In the state-owned department store of Beijing's prestigious Qinghua University, a clerk in a white lab coat meticulously arranges her selection of "health equipment" on sale - a display of prickly clitoral stimulators, garish Pepto Bismol-pink plastic vaginas, aphrodisiacs, vibrators, and "male physiotherapeutic rings."
The clerk asserts, "The customers should be able to see what they want immediately to make a quick and convenient purchase." Nearby is a plastic lucite case presenting a variety of condoms and - for that quick impulse buy - peppermint Mentos.
If given the opportunity to browse through today's Qinghua University department store, Chairman Mao would not throw a nod of approval. Under Mao's control, the Communist Party condemned non-procreative sex as a bourgeois diversion. For married couples, making love more than once a week was dismissed as a selfish waste of energy.
However, in today's People's Republic, devices designed specifically to enhance "bourgeois" lovemaking are widely available in university shops, specialty boutiques, and health-supply stores. Since the mid-1980s, sex shops have been making their way into mainstream Beijing culture, reflecting a sexual climate quite different from that during Mao's regime - a climate that is remarkably open.
At the Wangfujing Medicine and Apparatus Company, Wu Jing Lin - a shop assistant trained in "Western sex medicine" - offers suggestions to customers browsing through the shop's assortment of "strongman helpers" and "love potion" lubricants. Some clients walk through the door with a doctor's prescription in hand, curious and very willing to discuss their sexual ailment and needs with Wu. Wu, in turn, frankly suggests the most suitable brand, style, and flavor - not to mention size - for her client.
Liu Pei, a shop manager at the pharmacy of the Beijing International Institute of Biological Products, also engages in rapt consultation with her customers. Amidst the ginseng roots, royal bee jelly tonics, pearl powder cures, and loquat cough syrup bottles that clutter the pharmacy, dildos and massage oils provide additional cure-all potential. Liu marvels at the growing popularity of sex toys as a health supplement, yet also understands the demand for such products by simply claiming, "With the one-child policy, alternatives are definitely needed."
As Liu continues to theorize the relationship between China's one-child birth policy and Beijing's demand for sex toys, a married couple scrutinize the pharmacy's collection of sex "cures" with their child. The 7-year-old, palms and face pressed flat against glass case, ogles the grossly veined vibrators on display. As if touched by the presentation of fake flesh to his family, the father rests his hand on his son's shoulders and smiles on.
Song Wei Jie, a researcher at the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, doesn't quite agree with the one-child policy explanation for the prevalence of sex toys in urban China. He is equally skeptical of the "medicinal" motivation behind the purchase of such paraphernalia. Says Song, "I think these answers are too simple. Maybe it is an excuse. The idea of 'privacy' is important in China. As a result, people don't want to tell their real reason to purchase sexual toys."
Instead, Song points to a recent intellectual trend in Beijing to explain the popularity of sex toys. He claims that a growing fascination with Chinese traditional sexual practices may be linked to the current consumer interest in sexual satisfaction. Recently, a Chinese translation of Robert van Gulik's research on Chinese erotica and the traditional Chinese art of making love has been very popular in intellectual circles, even to the point of becoming the subject of many masters theses and dissertations. Perhaps it is the resurgence in popularity of classical Chinese erotica that has piqued the public libido.
No matter the reason, sex is up for mass consumption in the Chinese metropolis. If not out of intellectual curiosity, medicinal treatment, or policy-induced frustration, then for the simple and universal reason of physical fulfillment. Though the clerk at the Cheng Long Robust Sex Shop in downtown Beijing also dons the ubiquitous white lab coat, he knows his wares are designed not to cure the sick, but simply to please the customer. Issuing a promise of physical gratification, the store lures customers to its pricey array of more than 20 kinds of vibrators with flyers that pronounce, "We can make your life even more happy ... by contributing just a bit of power."
