The Diva’s Wardrobe
All photos credit to Yuja Wang’s ins.
I have been meaning to write about Yuja Wang and her music. But I hesitate to do so. I worry that words don’t give justice to her trailblazing trajectory in music performing arts. Yuja has been influential on a global scale, especially for Chinese women. She is an iconic figure whose stage charisma and repertoire are jawdroppingly miraculous and original. Yuja always gives us surprise, both musically and fashion-wise. I have never heard a piano transcription for Tchaikovsky 6th symphony — Yuja did that. I have never heard anyone played Prokofiev 8th in such a poetic and engaging way. Nor have I ever heard Rachmaninoff’s transcription for JS Bach’s Badinerie — Yuja played that. Not to mention the infamous Rach marathon earlier this year, the Ravel marathon, or the debuts for new concertoes that are exclusively dedicated to Yuja herself. Would you believe that I consult my wardrobe choices according to Yuja’s outfits? Not according to movie stars or models or anyone on the Vanity Fair magazine whom we call “celebrities.” Yuja, in her free time, is a faithful fan of our field (aka. philosophy). Yuja is acquainted with some of the most inspirational intellectuals in our discipline, including Martha C. Nussbaum and the one whose name doesn’t need to be mentioned any more (aka. Immanuel Kant). Yuja is also a dedicated yoga practitioner. Like all of us, she loves Netflix and nature. Yuja is an immigrant whose genius gets reaffirmed and publicized in the land of the free. Yuja is a fragile nonetheless independent female raised in China. Yuja makes her way by mastering the most difficult profession on planet earth (aka. a pianist). Yuja navigates the most daredevil repertoires in piano literature.
If only we could catch up with the goddess’ steps.
Last night in Paris, Yuja the goddess played Ravel’s concertoes in a single concert, conducted by her little boyfriend Klaus Mäkelä. Her performance is a gift from outer space that we don’t even know what that is yet. Yuja matched each concerto respectively with a gown that she has never worn before. How could someone be so perfect, being philosophically introspective and outrageously beautiful?
So tonight I am going to trespass the most tabooed theme and talk about the wardrobe of Yuja the diva. Whenever fashion is lined with women, talking about appearance, outlook, and objectification is almost unavoidable. To be heavy and deep, we have to dress simply and frugally — or maybe because philosophers simply don’t have the money to afford expensive stuff. Of course, it is also because we don’t care about material stuff. Of course, appearance on public channels is deeply interweaved with how committed the artist’ team is to marketing and presenting.
If we can be intelligent and beautiful at the same time, why not?
The moment when Yuja steps onward to the stage, and the moment when Yuja leaves the stage — we could only see her back; we can never reach her.
The moment when she finishes her performance, the way she empowers us with her arm gestures, bows, smiles, and energies:
Every male, white, mustached, and aged pianist is walking behind her, kneeling to her, and following in her footsteps.
When she is immersed in the process of music making and takes us to the dimension of magic:
Behind-stage photo sessions:
Like a wind, like a storm, like a fire, like an earthquake, like a mud slide, like a deluge, like a tree falling, a torrent roaring, an ice floe breaking, like a tidal wave, like a shipwreak, like an explosion, like a lid blown off, like a consuming fire, like spreading blight, like a sky darkening, a bridge collapsing, a hole opening. Like a volcano erupting. Surely more than just the actions of people: choosing, yielding, braving, lying, understanding, being right, being deceived, being consistent, being visionary, being reckless, being cruel, being mistaken, being original, being afraid . . .
― The Volcano Lover, Susan Sontag