A Retired Shanghainese Woman’s Story

“I never wanted to be strong,” she told me. “I just had to be.”

She sat on the sofa, and the light glimmered on her face. There was something steady in her presence, the calm of someone who had seen storms and learned to stand through them.

She was my grandmother’s longtime friend and former business partner, and, about a decade ago, she also lived in the apartment on the floor just above ours.

She is a Shanghainese and grew up in a Western-style townhouse in Shikumen on West Nanjing Road. When she was thirteen, her calm life was disrupted by the sudden death of her father. “He was a good father. He was the only figure in the family who supported us financially.” She paused. “However, his death left me little time to cry. Someone had to step up, and that person had to be me, the eldest child in the family.”

After completing middle school, she went to work immediately. Her first job was making paper in a paper factory, where she worked for quite a few years.

“There, I basically did the same work every day. The factory was indeed a stable job, but it also trained me to be an emotionless working machine.”

Then, after the reopening of China’s economy in the 1980s and 1990s, she decided to pursue something different, something fresh and challenging that women were told not to do, as they were expected to stay home or work on factory assembly lines. She chose to work in the ambitious automobile industry instead, starting in 1995.

She worked as a salesperson in a privately owned automobile company and embarked on her journey as a businesswoman. She traveled across China to cities like Harbin, Shenyang, Changsha, and Beijing for business trips, communicating with highly successful and admirable businessmen and businesswomen in the industry. She recalled that meeting a businesswoman was really uncommon, and whenever she met one, she would look up to them and ask for advice about the industry.

“I would cherish every moment I spent together with these women. I had absolutely nothing at that time, but they are the women that I have always wanted to be.”

She became more experienced in the industry after years of learning, slowly earning the respect of those around her. “At first, people didn’t take me seriously,” she said. “They thought I was just a woman trying to play business. But I learned to speak louder, to stand firmer, and to never back down from a deal.”

The work was exhausting, but she found a sense of power in it — a kind of confidence she had never known before. “When I first started, I was afraid of almost everything,” she said with a small laugh. “But once you’ve argued with factory owners in freezing weather in Harbin, or haggled over prices in an office in Beijing, you stop being afraid.”

She worked in the automobile industry for five years. Yet, in the early 2000s, the automobile companies began to decline. 

So, she decided to start all over.

She began working at a clothing store on Shanghai’s once-vibrant Qipu Road, selling fashion items to local customers and tourists. She worked there for about six years, continuing even after her retirement in 2004. The pace was different, the faces were unfamiliar, but her determination remained the same. “Every day, I talked to people, listened to their stories, and learned something new. Maybe that’s why I never got tired,” she said. “I think I’ve always liked connecting with others; it’s what kept me going.”

After others taught her the values of the units on Qipu Road, she even managed to buy a retail unit on that road, which she rented to others, earning a considerable amount of money from it.

Despite her enjoyment, she quit this job in 2006, after the slow decline of Qipu Road’s clothing market.

“I always wanted to prove I was independent and valuable. You know what? From very early in my marriage, I did something most women of my time wouldn’t. I insisted on handling my own expenses and never covering my husband’s, nor do I need him to cover my expenses. When I found that my marriage had evolved into some problems, I divorced him without any reluctance. I took care of my child all by myself.”

Now, she would slow down her life. She would go for a walk in the morning around the park, or sometimes go and watch a movie with my grandmother. However, she didn’t find her life fulfilling. She always complains to my grandmother about how boring the movies are.

“Several years ago, I could still spend some of my free time taking care of my granddaughter. Now, she is already a senior in high school, preparing for Gaokao. She no longer needs my daily help, so I find myself quite useless.”

Her fear of being “useless” and “resting too much” leads her to get involved in some business selling activities again. She would now connect some business startups with customers, marketing the products of the startups to them.

“Only this way would my life be fulfilling.”

She is a “feminist” from her time. She is continuously proving to society that her being independent and strong makes her “valuable” to society. She constantly feels a sense of idleness, and working continuously helps her to cover up her emptiness. 

But what is the meaning of life? What is the definition of “valuable”? Why should we prove to others that we are “valuable”? Also, what is true “feminism”? Does it always mean to show strength and independence outwardly, or is it also about embracing one’s own choices, desires, and rest without guilt? 

I don’t know the answer to these questions, and neither does she know. Perhaps this is just her lifestyle, and as another woman, I should not easily judge her life simply by looking briefly from the outside.