I can still vividly recall the day I departed London, not long after concluding my postgraduate studies in 2016. My suitcases were jammed with souvenirs of my time abroad, not least among them my diploma. But nestled alongside was another, more unusual memento of my 18 months in the United Kingdom: a traditional hanfu robe.

My fascination with hanfu — the term literally means “Han (Chinese) clothing” — began not in China, but in one of my translation classes at University College London. Although I quickly fell in love with the U.K., my enchantment with its history and culture was tinged with a sense of cultural alienation. China felt oddly absent from my courses: A class on Bible translations covered Latin, English, and a wide variety of indigenous languages, but no Chinese. A poetry translation course explored the way English verse was influenced by traditions from across the globe. We talked about Japanese haiku, but nothing from China.

Around the same time, I encountered a small London-based community of hanfu enthusiasts and joined a local hanfu club. Although I had worn hanfu before, the club was my first initiation to what is sometimes called the “hanfu movement,” part of a larger revival of traditional Chinese culture over the past two decades.

On the Chinese mainland, the hanfu movement was kickstarted by Wang Letian, a power worker in the central Chinese province of Henan, who attracted widespread media attention after wearing traditional clothing in public in 2003. From there, hanfu appreciation quickly spread among young Chinese involved in the country’s early online communities. These young individuals have experienced China’s ascent in the 21st century, but they remained sensitive to the damage done to the country during the colonial period and by China’s own rejection of its historical legacy in the 20th century. This severance of tradition led to a crisis of identity, and many young people turned their gaze back to once-criticized aspects of Chinese traditional culture in an effort to reconnect with and revitalize China’s cultural identity and their own sense of self.

Early hanfu fans called themselves tongpao, or “robes,” and found communities of like-minded individuals online. Soon, they began organizing events online and in person to rediscover and reproduce what they saw as traditional Chinese culture, digging into historical documents and recreating garments based on their descriptions in literary texts.

Often overlooked, however, is the role overseas Chinese have played in the revival of hanfu. Although separated from their homeland geographically, overseas students and expats have been active online participants in the hanfu movement.

In the U.K., Chinese students began establishing hanfu clubs as early as 2007. WeChat was still years away, and these communities organized around the instant messaging app QQ. “We wanted to create a space for Chinese students in the U.K. to wear hanfu, and also to promote it more broadly so that foreigners would become aware of it,” the founder of the UK Han Culture Association, who goes by the screen name Daxiong, told me.

Another early hanfu club founder, who goes by Dingding, expressed a similar sentiment. “These are the clothes passed down from our ancestors, yet now even Chinese people themselves are unaware of them,” she said. “We thought that if hanfu could be accepted overseas, perhaps it would gain more attention back in China.”

Dingding’s approach proved prescient: When overseas Chinese students began wearing hanfu on London’s streets, it attracted widespread attention, not only from locals, but also Chinese media.

Many hanfu enthusiasts aren’t just interested in clothes, but in reviving other elements of traditional Chinese culture too. Take the coming-of-age ceremony, for example. Traditionally, men were “capped” at 20 years of age, and women had their hair pinned up at 15. More recently, many hanfu associations have organized coming-of-age ceremonies when members reach the legal age of 18 or when they complete their studies and enter the workforce.

A U.K.-based student and hanfu enthusiast who goes by Qingcha held her hair-pinning ceremony at Charing Cross Library in July 2017. She told me that, while her parents were skeptical about her new hobby at first, she was able to convince them to fly out and dress in hanfu for the occasion.

Their presence was crucial. The end of the coming-of-age ceremony sees the young man or woman bowing to their parents, their elders, and the mythical Yellow Emperor — an expression of gratitude, the will to advance in life, and a desire to carry on Chinese civilization, respectively.

It’s important to note that participation in these events or hanfu culture more broadly does not imply dissatisfaction with members’ lives abroad. Most of the hanfu association members I interviewed expressed positive attitudes toward the U.K.; a number stayed in the country to work after graduation.

Rather, the rise of hanfu culture outside of China reflects a desire for continued connection with Chinese expatriates’ home country. Members see traditional clothing and ceremonies as a way to internalize values they care about: respect for elders, care for family and other members of society, and the need to pass on Chinese culture to new generations.

Editor: Cai Yineng; portrait artist: Zhou Zhen.

(Header image: A Chinese woman in traditional dress eats at a Five Guys in London, Oct. 18, 2023. Dan Kitwood/Getty Images via VCG)