As the U.S.-China trade war intensifies following Donald Trump’s return to the White House, a seemingly innocuous fashion choice by White House Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt has sparked a flurry of online controversy and diplomatic jabs, particularly from Chinese officials and netizens.

A photograph of Leavitt wearing a striking red dress during a press briefing at the end of January began circulating widely on Chinese social media platforms such as Sina Weibo and Xiaohongshu starting April 16. The image gained traction after Zhang Zhisheng, the Chinese Consul General in Denpasar, Indonesia, posted it on X (formerly Twitter) alongside a screenshot of an online conversation allegedly involving textile factory workers from Mabu, China. The workers claimed that the dress worn by Leavitt was manufactured in their facility.

In his caption, Zhang sarcastically wrote, “Accusing China is a job. Buying from China is life,” taking a pointed jab at what he described as the U.S.’s hypocritical stance—denouncing China on the global stage while continuing to rely on Chinese manufacturing for everyday goods, including the wardrobe of its highest-ranking officials.

Zhang didn’t stop there. He also highlighted that the intricate lace trim on Leavitt’s red dress was “unmistakably made in China,” doubling down on the claim that even premium fashion items worn at the White House are linked to Chinese supply chains.

The incident quickly caught the attention of both Chinese and international media, serving as a vivid example of how even fashion can become politicized in today’s tense geopolitical climate. While some internet users on Chinese platforms saw the dress as a symbol of Western dependence on Chinese industry, others took a more mocking tone, calling out what they perceived as American double standards.

“The U.S. wants to impose tariffs while still dressing its officials in Chinese-made clothes?” one user on Weibo commented. “That’s rich.”

Another user identified the dress as a high-end garment from the British label Self-Portrait, retailing for $500, not a low-cost item. “Yes, it’s not a $30 fast fashion piece,” the commenter wrote, “but it’s still made in China. This is a luxury export, born in Beijing, worn in D.C.”

Indeed, the red dress in question—designed with crystal embellishments and black trim—is available on luxury e-commerce platform Farfetch for $403 as of April 17, down from its original price.

Zhang’s post drew a range of reactions on X. When one user attempted to defend Leavitt, arguing that America would soon reshore production of such items, Zhang fired back by posting an AI-generated image that depicted overweight American women sitting at sewing machines in a factory. The image, meant to mock the idea of U.S.-based textile manufacturing, was widely criticized as offensive and body-shaming.

Zhang also responded to another user who claimed that China depends on American investments. “Read China’s economic data before commenting,” he retorted, suggesting that China’s economic strength has grown independent of U.S. financial input.

The White House and Karoline Leavitt have yet to comment publicly on the controversy. Self-Portrait, the British fashion label behind the dress, has also declined to issue a statement.

The online skirmish over a red dress may seem trivial at first glance, but it speaks to the growing complexities of U.S.-China relations under Trump’s renewed presidency. After taking office in early 2025, President Trump wasted little time in reviving a combative trade policy toward China, reminiscent of his first term.

On April 15, the White House announced sweeping new tariffs on Chinese imports, bringing total duties on certain goods up to a staggering 245%. The move was framed as an attempt to curb China’s dominance in key industries, especially electronics, renewable energy components, and textiles.

However, just two days later, on April 17, President Trump struck a more conciliatory tone. Speaking at a town hall event in Ohio, he suggested that he was open to reducing some tariffs if it meant encouraging consumer spending. “We don’t want to strangle our own economy,” he said. “People need to spend, and for that, prices can’t be too high.”

This apparent contradiction—between aggressive tariffs and openness to easing them—mirrors the controversy around Leavitt’s dress. While American rhetoric emphasizes economic decoupling from China, the reality of global supply chains tells a different story.

Despite years of trade tensions, China remains the world’s factory. From iPhones to pharmaceuticals to designer dresses, Chinese factories continue to be deeply embedded in the supply chains of many multinational brands. Even premium European fashion houses, including Self-Portrait, source their labor and materials from China.

“This episode reveals a deeper truth about globalization,” said Mei Xinyu, an economist at the Chinese Academy of International Trade and Economic Cooperation. “You can change rhetoric, but changing logistics and manufacturing infrastructure is another matter entirely. China remains indispensable in global production.”

The symbolism of the color red has also not gone unnoticed. Red, often associated with the Chinese Communist Party and the nation’s flag, holds deep cultural significance in China, symbolizing luck, power, and prosperity. Leavitt’s choice of a bright red dress—knowingly or unknowingly—may have added another layer of irony to the controversy.

Some commentators in Chinese media even speculated whether the color choice was a deliberate provocation or simply a fashionable coincidence. “It’s almost poetic,” said one opinion columnist on Sohu News. “She wore red to condemn red.”

While the online storm around Leavitt’s dress may fade in a few days, the broader tensions between the U.S. and China show no signs of easing. From tariff battles to TikTok bans, and now to viral fashion debates, the contest between the world’s two largest economies is playing out in both boardrooms and dressing rooms.

Whether intentional or not, Karoline Leavitt has found herself at the intersection of fashion and foreign policy—where every hemline, it seems, is political.