern society through their appearance. Hairstyles were no longer merely signs of obedience or rebellion — they became a form of self-expression. Women were no longer just objects to be seen; they began to perform themselves.
This sense of freedom, however, was soon interrupted by war. In the 1940s, when “the Chinese nation was in its most perilous time,” countless women cut off their long hair — for survival, for military service, or for escape. Short hair in this period symbolized action and resolve; it represented a body forced to bear responsibility in times of crisis.
After the founding of the People’s Republic in the 1950s, society entered a new phase of idealism. Double braids became the standard hairstyle for unmarried women — neat, simple, and healthy. It reflected the values of equality and labor, forming a new collective aesthetic. In the 1960s and 1970s, this style became even more uniform: short hair and short braids dominated. Gender differences were blurred, and women’s bodies were almost completely absorbed into the collective narrative.
With the reforms of the 1980s, individuality began to reawaken. Permed hair, voluminous curls, and even afros appeared on the streets. Women once again used their hair to shape themselves — it was an expression of freedom and optimism, a belief that the future belonged to them. In the 1990s, television and cinema became the new classrooms of beauty. Faye Wong’s short hair, Gong Li’s soft waves, and Brigitte Lin’s long straight hair shaped an entire generation’s imagination of “beauty” and “self.” Hairstyles extended beyond fashion — they became expressions of identity and attitude.
In the twenty-first century, the internet changed everything. Hairstyles were no longer defined by celebrities but created and circulated by ordinary young women online. Dyeing, layering, and self-styling became new visual languages of individuality. The body was now constantly redesigned within digital space. Hair became both a medium of self-expression and a marker of identity in an age of fluidity.
From “The body, hair, and skin are given by our parents” to “self-combing,” and finally to “styling as one pleases,” hair has recorded the social and bodily history of Chinese women across a century. It has passed through obedience, rebellion, imitation, and reinvention — bearing witness to how women, in an ever-changing society, have used the softest of things to define themselves.
Sometimes I think hair matters precisely because it exists on the boundary between the body and the world. It belongs to us, yet grows beyond us. It can be cut, shaped, and controlled — but it never stops growing.
Perhaps that is why hair remains one of the most enduring symbols of female experience.
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