Beijing’s “No Spitting” T-shirts

A t-shirt shop in one of Beijing’s recently chic old quarter is more proof of the flourishing of small, smart design shops across the city. The Grifted shop and design studio on Nanluoguxian, a narrow lane or hutong north of the Forbidden City, is doing something in the vein of the brilliant British-run Plastered shop nearby: coming up with cheeky designs that have something tongue-in-cheek to say about modern China. Their best designs are messages on some of the city’s embarrassing social habits, like spitting and overweight local men drinking beer with shirt rolled up to the nipples.

After four years in China I still can’t get used to the sound a spit. A local spit, the deep, long clearing of the nose, then throat, then everything onto the street in a final “thup.” Men and women do it and even though Beijingers blame it on the country bumpkins coming to the city for a job, everyone does it. A pot porri of spit marks dot the flagstones in the exercise areas in my local park, frozen in neat balls during the subzero winter.

Its fitting: it was for a period, the city's major commercial street, during the Yuan Dynasty 750 years ago as part of the back court of the Imperial Palace. In later years members of the imperial family lived here, so too revolutionary leader Suan Yat-sen. Then came the Communists settled the old houses with working families and today, bursting at the seams, many houses have bought up and converted into boutique shops and cosy cafes. Elsewhere the former residences of the likes of painter Qi Baishi, and writer Mao Dun have been converted into olde world apartments for local and foreign yuppies.

Nanluogu Xiang was classified by local government as a cultural heritage zone and got a facelift from the city last year. But all the paving and painting and hype have brought their own problems. Nanluoguxiang was hitherto a street for bicycles, tricycles and pedestrians. Now China’s yuppies drive and honk their cars down the narrow street. My head was nearly knocked off by an SUV tearing past as I walked out of a café. The price of 'progress'...?