I went kicking and screaming the whole way. But I went.
You see, little grand-niece Julie Neihu, age 12, somehow found out about a “Teddy Bear Show” being held last Saturday at the Sunworld Dynasty Hotel for one day only.
This was big news. Not going was not an option, at least in little Julie’s world. Or rather, it was an option, but would have involved a three-month long sulk with intermittent wailing tantrums and a life-long grudge.
Guess who was the only extended Neihu clan member with enough “downtime” in his schedule to chaperone?
It was difficult to pull myself away from all my Tweeting, Twittering and Happy Farm vegetable-stealing, but I did it — after repeated entreaties from several insistent members of the Neihu clan, and promises of much Taiwan Beer in the near future.
Behold the Teddy Bear Show — a potent mixture of my beloved country’s overpowering “culture of cute” (a Japanese import laying waste to everything in its path) and our yearning for quaint, tea-time nostalgia (for the gory details, see www.twtba.org.tw).
Only in Taiwan can you dine in the presence of a massive stuffed teddy bear wedged into the seat beside you (there’s such a place off Xinsheng S Road, trust me) while being bombarded by assorted teddy bear paraphernalia nailed and stapled to the walls and piled up on tables like so many fluffy “hen ke’ai”-bombs.
On the way to last Saturday’s show, I consoled myself with the thought of a generous serving of Swedish meatballs and jelly (what? … it’s good) at the Ikea cafeteria, followed by several stiff, post-Teddy-Bear-hell drinks at the Outback Steakhouse bar.
Tempers flared outside the show as the hall reached capacity (that is, a roughly 30:1 spectator-to-teddy bear ratio). A bottleneck formed at the entrance, where every teen and pre-teen girl insisted on holding up the entire crowd by posing for a cheek-puffing, V-sign-flashing series of shots with a massive bear looming beside the door.
It actually wasn’t so bad when we got inside — at least at first. There, laid out before us, was every variety of teddy bear one could imagine, resplendent in carefully stitched costumes. There was the “seven-color changing light-up bear.” The Amitabha Buddha bear, complete with beaded necklace. Japanese kimono-clad geisha-bears, apparently either female or cross-dressers.
And, wait for it ... a Made-in-China Paddington bear.
It took all the old Neihu self-control to stop myself from projectile-vomiting a glutinous jelly-meatball mix onto that fluffy Chicom monstrosity.
So much for the bears. The crowd was another story. Woe betide the man who tries to stand between a cute-crazed middle-aged office worker and the latest fluffy object of her fancy. The crowd was mostly women, it must be said, with a few defeated-looking, glassy-eyed male partners in tow.
As more and more teddy-bear fans packed into the small hall, the elbows came out. Spectators flashed angry looks and began jostling, pushing and shoving. It felt like the place was on the verge of some kind of teddy bear riot, so I hustled Julie to the door.
That’s when the altercation broke out. We heard the voice first — angrily shouting across the crowd. Looking up, I saw him. It wasn’t hard, because he was wearing a massive fluffy teddy bear head, strapped on precariously above his own with a chin strap.
Inexplicably, he was also sporting a T-shirt of Jesus Christ on the cross. He was on a tear.
“We came all the way from Taichung!” he was shouting, while pointing to his massive Teddy Bear head. “Why can’t we stay here?”
He kept on in this way, taking a loud, outraged tone with an embarrassed teddy bear show worker who was trying to reason with him in a soft, “let’s all stay reasonable” voice.
The situation became clearer as we approached. Crucifix Teddy bear-head and his lackey (who sported a chintzy nametag labeled zhushou “assistant”) had crashed the teddy bear party and rapidly set up a table next to the entrance. Now, they were attempting to hawk their pitiful wares — fluffy knicknacks, pens and the like with no discernible connection to teddy bears — to turn a quick NT dollar.
They were going rogue at the teddy bear show.
It was a remarkable display of the Taiwanese entrepreneurial spirit. I mean, wheeling in a sausage stand would have been logistically problematic. And actually making a teddy bear requires too much overhead.
But knicknacks? Easy. And who could turn away a vendor who’d gone so far as to make himself ridiculous with a towering Teddy Bear head wrapped around his own?
The mortified show worker slunk away, handing the Taichung show-crashers a victory.
“Now let that be a lesson to you,” I intoned to Julie as we made our way out. “Don’t ever take ‘no’ for an answer. When cornered, make a scene. And never underestimate the persuasive power of a large teddy-bear hat.”
Julie was too busy eyeing a budaixi (布袋戲) glove puppet teddy bear to pay me any mind. And now, I thought to myself, it’s time for those drinks.
But there’s no wonder Taiwan’s youth are turning to teddy bears — 60 percent of them have mulled suicide, if a recent CommonWealth magazine report, via Reuters, is any guide.
Depressing tidbit, that. Asked why there was such a high rate, survey director Huang Ching-hsuan offered the following, according to Reuters:
“‘Over the past five years teens in 23 million-population Taiwan have lost public role models since the 2008 death of Taiwan super-tycoon Wang Yung-ching (王永慶) and the conviction of ex-president Chen Shui-bian (陳水扁) for graft this year,’ Huang said.
“‘This is an age of no role models,’ she said. ‘Teens today just know to test into good universities, but then what?’”
Huang might be on to something with this role models thing — but Wang Yung-ching? I don’t think many Taiwanese teens are plastering their bedroom walls with posters of this wrinkly old “God of Business,” Matsu rest his soul.
No, today’s Taiwanese teens are more likely to look up to hip-hop diva Beyonce or US basketball star Kobe Bryant.
No wonder they’re depressed. I mean, how many Taiwanese kids have a realistic shot at the NBA?
It makes me glum just thinking about it. Now where’s my taike teddy bear?
Got something to tell Johnny? Get it off your chest: Write to dearjohnny@taipeitimes.com, but put “Dear Johnny” in the subject line or he’ll mark your bouquets and brickbats as spam.
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