Qipaos /CHEE-Paos/ or cheongsams /chaang·saams/ are form-fitting, high-collar dresses that mean different things to different people.

Some see it as the epitome of class and femininity, due to its popularity among high society in the early decades. Others wear it on their wedding day to acknowledge a long-standing tradition and respect for their family.

Like the structure of traditional Asian families, the structure of qipaos are also unforgiving. What was meant to accentuate the quiet, delicate, female figure is also a magnifier for natural lumps and bumps.

Qipaos also follow Asian sizing which are one or two sizes smaller than North American sizing. It is not uncommon for brides to opt for a custom-made, red qiapao for their nuptials to ensure proper fit.

Qipaos are structured like traditional families, because emphasis and praise is placed on the quiet and bound woman. So if this is how you feel about tradition and family, you might not even want to consider a qipao in the first place.

Then again, a dress is just a dress until you give it meaning.

My own bridal qipao is a nod to a fiercely, gritty matriarch who doesn’t skimp on love or stories. A widow by the time she was my age, Ah Ma was raising five sons on her own with wit, resourcefulness, and eloquence.

Ah Ma told stories about traditions that sought to bind and belittle her, so she restructured them within our family. She became a force of her own; the matriarch no one dares to cross. Her wrath still reverberating through time.

She is a presence. Soft and quiet femininity was unheard of in our family, let alone encouraged. Ah Ma’s stories were about overcoming, becoming, family, and the power you can weld from healthy femininity.

Healthy femininity starts early here with Ah Ma. After watching the girlish drama unfold about my thighs looking too big in a corduroy skirt, Ah Ma calmly told me that I was just big-boned like her.

I paused, because Ah Ma never says that to anyone unless she likes them. I wasn’t going to argue with this tough, straight-talker! Instead, what I did do was go back into my room and put on the skirt that showed off my maybe-not-so-big-thighs.

When I came back out, she chuckled and took my hand. “Your hands are like mine too. Beautiful.”

When I wear my qipao, I’ll be honouring this memory I have with my grandma. It seems like a simple memory, but it did more for my confidence than anything I can remember. We are meant to be more brazen and fierce in how we look, live, and love. That’s what my Ah Ma taught me.