Cut to Fit

SHENZHEN, CHINA — Shenzhen, China, which shares a border with Hong Kong, has been referred to as the biggest city no one has ever heard of. The population, made up for the most part of immigrants from other areas of the mainland, is estimated at anywhere from eight to ten million. No one really knows for sure. The population of the sprawling city dwarfs that of Hong Kong, which is a mere six million. Chinese come to the city for jobs in construction, sweatshop factories and IT companies. Less than 30 years old, Shenzhen, once a sleepy fishing village, came into being after Mao had been dead for a fair number of years and Deng Xiaoping decided that making money was the goal of all true Communists. Shenzhen, under his decree (1979), was established as a Special Economic Zone and became China's model city. A network of landscaped highways was set up. The streets were laid out in grids. Office towers and high rise condominiums popped up overnight like mushrooms.

Modern day Shenzhen, with its fetid rivers and traffic-choked streets, has an eerily Bladerunneresque feel, particularly at night when the neon comes on and beggars, the nouveau riche and prostitutes prowl its streets. Vendors sell pirated DVDs on pedestrian overpasses, at bus stops and in front of Wal-Marts. In some areas laptops are sold from the trunks of cars. It isn't clear if rampant copyright piracy, prostitution and the selling of stolen computers is what Deng had in mind when he decreed that making money was okay with the Chinese Communist Party, but it is clear that many Chinese attach no stigma to these pursuits.

On the somewhat more legal side of the city's development, Shenzhen has its own stock exchange, which is housed in a shiny green-glass building it shares with CityBank, about a 15-minute walk from the border with Hong Kong. On clear days, which are few, the hills of the former British colony are easily seen from the stock exchange. For the most part, however, diesel fumes and sooty gray clouds from the area's coal-fired power plants and factory towns lay thick in the urban canyons; seeing more than a few blocks is a rare treat, particularly during the winter months.

Visitors from Hong Kong, of which there are thousands daily, aren't put off by the air pollution. Attracted to the pirated DVDs, copy watches (Rolex, Omega, Tag Heuer), other countless stolen brand names (Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Versace), and, yes, sex, they enter mainland China with the single aim of getting more for their money. Most visitors rarely get any further than the Louhu Commercial Mall, strategically situated a few steps from the border in a silvery five-story metallic edifice that is, in its slapped together-overnight-way, an affirmation to Deng's vision that chasing a yuan isn't such a bad thing. Ask any watch peddler on the first floor if their stock is counterfeit and they will say, straight out, "Of course. Everything copy!"

If a visitor has really come to Shenzhen to buy something that is legal, though, they will have to find their way to the fifth floor, pushing aside the pirated DVD, fake watch, MP3 player and name-brand handbag hawkers. These sorts concentrate themselves very strategically near the escalators and doors of elevators. The best tactic is to completely ignore them. Don't even make eye contact. They don't exist. Perhaps the wave of a hand before your eyes, as if you are brushing away an annoying mosquito, might expedite their departure, but never, ever speak to them. If they put a hand on your arm, push it aside gently. Don't risk a confrontation. You may find that the rule of law favors those who are making money.

Once on the fifth floor you will see that it is packed with tailor shops, or more accurately booths which are just large enough to accommodate the necessities — a tailor and desk, a mannequin, a rack of clothes and maybe a sewing machine. (The clothes are actually made in factories.) Finding a tailor to your liking is as simple as walking around until someone talks to you. He or she may offer you a seat but, for the moment, resist. Ask questions standing up. It's easier to walk off if you don't like the answers. Price, though, you should know, doesn't vary that much, about 800 to 1,000 yuan ($115-$140) for a man's suit, 160 ($20) for a shirt, and around the same for trousers. What you really want to find is someone you're comfortable doing business with. So take your time, feigning indifference to placing an order. You want someone who isn't too pressuring.

Once you've settled on a tailor, the first step in getting what you ordered is realizing that these tailors have a hard time making something that is a little different from the conventional unless you either (1) bring an example or (2) have a photograph. Though their English is often adequate, they may not understand what you think they understand. If they haven't seen it, it doesn't exist. So be specific.

The next thing is fabric. If you're particular about this, go to the area of the floor where fabrics are laid out in bulk and shop around until you find exactly what you want. There are plenty of silks, broadcloths, wools and blends of all of these, but if you're looking for a quick dry polyester you won't find it. Settle for a silk/cotton blend or don't bother. You'll be disappointed. Next pay the seller of the fabric. You might consider haggling a little, but don't expect much of a discount unless you place a bulk order. If you say you'll only pay half, the response might be laughter. A 20-yuan discount is more plausible. The same goes for the tailor. The more you order, the greater the discount. If you're only buying one or two pieces, about all you can hope for is free delivery.

Once you've settled on the design, fabric and price, the next step is measuring. It's straightforward, but if you're not careful you'll be measured for a shirt that fits as tightly as wetsuit. As for suits, do yourself a favor and return for a second fitting or risk putting on something that is tight around the shoulders and is a little too snug for your belly. Don't expect a perfect fit the first time; be patient and cooperative. These tailors want to please you. They know that a satisfied customer results in referrals. And remember, you'll only be spending around a hundred bucks for a suit that would probably cost you three times that much in the States. It may not be one worn by someone who sits at a desk in a corner office, but it will be fine for those who need something to get them through a job interview, wedding or funeral.

Once you're satisfied with the measurements and are fairly confident you'll end up with what you ordered, pay. You won't be cheated. Most tailors will have your order delivered to your Hong Kong hotel. Another option is to put yourself up in the Shenzhen Shangri-La, which is in sight of the border crossing. So are a number of other Western-style hotels which cater to business people and tourists. These hotels are a great place to go to escape the new China's make-a-quick-yuan atmosphere.

Before returning to Hong Kong, consider that if you did get suckered and bought a fake Gucci bag, entering the former British colony with counterfeit merchandise is a crime. You might want to ask yourself if the fine was worth the discount. Tailor-made clothes, by contrast, are duty free. And they're a souvenir that comes with a story your friends might like to hear.