Based in New York, the brand offers ready-to-wear clothing that combines Chinese traditional aesthetics with Western sensibilities: think casual qipaos, reimagined dudou tops (a traditional Chinese undergarment) and other “modern chinoiserie” apparel.
Wang first developed an interest in fashion when she was 15 years old after moving to California for boarding school.
“I had no experience in fashion whatsoever, or art in general, but our curriculum required us to take at least one year of art and music,” she says.
After choosing to take a fashion design class, she quickly became enthralled by the subject.
“I was like, ‘Wow, I really enjoy creating something out of hand that’s wearable, that’s my vision,’” she says.
Her dedication to fashion became so steadfast that when it came time to apply to universities, she chose to apply exclusively to art schools – and she got into all 10 that she applied to.
Parsons was always her first choice. “Especially being in a boarding school for three years, I craved that metropolitan life, so I was like, ‘I’m not going anywhere else,’” she says. So in 2013 she jetted off to New York.
While studying there, Wang interspersed her education with internships at various couture houses, including Monique Lhuillier and Marchesa. But she soon realised that designing couture was not what she had expected, noting the stressful conditions and minimal pay that designers received.
Her focus began to shift towards ready-to-wear, and as she came up with ideas for her thesis collection, her professor’s advice – to dig into her roots and examine what she liked to wear herself – rang in her head.
“In the Western world at the time, there weren’t any available [modern Chinese] products I wanted to purchase as a customer,” she says.
“It was then that I realised that it can’t be just only me – I know so many people who grew up with the same experience as me, or are American-born Chinese, that crave that uniqueness when it comes to their personal dressing.”
Wang had found a niche, but she did not begin Dawang right away. She wanted to learn more about Chinese clothing, so during her extra year at Parsons, she took a class on the history of Chinese fashion, and another about how fashion was related to the rise of subcultures. Both made her sure that a new era of modern Chinese fashion was necessary.
“I could see the revolution of the qipao from the early 19th century to maybe the 1940s, ’50s. But after the Cultural Revolution, we had no development. It just paused,” she says.
“We didn’t have much modern interpretation of it. Everything that you see, even at Lunar New Year celebrations here in Chinatown, you will see outfits [that are] exactly the same as the photos that they took 40 years ago in Chinatown.”
Wang began building Dawang during the year after she graduated from Parsons, while also working at a few start-up brands. But she felt that she lacked sufficient business and finance knowledge to support her brand’s growth, so she spent a year studying for a master’s degree in fashion merchandising at New York’s LIM College.
After that, she went all in on Dawang.
The name, based on her first and last names, means “big king” in Mandarin – a nod to the brand’s spirit and desire to push boundaries.
“My dad doesn’t agree with it,” Wang says with a laugh. “As a very traditional Chinese, he’s just like, ‘Dawang is too much.’ You never want to be at your 100 per cent as a Chinese – you always want to leave a little room for [humility]. But I was like, we can’t be ‘small king’.
Founded in 2018, Dawang is tailored for the younger generation and takes inspiration from tradition, but does not necessarily adhere to it. Wang’s first collection, launched in March 2019, included a short, casual black qipao with a particularly high slit.
“As someone who spent five years in New York, I understand how people appreciate black and how safe black can be as an introduction colour for fashion apparel,” she says. “Funny thing is, my parents didn’t agree. They’re just like, ‘Black in Chinese culture is for dead people or when you go to a funeral. Nobody’s going to buy that.’
“[But] that’s why we wanted to twist it. This is modern Chinese. We’re in the Y2K, young generation – we want to show off more of an attitude.”
Another key piece was the designer’s modern take on the dudou, a type of traditional Chinese undergarment that covers the front torso.
“I always love a crop-top moment, so why can’t we redo the dudou? Instead of a lingerie item, like in the traditional way, we’re taking it out, kind of like how people are wearing the bra [outwardly].
“These two items gave me the confidence to move forward,” she adds. “People loved it. They appreciated it and understood what we were doing.”
In fact, her black qipao became so popular that when she did not bring it back in subsequent seasons, customers asked for restocks.
Today, Wang handles everything from design and production to marketing and inventory for Dawang, though a friend, Ab Li, joined the business in 2022.
Wang says that Li has pushed her to think outside the box, and since the two began collaborating, Dawang has launched a number of unisex and menswear pieces, as well as designs in more adventurous colours. The brand’s spring/summer 2024 collection, for example, features pieces in green.
And though Dawang may aim to push boundaries, its roots are solidly in Wang’s hometown, Qingdao, where most of her garments are made. Her manufacturing partner, a childhood friend, is based there, while the custom brocade she uses in her pieces are arranged through her uncle.
Reinterpreting Chinese traditional clothing has required a level of sensitivity and awareness. In the past few years, brands such as Reformation, PrettyLittleThing and MaisonCléo have come under fire from people in the Asian diaspora for appropriating or sexualising the qipao, and it is an issue that Wang has contemplated when designing her own pieces.
She says she understands where the anger comes from, particularly when it involves Western designers who have not done enough research. But she believes that if brands like hers can make modern Chinese aesthetics more common, people will want to learn more and will become more appreciative of the culture – just like how Asians learned about and grew to appreciate Western clothing.
“Originally growing up with China as my background, I’ve always been proud of anybody who wanted to love or appreciate Chinese elements in general. [So] it’s hard for me to judge any Western designers based on the fact that they launched a collection,” she says.
“I’m OK with it as long as they did the research, they appreciate it – that they’re not just like, ‘Let’s sell Chinese [qipao] this year, because it’s going to make some money and people will love it as this exotic style.’
“We still get DMs – which I appreciate a lot – from followers being like, ‘I’m Korean, or I’m white. Can I wear this stuff? Should I make a purchase?’ Even you asking that question means a lot to us. It means that you are showing respect, that you’re wanting to know more. For me, as the designer, I’m so grateful and I’m so OK for you to portray or style it however you like.”
But what about purists who say that Wang is not honouring tradition?
“I’m not as worried about that, because our target customers are people my age,” she says. “They’ve experienced both cultures, so they know how traditional our parents and our family can be, and how they want to break out of that. I feel like it’s that commonality that brought our customers together.
“It’s about giving kids who grew up in traditional or super strict families, like me, the freedom to speak for yourself, to be the new you.”