OK-Hao!

Well, this weekend we had another one of those crazy cross-cultural experiences. The 10th was our fourth wedding anniversary (doesn’t seem like it, though), and since my first anniversary present for Des fell through, I was open to suggestions for something else. That’s when I found out about the photo studio.

Many women that I’ve met have this weird idea about pictures. If I go to some amazing scenic place, for instance, I’m going to be taking pictures of the scenery, not of myself and my wife (for some reason, she doesn't share this perfectly rational outlook). And if someone suggests that we get our picture taken at some professional studio, my reaction is invariably, “Why? I know what I look like.” I just don’t see the appeal. In fact, I go one step further – I hate sitting around getting my picture taken.

So I was less than excited when I heard about an AMAZING OPPORTUNITY that had just presented itself – there was a professional Chinese-style portrait studio near a student’s house, and wouldn’t it be a great idea if we all went and got our picture taken? Maybe. But there was a bright side to all this: Des was gleeful about the possibility of getting her picture taken, and I was in need of an anniversary present. You can guess what happened next.

That was how I found myself sitting in a photo studio waiting room with my wife and student on Friday afternoon, watching a Chinese model in a funky blue feather dress get glitter applied to her face and shoulders. These studios aren’t like your Wal-Mart Quick-E-Photo back home; think Glamour Shots. Plus some.

After a short wait, we were hustled across the street and up a flight of stairs into the studio itself, where the make-up girl went to work. And work. And work. This gal has some serious skills. Des, as you may know, was a professional makeup artist for a while when she worked at BJU, and she was duly impressed. I was duly bored, since I had nothing to do but sit in the chair, listen to Mariah Carey (the same CD, on repeat, for four hours), and try to remember my Chinese vocabulary. The photo assistants were happy to help me perfect my pronunciation, since they had as much to do as I did (read: nothing).

After a short ice age had passed, my wife was clad in some kind of traditional outfit, topped with traditional hair, covered with traditional makeup, and ready for the traditional digital camera poses. Me? I was wearing a black suit. They brought out a few traditional outfits for me to try on, but . . . yeah. I could get the vests on (sort of), but I would have split them if I’d clapped my hands.

The shooting itself was hilarious. None of the staff spoke any English, and of course, we don’t speak any Chinese worth mentioning. This meant that the patient photographer would elaborately pantomime whatever he wanted us to do. If that didn’t work, our student companion (the inimitable Lucy Liu) would bounce around, gesturing and alternating between English instructions and Chinese clarifications. When even those failed, the photographer’s assistant would impersonate both my wife and myself as we ought to be – sitting just so, holding his head just so, looking just so. It was hilarious.

He also brought a never-ending stream of props for the photos – a parasol, a fan (held just so! No, just so!), a book for me (the People’s Liberation Army Manual, in fact), flowers, balloons, more flowers, a shawl, different flowers, etc. The funniest were the bubbles. The assistant balanced precariously, on one foot on a rickety stool, and leaned out over us; then, while the photographer barked orders, he blew stream after stream of bubbles down on us.

So of course you’re wondering at this point where the pictures are. Patience, friends. We expect them in about a week. Probably Photoshopped and all (just like our passport photos). Wait and see.

P.S. “Hao” is Chinese for “good.” “OK-Hao” is one of those multicultural encounters you keep hearing about. It was all our photographer ever said.

Dave