When the American delegation touched down in Beijing, the absence of the First Lady left a sartorial vacuum. Into that space stepped Lara Trump, her tea-length silhouettes and high-collared qipaos becoming the primary visual language of American womanhood for a Chinese audience. This is not merely fashion; it is the continuation of a long tradition of using dress as a tool of statecraft—a tradition that runs parallel to the history of lingerie itself, where the cut and fabric of a garment have always signaled intention, status, and cultural allegiance.
For the state banquet, Trump chose a chrysanthemum-embroidered cheongsam, a style whose origins trace back to the 1920s Shanghai elite. The chrysanthemum motif, as Cornell’s Peidong Sun noted, carries auspicious meaning in Chinese culture. This deliberate nod to local tradition echoes a principle familiar to lingerie historians: the most powerful garments are often those that negotiate between the wearer’s identity and the expectations of the observer. Just as the corset once mediated between the female form and social propriety, Trump’s qipao mediated between American political branding and Chinese cultural respect.
While some online critics compared her looks to Temu—the ultra-cheap fast-fashion platform whose business model disrupts traditional garment manufacturing—the conversation reveals a deeper tension. In an era of trade wars, every thread is political. The Trump Store’s activewear line, which includes $98 leggings and a “No Days Off” cap, represents a direct-to-consumer model that bypasses the very supply chains that built the modern lingerie industry. From the 19th-century corsetieres who dressed queens to the digital disruptors of today, the business of dressing the body has always mirrored the geopolitics of its time.
As President Xi and Peng Liyuan prepare for a White House visit in September, the question remains: will the next chapter of this dialogue be written in silk, spandex, or something entirely new?
Originally reported by WWD