Recent street shots and a trailer for Northern Wei Dynasty (æ±ć±±ć€§ć) show Yang Mi wearing a pierced gold ornament at the front of her bun. It is engraved with patterns and set with stones. The shape looks like a gold dang (éç°), a plaque I had only linked to menâs official caps. That raised a simple question: did women in ancient China ever wear one? The answer is yes, but the window was narrow. This small gold piece carries a longer story about rank, court dress, and how television turns old rules into new looks.
A Male Badge?
Women did wear gold dang in the past, though not for long. A gold dang is a small gold plaque, usually cut into a mountain or shield shape. Many examples have a cicada motif and were fixed to the front of a cap. It was not a loose hairpin. Its position made it part of formal headwear, so the wearerâs rank could be read before anyone spoke.
The ornament came from northern nomadic headgear. During the Warring States period, it entered central China. Early versions had no cicada pattern; they sat on rulersâ caps and kept a steppe style. Book of the Later Han (ćæ±äčŠ) records its background. That written trace matters because it shows how a foreign cap fitting became a court object with rules attached.
In the Qin and Han eras, the gold dang became a cap ornament for emperorsâ close officials. The cicada design took formal shape. Attendants wore a cicada plaque at the front and marten tails at the side; the combination was called Diaochan (èČè), a title that shares its name with a famous novel character. On Han court ground it was a clear sign of access and status. At this stage it belonged to menâs official dress, not womenâs.
Cicada Plaques in Motion
Court rules loosened during the Wei-Jin Southern-Northern dynasties. High-ranking palace women and titled consorts could wear gold dang on ceremonial crowns. Book of Jin (æäčŠ) mentions women officials using them. The Northern Wei court, founded by a nomadic people, favored the ornament even more. Craft reached a peak: filigree, gold granulation, and inlay all appeared on one small plaque. The object stayed the same, but the wearer changed.
Surviving cicada gold dang mostly come from tombs of that era. Both male and female tomb owners have them. This is the only stretch of ancient history where women wearing gold dang is confirmed by objects and texts together. The evidence is not a single lucky find; it is a pattern across graves, which makes the female use hard to dismiss as an exception.
The Sui court revised dress codes, and the gold dang returned to menâs ceremonial caps. Tang, Song, Yuan, and Ming courts did not put it back into womenâs formal dress. In Song and Ming times it became a fixed piece on the Diaochan cage cap. The Qing court changed official dress, and the gold dang left the system altogether. Its long run ended not with a dramatic ban but with a change in the rules of dress.
Why It Lasted
One reason is rank. A gold dang sat high and near the face. At a distance it marked who stood close to power. Court ritual wanted rank to be seen at a glance, and this plaque did that job. It was small, but its placement made it a precise visual label. That practical function helped it survive several changes in fashion.
Another reason is the cicada. People believed the insect drank dew and kept a clean character. Carving it on an official cap turned a metal plaque into a quiet expectation: an officer should be pure, and a close attendant should remember restraint. The message was not a slogan. It was worn on the head, where the wearer and everyone facing him could see it.
The drama takes a freer path. The team did not pair the gold dang with a cap. It pulled out the shape and made a hair ornament above the bun, adding braids and turquoise pieces. That choice softens the heavy cap look. Feng Yan’er (ćŻæčźćż) appears to have become empress at this point, so a gold dang hairpiece fits her rank. The styling also carries a mixed-court texture that suits the Northern Wei setting. Does Yang Miâs version look good? That is for viewers to decide.
