AsianFin — Just two days after the U.S. government announced a temporary easing of tariffs on Chinese goods, Liu Yong's phone buzzed with a familiar name.
"I'm ready to pay for the 20 wedding dresses we discussed," read the message from Maria, a bridal shop owner in Florida and a longtime customer on AliExpress. It was the first large order she had placed in months.
The two had halted business earlier this year, waiting out tariff hikes that had strained their cross-Pacific partnership. Now, with a 90-day reprieve in hand, Maria wasn't wasting time. Liu, cautious amid policy swings, asked if she was sure. Maria replied breezily, "The wedding dress business must go on. Don't let that 'orange guy' ruin young people's big day."
Maria's urgency was echoed by a wave of U.S. buyers who returned to Chinese storefronts on platforms like AliExpress as soon as the tariff freeze was announced. Liu's group chat of wedding dress sellers lit up. One reported a friend landing 600,000 yuan (around $83,000) in flower orders from the U.S. in a week. "The U.S. market is back again," someone typed.
A Marriage of Supply and Demand
In many ways, the American wedding is dressed in Chinese satin. The U.S. imports roughly one million wedding gowns annually from China—enough, by industry estimates, to cover 500 football fields. About 90% of wedding dresses sold in the U.S. are made in China, often via platforms like AliExpress.
And despite geopolitical frictions, demand endures. From January to May, typically peak wedding planning season, Liu's shop thrived. Even after tariffs were enforced, his solution was simple: raise prices slightly. Most American buyers, he said, didn't blink. "About 80% of customers will still buy even if prices go up. Compared to local bridal shops, our prices are still much lower."
At $600–$800 per dress, Liu's designs are modestly priced on AliExpress. But in the U.S., those same gowns can fetch $2,000 or more, resold by retailers who may add custom embellishments or branding. One buyer Liu knows sells his dresses at 10 times the original price. "I'm not jealous," he said. "They're adding local touches. It's like a second round of processing."
And for American brides-to-be shopping directly, tariffs matter less than timing. "You can't delay a wedding because of customs policy," Liu shrugged.
The bulk of Liu's inventory comes from Suzhou, where prices range from $200 to $1,000 depending on the detail of the beadwork and embroidery. Machines can't replicate this labor-intensive craftsmanship, which is often passed down through generations. Suzhou, along with Chaozhou, Xiamen, and Lu'an, forms China's wedding dress manufacturing heartland.
"Within five kilometers, you can find everything you need—fabric, workers, packaging," Liu said. "It's a full chain."
Over the years, Liu has heard confusion—and even frustration—from his U.S. partners. "Why mess with something that works?" one American retailer told him recently. "Do they want us to build wedding dress factories here? That's absurd."
For Liu, it's a reminder that behind the politics are people: seamstresses in Suzhou, shopkeepers in Florida, brides in Kansas. They are all bound by the same thread—a global supply chain that is resilient, yet increasingly tested.
Diversifying Beyond the U.S.
While the tariff pause brought short-term relief, Liu knows better than to rely on Washington's goodwill. "This 90-day window is a gift," he said, "but it's also a warning."
That's why he and others are turning to new markets. Data from AliExpress shows rising sales in Europe and the Middle East. With encouragement from the platform, Liu recently sourced dresses styled for those regions. He's also benefiting from increased platform advertising in countries outside the U.S.
"All roads lead to Rome," someone joked in Liu's group chat. "As long as the orders keep coming, we'll be fine."
AliExpress has helped sellers transition with pricing tools, refund policies, and cross-platform integrations. And Liu has begun reaching out to former U.S. customers to offer tariff-related refunds. "In Chinese culture, trust and reciprocity matter," he said. "They supported us. We don't want them overpaying."
A Dress, a Message, a Reminder
Not long ago, a message popped up in Liu's dashboard: a photo of a young American bride wearing one of his gowns, beaming.
He remembered her clearly. She had asked countless questions before finally placing the order. Now, she stood in white lace, sending thanks. "Dear Liu Yong," she wrote, "Last Saturday I walked into marriage wearing your wedding dress. Thank you—it gave me the day I always dreamed of."
Liu smiled. Amid policy shifts and platform dashboards, it was a reminder of what brought him into the business in the first place.
"Yes, the pressure will return," he said. "But at the end of the day, we're not just making dresses—we're making moments."
