I moved to Mainland China after college, looking for adventure and maybe some stories to tell. I discovered that “mild” Sichuan spice was a lie, that tangerines could suddenly be everywhere, and that the streets could go from overflowing to empty in a single night — not out of abandonment, but out of tradition. Lunar New Year is a time for family, and also a time for red envelopes.
Now in California, my attention turned inward as we looped around again to the celebration at SF Symphony. The annual concert in Civic Center bathed Davies Symphony Hall in a glow of red lanterns and bamboo wrapped in delicate floral arrangements. Activities transformed the lobby into a living festival — calligraphers painting lucky phrases on red paper, dancers twirling silk fans, and a fortune teller predicting the year ahead.
A small crowd gathered around a handler cradling a live snake. It was the year of the snake; Those born under its sign were said to be wise, intuitive, and drawn to transformation.
Symphony fashion is always a little quieter than its theatrical counterparts across the street, but in 2025, I’ve made a point to create new couture for every SF arts event I attend. So I arrived on Feb. 8th feeling a little harried, wrapped in a self-made velvet corset and red sequin train that served drama, if even slightly unresolved. No sooner did I land in the VIP room that Mayor Daniel Lurie began speaking.
“There is a lot of talk about San Francisco from outsiders. They’re trying to tell us how we are,” Lurie said. “You’re about to walk into a sold-out auditorium to celebrate all that is great about us. We’re going to be the ones that define San Francisco going forward.”
This is a comeback mantra we longtime residents have repeated since the pandemic, and I agree with Lurie that San Francisco is back. Even if it never really left anyway.
You always know when a dragon dance is about to start. Now in our seats for the concert, the drums gave it away with a rolling rhythm that made my chest vibrate. I remember this last year because that yellow dragon never left us: First in the lobby, then dinner, then the after party; someone held up the dragon’s shaking butt, while another in front opened its mouth for red envelopes.
I appreciated the variety with 2025’s futuristic flair. A dragon lit up in neon pink and electric blue, sliding through the audience like a Shanghai skyline at night.
Every guest conductor brings a different vibe. Mei-Ann Chen last year provided a bit of children’s story hour, while Francesco Lecce-Chong this month felt more like a dancer mid-routine, shaping the tempo with expressive, full-bodied movement. I’ve been to many concerts now, but simple features like a projection screen still manage to thaw my chilly heart with a cascade of artwork that painted the music in color.
Much attention this year went to cellist Amos Yang and to Shuying Li, a Chinese-born composer and assistant professor at Sacramento State University. Her piece, “The Phoenix Ascends” was commissioned specifically for this concert — and of course I appreciated this as a Sacramento native who played violin in a community orchestra focused on modern work.
Admittedly though, I couldn’t take my eyes off Wu Man, who I could tell you was a master of speed and control on the pipa — and that’s all true. But honestly she played like a guitarist in the middle of a killer solo. Many times I’m coming into concerts like this looking for the moment with swagger, and this year Wu Man had that in spades.
What else to say about the dinner except that I’d feel very lucky to have a wedding party that nice — seriously. Listen these things are easy to say as invited guests, but I really do mean it. These soirées are straight out of a high-society fantasy, complete with gilded place settings and branched centerpieces with soft yellow blossoms.
I remember a couple years ago when I took the mantle as editor and insisted on attending these dinners. Nowadays it’s a perk I almost feel guilty accepting; Groan all you want about the rich, these donors keep symphonies, museums, and theaters from being snuffed out. In a conservative presidency known lately for slashing budgets and financial support, I do like being in this room to see who’s actually stepping up and protecting our renowned arts programs.
I also love sticking my foot in my mouth. Last year I nearly knocked over a tray of caviar while standing to greet the symphony’s director of public relations. This year at dinner, I leaned over to ask a woman what she does for a living — it was SF Symphony violinist In Sun Jang.
Then an elegant Ella Qing Hou comes to say hi because she rightly knows conversation is impossible at the far side of the table. I ask her where she got a stunning necklace and worry I overstepped when she pauses. She then tells me it’s a custom piece that’s meant to be snakelike, all in sapphire.
Meanwhile I’m sitting there with my $50 jeweled clutch that another woman has mistaken for a $3,200 Judith Leiber.
I promise I have grace and manners. Sometimes. It’s always a delicate balance between polite conversation and being a witty dinner companion. What can you gossip about that’s entertaining but not a really hot take? I hope I’m at least entertaining — because sometimes I remind myself of Mia Thermopolis in Princess Diaries at her first fancy affair.
The night’s spotlight went to Margaret Liu Collins and John Chen for supporting the SF Symphony for 25 years — which felt apropos that this was its 25th-annual Lunar New Year celebration. I liked Collins’ hot pink gown because I remember last year someone coming up to me and whispering about my ballgown: “The homework assignment was red.” We can break from tradition sometimes, I think.
I really loved brief interactions with SF Symphony CEO Matthew Spivey and and Chair Prisca Geeslin, with In Sun Jang and her husband Daniel Stewart, music director of the Santa Cruz Symphony. It’s one thing to attend a grand event. It’s another to feel present in its inner circle.
Honestly though, it was our waitress who had main character energy all night — first, side-eyeing my cutlery placement like I’d committed a crime, then dramatically pushing fortune cookies on us like the fate of the evening depended on it.
At the very end, she leaned in, slipped a handful of gold snake-shaped napkin rings into my hand, and said with absolute confidence, “These come with the meal.” Accidental larceny or exclusive VIP perk? The jury’s still out.
Saul Sugarman is editor in chief of The Bold Italic.
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