A Question of Size
This morning as I put on my shirt for work for some reason I took note of the label. It read simply, made in China. Okay, no surprise right? There are precious few articles of clothing made in America aside from a few fraudulent labels attached in the Northern Marianas Islands saying Made in the USA. The peculiarity of American territorial law allows these less then minimum wage workers the chance to pretend they are American by earning two dollars an hour to make our underwear. No, this shirt was made in China. As I often do at 6 o'clock in the morning, pre-caffeine and still trying to remember if it is shampoo then conditioner or conditioner then shampoo I had a vision.
I wish it had been a saintly vision. An apparition of the Virgin Mary in my shaving cream perhaps, or possibly a feeling of the divine as I washed each of my toes. No, nothing so dramatic. I simply thought of the factory in China where my shirt came from and how horrified the Chinese must be at the amount of fabric required to make our clothing. As the girth of the average American continues to increase they must feel as if they are dressing a buffalo. I wonder if we are the butt of their jokes?
"Hey Fong, the boss is going to kill me. I blew the stitching on this one."
"Don't worry Ling, we can just send it to the next shop over, they are making Snuggies, I am sure there is plenty of material there for that."
I guess it all fits with American excess. We consume the most food, drink the most water, use the most electricity and burn the most fuel. Why not use the most fabric! Of course China is hot on our heels. We have sent them KFC. They send us lead based plastics, poisoned milk candy and deadly dog food. In a kind of new Cold War we answer the gesture by shipping buckets of animal lard concealed within salty fried morsels of goodness. Advertisers take heed! Think of the marketing possibilities in the Mao Fry or the Great Wall Burger. Of course we could cater to regional taste, the Szechuan Dog perhaps or the Jimmy Dean Moo Shu Pork Pattie. I will most certainly know victory will be at hand when I pick up a shirt at the store and see a greasy thumb print on the collar.
It is always an interesting mental exercise to imagine how we must appear in the eyes of others. We tend to be so busy with our own ethnic stereotyping we forget others might be doing the same of us. When I was a student traveling through Europe with my backpack I used to always tell people I was Canadian. The reason was simple, it was only then that I could engage them in an honest conversation about America and learn their real points of view. I didn't want to know them as a point of contention. I didn't want to argue. I simply wanted to see my own nation through their eyes. I wanted to know the good things and I wanted to know the bad. I warn the weak, this can be akin to swallowing a bitter pill. It's kind of like listening to two people talk about you when they don't know your listening. Sometimes, the words can be painful and unkind. On the other hand, wouldn't you like to know that everyone notices that piece of food on your chin? I mean it is so gross.
Well back to China and that little Chinese... oh, did I say that? I mean that Chinese person sitting in their chair thinking while stitching ten yards of fabric. It's been a twelve hour slave shift but they are trying to ask for better pay. Some want an extra ten minute break added to the day. For our sake, I hope they are getting hungry and thinking about some tasty fried chicken.
I wish it had been a saintly vision. An apparition of the Virgin Mary in my shaving cream perhaps, or possibly a feeling of the divine as I washed each of my toes. No, nothing so dramatic. I simply thought of the factory in China where my shirt came from and how horrified the Chinese must be at the amount of fabric required to make our clothing. As the girth of the average American continues to increase they must feel as if they are dressing a buffalo. I wonder if we are the butt of their jokes?
"Hey Fong, the boss is going to kill me. I blew the stitching on this one."
"Don't worry Ling, we can just send it to the next shop over, they are making Snuggies, I am sure there is plenty of material there for that."
I guess it all fits with American excess. We consume the most food, drink the most water, use the most electricity and burn the most fuel. Why not use the most fabric! Of course China is hot on our heels. We have sent them KFC. They send us lead based plastics, poisoned milk candy and deadly dog food. In a kind of new Cold War we answer the gesture by shipping buckets of animal lard concealed within salty fried morsels of goodness. Advertisers take heed! Think of the marketing possibilities in the Mao Fry or the Great Wall Burger. Of course we could cater to regional taste, the Szechuan Dog perhaps or the Jimmy Dean Moo Shu Pork Pattie. I will most certainly know victory will be at hand when I pick up a shirt at the store and see a greasy thumb print on the collar.
It is always an interesting mental exercise to imagine how we must appear in the eyes of others. We tend to be so busy with our own ethnic stereotyping we forget others might be doing the same of us. When I was a student traveling through Europe with my backpack I used to always tell people I was Canadian. The reason was simple, it was only then that I could engage them in an honest conversation about America and learn their real points of view. I didn't want to know them as a point of contention. I didn't want to argue. I simply wanted to see my own nation through their eyes. I wanted to know the good things and I wanted to know the bad. I warn the weak, this can be akin to swallowing a bitter pill. It's kind of like listening to two people talk about you when they don't know your listening. Sometimes, the words can be painful and unkind. On the other hand, wouldn't you like to know that everyone notices that piece of food on your chin? I mean it is so gross.
Well back to China and that little Chinese... oh, did I say that? I mean that Chinese person sitting in their chair thinking while stitching ten yards of fabric. It's been a twelve hour slave shift but they are trying to ask for better pay. Some want an extra ten minute break added to the day. For our sake, I hope they are getting hungry and thinking about some tasty fried chicken.
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