Niamh Ni Mhaoileoin emailed me recently and asked could she submit a guest post for the blog as she is a regular reader and is now living in Hekou, China and noticed something which she felt readers may be interested in. She recently graduated from English in Trinity and now lives in China where she teaches English and hopes to gain a greater understanding of Chinese culture and politics. Her blog is at Leigh anois go curamach.

A few weeks ago I was at a comedy show in Dublin. At least what was advertised as a comedy show, though the reality was sadly distinct from what it said on the tin. Of course, the Godwin’s Law of any dodgy Dublin comedy night is that at some point someone, desperately flailing for a laugh, will start to talk about fake tan. That night was no exception and, after a few requisite oompa-loompa references, the performer came to that hilarious dichotomy; while Irish women are painting on the fake tan, in Asia there’s a craze for skin-whitening. Let’s all have a giggle at self-loathing.

Now, I know that skin-whitening in Asia is a commonly discussed issue. I know the somewhat trite cultural analysis – poor people worked in the sun so white skin is a sign of prestige. I remember that Disney’s Mulan painted her face white to go to the matchmaker. I’ve heard the horror stories at the extremes of this issue, from skin products with highly dangerous mercury levels, to backstreet skin bleaching leaving women disfigured.

During my first few days here, I walked through the cosmetics section of a local supermarket and realised that Nivea’s flagship range in China is “Sparkling White.” It jolted me. It brought the issue in from the shocking fringe stories to the mundane, the everyday, to all those women walking around with statements of inadequacy in their shopping trolleys. Since then, I’ve been extra-attuned to the real manifestations of this complex. To all of the advertisements for all kinds of products that feature “sparkling white” models and to how much women I’ve met hate to go out in the sun.

The most frequent reminder of the white-bias is that I get told I’m beautiful. All the time. When I buy my bread in the morning, when I get in taxi, when my work is being assessed. My intention isn’t to brag (though over here I do sometimes have to force my ego back into its box.) My western female colleagues get the same attention. Being a white woman makes life very easy in China. Accordingly, everyday life must be that bit more difficult for the huge majority of non-Caucasian women. In my mind, this was an issue at the extremes, one that didn’t really affect ordinary women in any serious way. Sure, they’d like their skin to be a bit lighter, but aren’t there things we all wish we could change about ourselves?

Yes, there are. And companies like Nivea go out of their way to hijack those insecurities and use them as massively effective marketing tools. Of course, all advertising eats and breathes insecurity. Sometimes it’s dressed up as aspiration, but really our media culture drills us with reminders of our imperfections, and then sells us an unattainable ideal. To maximise profit it makes sense to bolster our hatred of things we can never fully change; skin colour, age, body- shape. Once you’re locked into negative self-perception it’s very difficult to find your way back out. So you keep trying to buy your way out.

One of the advantages of an unfamiliar culture is getting a fresh view of the cruelties you’ve grown used to in your own. It seems bizarre and wrong to me that Chinese women are told by skincare corporations that they’re less attractive because of their skin colour. Yet I accept that at home women over fifty, women over forty are constantly devalued because of their age and appearance. Whether old or young, we’re reminded to remain vigilantly anti-ageing. What does that even mean? Incidentally, this is another issue on which I’ve heard far more comedy than commentary.

There’s something particularly insidious about the way skincare products contribute to our little self-hatreds. Nivea don’t make products for occasional use. You probably use your Nivea product every day, while you’re standing in front of a mirror. A product that right there on the label says what it wants to change about you. So every day you look at yourself and are reminded that you’re flawed. You put on the cream and strain your eyes to see if your skin is whiter yet, or your wrinkles are disappearing yet. That’s not a small problem.

I recently read “Unbearable Lightness,” Portia de Rossi’s memoir of her battle with anorexia and bulimia. With the book, she hoped to help women suffering from severe eating disorders. But she also wrote for all of the perpetual dieters, the (many) people whose lives are made silently but significantly worse by counting calories and food-guilt and misery on the weighing scales, “every woman influenced by a society that values thinness over substance.” That society affects us all, whether it undermines our weight, our age, our dress-sense or our skin colour. The Chinese women I’ve met are beautiful, and we really should question the institutions and corporations that so consistently tell them otherwise.