Passing Dynasty I: The Bicycle

The costume shop talked me into a second day, and this time we took the century collision outside. Me in pale blue Qing embroidery, flowers pinned into my hair, riding a rented share bike through the hutongs while the camera panned: the robe from one era, the bike from another app entirely, the grey wall and red doors smeared into speed lines behind.

Panning is honest photography, it keeps only what moves with you. Everything Beijing was doing that morning became a blur; the absurd cyclist in dynasty silk stayed sharp. I wobbled, the sleeves fought the handlebar, a delivery driver overtook me without one flicker of surprise, which is the most Beijing sentence I will write this month.

Two frames from this series are worth keeping. This is the first: the moment a costume stops being reverent and starts being transport.