The "Dual-Culture Altar" of Chicago's Old Tailor: The Encounter Between Cheongsam and Día de los Muertos
03 Dec 2025
Cold rain began to fall in Chicago at the end of October. In the white tent set up in her backyard, Aunt Chen was scattering golden marigold petals into a winding path. At the end of the path, a wooden table was covered with an indigo Suzhou embroidery tablecloth. On the left lay the sugar skull jar that her husband Carlos loved most during his lifetime; on the right stood the old embroidery hoop passed down by her mother; and in the center, a stack of joss paper printed with unique patterns glowed with a delicate luster.
This was Aunt Chen's 30th year living in Chicago, and her fifth year celebrating Día de los Muertos while commemorating her mother. As the daughter of a Suzhou embroiderer, her fingertips were naturally endowed with the dexterity for threading needles and stitching. After marrying her Mexican-American husband Carlos, she learned the Día de los Muertos traditions of guiding ancestors home with marigold petals and expressing thoughts with sugar skulls.
"I have two mothers and two kinds of thoughts—I can't favor one over the other," Aunt Chen said, stroking the unfinished orchid pattern on the embroidery hoop, a smile welling up in her eyes.
On her deathbed, Aunt Chen's mother held her hand and taught her to fold the last "treasure basin" joss paper, with fine embroidery threads winding into exquisite fretwork patterns around the edge of the paper basin. Carlos, on the other hand, held a marigold and said to her during the first Día de los Muertos he took her to: "The fragrance of the petals can guide ancestors home." When both passed away five years ago, Aunt Chen stood in her empty tailor shop and suddenly wanted to weave these two kinds of thoughts into one. She picked up a needle and thread and embroidered the first pattern combining Suzhou embroidery and Día de los Muertos elements on ordinary joss paper.
The "dual-pattern joss paper" on the altar now was the third improved version she had made. On the front was the ice-cracked lattice window of Suzhou gardens, with tiny orchid embroidery threads hidden in the lattice—her mother's favorite pattern. On the back was the Aztec sun calendar totem, with the outline of marigold petals attached to the edge, replicating the pattern Carlos had drawn for her. The lower right corner of each piece of joss paper was printed with a bilingual blessing: "May orchid fragrance accompany you, may the sun warm you."
The tent curtain was blown open by the wind. Neighbor Maria walked in holding a box of homemade pan de muerto, her eyes immediately drawn to the joss paper. "Chen, is this your new embroidery design? It's like magic," she said. Aunt Chen smiled, took one piece and handed it to her, pointing to the pattern and explaining: "The left side is the craft of my Chinese mother, and the right side is the belief of my Mexican husband." She lit a piece of joss paper. In the orange flame, the texture of the embroidery thread seemed to come alive. "You see, they are reunited in the fire."
Maria's amazement reminded Aunt Chen of an experience earlier this year. A Chinese international student came to her tailor shop, saying she wanted to prepare sacrificial items for her Mexican grandmother but couldn't find anything that combined the cultures of the two countries. This incident made her determined to mass-produce the "dual-pattern joss paper" and also designed supporting mini embroidery hoop ornaments and bilingual sacrificial manuals—with steps for folding the "treasure basin" and methods for building a marigold altar.
On the small table next to the altar, there were several of Aunt Chen's proud works: cheongsam frog buttons embroidered with sun calendar patterns, and Día de los Muertos skull pendants decorated with orchid embroidery. "Last month, a young couple in an intercultural marriage came to order them, saying they wanted to set up a joint altar for both parents," Aunt Chen picked up a pendant. The sun shone through the gap in the tent onto it, and the Suzhou embroidery threads and Día de los Muertos totems blended perfectly in the light and shadow.
As night fell, Aunt Chen put the folded "dual-pattern joss paper" into a pottery basin and placed a piece of pan de muerto that Carlos loved next to her mother's embroidery hoop. The flame gradually flared up, and the fragrance of marigolds mixed with the scent of joss sticks drifted into the night sky. She seemed to see her mother waving from behind the embroidery frame, and Carlos standing beside her holding marigolds. Behind them, the lattice windows of Suzhou gardens and the sun of the Mexican highlands shone together.
It turns out that cultures are never isolated islands. Those thoughts deeply rooted in the blood can always find a resonant code at a certain moment. Just like this stack of small joss paper, with every stitch and every totem, it allows the concerns of two worlds to achieve the warmest reunion in the same flame.
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