M MAG - JUN 2016

Chris Lee saunters in to the
cafe with his marketing
manager, looking incredibly
awkward in a loose black t-shirt,
a back-turned cap and neon green
shoes that he goes running in. He
barely resembles the polished man
I see on social media.
On Instagram, he’s seen suited
up and strutting those spider-long
legs along cityscapes, rubbing
shoulders with the glitterati on
fashion show front rows or sprawled
languorously on yachts. His
Facebook posts are chock full of
behind-the-scenes sneak peeks and
photos taken at press conferences.
From an outsider’s viewpoint,
Chris has all the makings of a
leading man: Rakish good looks,
confidence, and the commanding
presence of a military general.
This is the man whose face blew
the door open to fame and fortune;
the face that hurled him into the
modelling universe, and nourished
millions of hungry eyes on goggle
boxes across Taiwan, China and
Singapore. And now, he’s set to
take over our computer screens
next month as lead actor in Trapped
Minds, a Chinese-language thriller
on Toggle.
Dressed like that though, he
looks more like he’s about to hit
the gym than he is about to launch
into a morose monologue. Is he
blasé about the interview or is he
deliberately going incognito?
“Hi I’m Chris,” he says, hand
outstretched, before pulling up
a chair. His voice is a tenor, and
he speaks English fluently with a
slight, almost American tinge.
Up close, his million-dollar
mug radiates the warmth of the
morning sun. But look closer and
a single imperfection comes to the
“You’re limited as a
model,” he explains
“But when you’re
an actor, you can
act forever.”
fore. A deep gash he got as a kid
cuts above his pastel lip, reaching
into his three-day-old stubble.
Some scars heal. Others fade
over time. This one, he has lived
with all his life – and it alludes to
a side of him few have seen. For
despite the glitz and glamour of
showbiz, Lee is an unpretentious
guy whose troubled childhood has
birthed an ethos that make fame
seem like a pursuit for the trivial
and the foolish.
Chris Lee is dressed down
today, not because he is blasé, but
because he is ready to talk about
the person that lives behind the
façade.
The Practical Model
“So why did you decide to start
modelling?” I ask.
A smile blooms across his
face. “Money,” he chuckles. His
marketing manager winces – it isn’t
the standard politically correct
response.
It’s 2002 and Taiwan is in the
throes of a stock market crash. A
22-year-old Chris, then a skinny
wide-eyed architecture student
passionate about his major, just
moved to a small rented apartment
in Taipei. His family had to sell
their house outside the city as the
financial crisis hit them hard.
Home was really just him and
his mum, even though he has two
older brothers. His parents are
divorced and while the courts
awarded custody of all three of
them, his mum fought to get back
her youngest.
Life was tough but they scraped
by, buoyed by his mum who held
down three jobs; as a nurse, an
insurance agent and who also
managed stocks.
But this meant that he was
a lonely child. He grew up in
Keelung, a rainy satellite city
at the northern tip of Taiwan’s
coast. He describes his home as
a “heartwarming” place – even
though he would come back from
school around 5-6pm to an empty
three bedroom house.
Left to his own devices, he
envied his friends for having people
to talk to and filled up his time
quietly by reading and doing his
homework. He would also re-watch
Disney cartoons on videotape.
“At times, I would practice
calligraphy,” he says. “I think it’s
good that I had that period of metime
–it was lonely, but it gave me
beautiful handwriting,” he jokes.
It’s a potent mix for any
teenager to slip into a rebellious
phase. But he came under the
watchful gaze of Song Laoshi (Ms.
34 JUN 2016