Pedri in Suzhou (苏州) wore Hanfu – and the internet lost its collective mind. But one question dominated the chatter: did he forget to wear pants underneath that flowing robe? The Spanish footballer’s bare-legged look, complete with wrist guards and an ancient leather ball at his feet, sparked a mix of awe and giggles across both Chinese and foreign social media.
Yet beneath the memes lies a fascinating story about a 600‑year‑old garment that was arguably the original sportswear. This isn’t just a celebrity costume moment; it’s a window into how the Ming Dynasty (明朝) engineered clothing for action, dignity, and everyday life – and why a modern athlete might be the perfect poster boy for it.
The Robe That Moves
What Pedri wore is called Yisan (曳撒) – a term that sounds exotic but describes a remarkably practical piece of tailoring. Its roots go back to the Yuan Dynasty (元朝) robe system, but the Ming court didn’t simply discard its predecessor’s wardrobe. Instead, they added a distinctive front panel called the horse‑face – a flat, smooth section flanked by pleats. This wasn’t just decorative. The Yisan’s real genius lies in its hidden side slits and internal swinging panels, known as double swings (双摆).
For officials, guards, and scholars who had to ride horses, bow repeatedly, or walk long distances, a standard closed robe was a straitjacket. The Yisan gave them freedom: knees could bend, legs could stride, and a quick turn wouldn’t rip the seams. At the same time, those clever flaps covered any gap, so undergarments never showed. It was the Ming equivalent of a tailored blazer that doubles as yoga wear – formal enough for court, flexible enough for a polo match.
Pedri’s photo shows him mid‑kick, juggling a Cuju (蹴鞠) ball, and that pose perfectly demonstrates the Yisan’s hidden utility. Unlike the bulky Tieli (贴里) – a similar but fully pleated version that resembles a kilt – the Yisan has that signature horse‑face front that lies flat against the body. The Tieli, by contrast, is all gathers and folds, more like a gathered skirt. Both were male staples, though women occasionally borrowed them for cross‑dressing roles in operas. But the Yisan’s side slits make it the clear winner for anyone planning to break a sweat. Ancient craftsmen weren’t thinking about football, of course; they were solving real problems for active officials. Yet here we are, six centuries later, watching a Barcelona midfielder unintentionally prove their design chops.
Not a Skirt, Not a Dress
One of the biggest rookie mistakes in Hanfu circles is treating the Yisan or Tieli like a breezy summer frock – something you can just slip on over bare legs. That’s exactly why netizens bombarded Pedri with the “where are your trousers?” question. The answer, however, is serious: in formal settings, the Yisan absolutely requires pants underneath. It is not a closed gown. Every step, every lift of the knee, every turn creates a visible gap through those side slits. The designers never intended it to be a fully concealing garment; it was always a functional daily wear, not a ceremonial cocoon. So if Pedri actually went commando (and we have no evidence he did), he’d be breaking a very old dress code. But let’s be fair – Suzhou in summer is famously humid. Maybe he just prioritised ventilation over etiquette. The ancient rulebook says: wear trousers. The modern heatwave says: choose your battle.
This confusion stems from the Yisan’s wide, sweeping hem, which can mislead the untrained eye into seeing a princess dress. Many newcomers to Hanfu fall into this trap, buying a beautiful Yisan and wearing it like a maxi‑skirt. Then they move – and suddenly everyone sees their modern jeans. It’s a practical lesson in historical costume: these garments were never about absolute coverage. They were about layered modesty paired with freedom. The inner trousers (usually white or neutral) were as essential as the outer robe. So when Pedri’s photo went viral, it wasn’t just celebrity gossip; it became a teaching moment. Enthusiasts jumped in to explain the difference between a dress and a split‑robe, and why that horse‑face panel is actually a sign of sophistication, not a fashion fail.
Embroidered Dragons and Common Myths
Here’s another puzzle that trips up even seasoned fans: is the Yisan the same as the famous Flying Fish Suit worn by the Embroidered Uniform Guard in period dramas? The short answer is no – but it’s complicated. The Flying Fish is a decorative pattern, not a cut. That magnificent robe you see in movies, with golden scales and flowing fins, is almost always built on either the Yisan or the Tieli silhouette. The same goes for python patterns and bull‑fighting motifs – they are all embroidery laid over the same sturdy base. Think of the Yisan as the skeleton, and the motifs as the skin. You can dress that skeleton in dragons, clouds, or plain silk, but the bones remain Ming‑era engineering. So when people say “that’s a Flying Fish robe,” they’re technically talking about the decoration, not the shape. It’s like calling a car a “red car” – the colour isn’t the chassis.
This distinction matters because it reveals how the Ming dynasty honoured its past while innovating for the future. They didn’t abolish the Yuan‑era robe; they upgraded it with Han aesthetic principles – straighter lines, balanced proportions, and that iconic horse‑face detail. The result was a garment that served everyone from the emperor on his dragon throne to a low‑rank guard patrolling the Forbidden City.
Today, the Yisan and Tieli are often recommended as the best entry‑level Hanfu for men, because they are forgiving on any body type, not overly flashy for daily wear, yet dignified enough for weddings or ceremonies. Pedri, whether he knew it or not, became an accidental ambassador for this versatile heritage. His photo didn’t just earn likes from Spanish fans; it sparked a fresh conversation about why ancient Chinese sportswear might out‑perform half our modern gym kits. And yes – he probably should have worn those trousers. But sometimes, a little bare‑legged controversy is exactly what history needs to go viral.
