​As Angelababy kitty-danced her way to the heart of her livestream audience, she learned that couture does not go with everything, especially on a largely fallen star

Angelababy and her shoe problem . Photo: 栩谊娱乐

Last week, in the raucous livestream world of China, one spry selling session left everyone with something to say and everywhere to say it. The Chinese actress-turned-livestreamer Angelababy, a.k.a. 杨颖 or Yang Ying, has gone from muse to merchant, hawking sneakers on her official 抖音 (Douyin) channel. It would have been the usual commercial hum, had the optics not been so jarring. Clad in a couture dress by the Dutch designer Roland van der Kemp, Angelababy (or “Baby” as she is also called since five syllables could be difficult for her admirers) was “glamorously” hawking the kicks she was paid to—sneakers from the local brand 红蜻蜓 or Red Dragonfly, so stunningly red they could have been bundled as GWP with every six bottles of 老干妈 (Laoganma).

Angelababy’s unidentified stylist likely believed a dress worth tens of thousands would sanctify the footwear, but the couturier saw only the “cheap”, after Netizens’ screenshots of the actress in action caught the attention of Mr van der Kemp, formerly with Guy Laroche after the late Alber Elbaz left in 1998 following a two-year stint to join Saint Laurent. The Dutchman was initially displeased with what he saw and commented on Instagram: “I did not allow any commercial activity or event with my couture dress. There is NO PERMISSION from RVDK to promote cheap shoes wearing a one of a kind couture gown.” It was not a “gown”, but screen shots of that chat went viral. Mr Van der Kemp had not realised that in the world of the digital bazaar, one-of-a-kind is really another convenient clickbait.

Ronald van der Kemp’s clearly disdainful reply to images shared by a Chinese netizens on Weibo. Screen shot: RVDK/Instagram

The seeming slight was taken very seriously. Chinese Netizens saw their guohuo (national goods) denigrated. Although the sneakers in question are priced at around 500 yuan (or about S$91), according to Sina News, no one was willing to allow them to be considered “cheap”, a word that describes more than just the cost to buy. The price point, in fact, positions Red Dragonfly kicks in a middle zone: not luxury, but not bargain-bin either. To be sure, neither is Red Dragon a Li-Ning, the brand that carries cultural cachet, nationalist pride, and genuine design credibility, one that showed in Paris Fashion Week between 2019 and 2020, and debuted recently in Milan Fashion Week. Its international showing elevated the brand from domestic sportswear leader to international fashion contender, signaling ambitions beyond performance wear.

While 500 yuan is objectively accessible, the “cheap” comment was interpreted by Netizens as a Western designer looking down on a Chinese success story. In the consumer culture of China, “cheap” is not just 便宜 (pianyi) or low price, it denotes a kind of 负面评价 (fumian pingjia) or inferior quality. Even if the price is low, the word itself is toxic in aspirational marketing. Most Europeans are not aware that Red Dragonfly is actually a public company listed in Shanghai (Zhejiang Red Dragonfly Footwear) with a massive manufacturing footprint, making Mr van der Kemp’s dismissal of them feel like an old world artisan scoffing at an industrial giant. Given China’s current garment/footwear industry woes, “cheap” carries geopolitical baggage, too—a reminder of trade wars, tariffs, and cultural condescension. The Chinese reaction was, in essence, global narrative control: Who gets to define the true value of guohuo?

When a dress is loan to a celebrity, the “deal” almost always includes controlled image circulation, such as this, a posed picyure of her being styled. Photo: angelababy/微博

The brand’s Chinese agent quickly performed the traditional ‘cultural differences’ dance to justify the wild world of local livestreaming. Four days after his caps-lock outburst, Ronald van der Kemp issued an apology of sorts via video message, seemingly addressed to Angelababy. From vehement berating, he turned to tactical adulation: “I know there’s a lot of confusion right now, but I really like Angelababy. She’s one of the most beautiful stars in China, and we’ve worked with her many times. I think this is a huge misunderstanding.” Was the praise necessary or was he cornered by a PR crisis? Even if tried to clear the mistake as problem of meaning, a Western designer dismissing a Chinese industrial giant is more than a critique of aesthetics. It is an accidental endorsement of the “Made in China is inferior” trope that the country is actively fighting unwaveringly to dismantle.

But Angelababy was not exactly coming up roses either and there was plenty of blame to go around for her team too. Both blurred the line between couture showcase and 直播推销 (zhibo tuixiao or livestream sales pitch) into a smudge of frivolousness. The dress was undeniably more for the red carpet than a studio at the rear of some warehouse. It was a ruched bustier top with a plunging V-neck, seemingly secured by a pleated shard on her right. The textured duo of contrasting fabrics sat atop a landslide of a knee-length skirt, worn not as the lookbook might have preferred—a pointed part that rose above the waist of the original was subjugated to mingle with the other random folds and pleats. Loie Hollowell in dress form, only a lot less symmetrical. But the most incongruous (or “cheap” to some) were those sneakers worn with socks that looked like what the mother of one might have worn to school, 30 years ago, as she jiggled in the “meow meow” dance.

The full styling that sealed her fashion fate. Photo: angelababy/微博

Wearing the dress in a sneaker-selling livestream was a risky move that should have been flagged internally. You need flair to smuggle prestige into a commercial transaction. This was not the first time Angelababy wore RVDK couture. According to Chinese media, she appeared in creations from the house at least eight times prior. It should have been common couture sense to know what occasions deserve a custom dress, in particular one on loan, as Mr van der Kemp alluded. A dress on loan is not custom-made for her. It is likely an archival piece that happened to fit her lithe body. More tellingly, the dress was a ghost of seasons past, from the autumn/winter 2024, to be precise. In couture timeline, this was clearly a relic, but one recent enough to carry a smidgen of symbolic weight. However, wearing old news while pretending it’s a moment is a tragic place to be for an actress whose clout has been diminishing faster than the battery life of a smartphone at fashion week.

In the brutal choreography of the livestream, the dress didn’t serve as a lifeline as much as a gilded anchor, dragging her fading relevance into the deep end of the Mariana Trench of the ‘Seen’ pile that even 奋斗者 (Fendouzhe or Stiver), China’s own deep-submergence vehicle, can’t reach. The desperation of selling online in a dress of past seasons was rooted in a year-long exile that began with a single, ill-fated night in Paris. Angelababy, together with another Chinese actress 张嘉倪 (Zhang Jiani), attended Lisa’s infamous Crazy Horse performance in late 2023, a pairing that turned a casual night of cabaret into immediate fallout and a shared professional catastrophe. The ex-wife of Huang Xiaoming’s subsequent “soft-ban” meant she wasn’t formally blacklisted by regulators, but she was effectively sidelined from the mainstream entertainment and fashion ecosystem in China. Unlike a hard ban, there was no public decree or government notice. Instead, her visibility was quietly reduced. When CCTV-17 edits her out of a promotion mid-October 2023, the luxury brands take the hint and let their contracts expire in silence.

Posing with the Shanghai cityscape behind her in Roland van der Kemp. Photo: RVDK/YouTube

When even the agricultural channel quietly edited Angelababy out of a promotional segment, it went beyond a snub to truly transmit a signal. Luxury brands, ever attuned to state cues, harvested the hint. Quiet on the career front meant she needed to turn to something for income and, like so many, chose online selling as it is a direct and often easy-to-reach path. But zhibo is often seen as a fallback for celebrities whose mainstream influence has waned. For Angelababy, appearing in couture while hawking sneakers looked like a desperate attempt to reclaim lost glory. But her Red Dragonfly stint wasn’t quite commerce, nor quite couture. It turned out to be a moment of livestream absurdity—a digital bazaar where Taobao opened a pop-up in Versailles. ‘Styling’ would have overstated it.

One Chinese reporter excitedly exclaimed in an editorial that on the livestream, Angelababy looked “美到心尖上了 (meidao xinjiang shang le)” or (possessed) beauty so intense it pierces the heart’s tip. Poetic perhaps, but excessive too. To he sure, this was not a commentary on her fashion choice, which was not always the best or well-informed. In 2023, Netizens were savage to her when they alleged that a dress she wore for a livestream was not by David Koma, as credited. It was a fake. The blame fell on the stylist who was quickly fired to save the wearer’s face. But, a true couture insider is someone steeped in the codes of craftsmanship, fabric, and fit. She would immediately sense the difference between an authentic gown and a counterfeit. Couture isn’t just about silhouette; it’s about the hand, the weight, the finish, the invisible architecture. When the stylist failed with the knock-off David Koma gown, she had no instinct to catch it. To wear couture is to be versed in literacy. If it’s all about the vibe, as most things are these days, then Angelababy was giving Met Gala without heft, reminding all that she was really on a livestream stage instead of the steps of the Met.