In the midst of China’s hurtle towards the future, sometimes it’s nice to take a look back. Laozihao (老字号), officially translated as “time-honored brands,” is a government distinction awarded to certain brand names and shops that have proven histories. Once run by families as generational businesses, most laozihao were “liberated” as state-run entities during the Cultural Revolution. At the time, every store was dealt a different hand: some lost their stores entirely, others used their guanxi to stay afloat. In 1991, the laozihao title was officially created. Some of the surviving labels were redesignated as such and allowed to rediscover their commercial past. Some were returned to their original owners, but the majority remained state-owned, with many of the larger names morphing into chains with venues all over the city. Through all the changes in ownership and location, there remains a cache of nobility attached to these time-honored brands.

Laozihao status requires meeting certain standards, says Zhang Jian, Secretary-General of Beijing Traditional Brands Association. They must have been created before 1956, maintain profitable operations and provide products with unique characteristics. Most laozihao are still located in or near their original storefronts, although steep rent in newly renovated areas like Qianmen have forced some to close or move. Development and modernization have also pushed these purveyors of old-fashioned cloth shoes, scissors and hats to the sidelines.

Beijing Traditional Brands Association's efforts to keep laozihao viable today include the establishment of online storefronts like lzheshop.cn, which makes Beijing’s over-100 laozihao available for online purchase both at home and abroad. Big names like Quanjude and Tongrentang have even listed on the stock market. “But not all brands should take that approach,” Zhang says, observing that smaller laozihao might not benefit from such a strategy.

While convenient, e-shopping cannot provide the tactile bliss that comes with running fingers over bolts of silk or examining the stitches of cloth-soled shoes. With a little strategizing, one can still enjoy shopping for Beijing laozihao while avoiding the elbows, cameras and stinky-tofu eating grins of thousands of tourists.

Strategy One: Take It Upstairs

When on a laozihao mission, Qianmen—a shopping street since ancient times—cannot be avoided. But rather than navigate the frustrating crowds, it’s better to go upstairs. Bigger laozihao often have a few floors, yet most people stay downstairs. Side streets offer another good escape.

Start at silk shop Qianxiangyi (谦祥益), which was spared Qianmen’s heavy pre-Olympic facelift. The shop dates back to 1830 and is set back from the rows of stores at Qianmen’s northern entrance. Pure silks range in patterns from simple solids to nauseating floral patterns, starting at ¥99 per meter. Find Tailor Yang in the back to commission a qipao fine enough to get married in (¥1,000 for tailoring). Master Yang has dressed the wives of 40 ambassadors and has the photos to back it up. Few shoppers go upstairs, where the ready-to-wear selection periodically throws up a sweater so kitsch it’s cool.

Brave the gawker gauntlet on Dashilan to reach Buyingzhai (步瀛斋) shoes (established in 1858) and Majuyuan (马聚源) hats (established in 1811), which are in the same building. Immediately head upstairs for sudden silence and a small hat selection in Majuyuan’s corner, where hats once made for Qing Dynasty officials have given way to flat caps and furs. A head warmer of long, tawny nutria fur (a large rodent) costs ¥1,750. Here, Buyingzhai’s shoes split from the outdated fashions downstairs and into so-outdated-they’re-cool cloth shoes (buxie). Classic hand-stitched, cloth-soled women’s buxie sell for ¥108; leather-soled pairs start at ¥256. Men’s leather business buxie start at ¥195, but wait to shuck out on shoes at Neiliansheng (see below).

Zip across the street to Ruifuxiang (瑞蚨祥), with its extensive offering of silk blends at low prices (¥85 per meter for brocades). The store started selling durable, affordable cloth to the masses in 1893, a business practice often cited as an inspiration to Wal-Mart founder Sam Walton. Ruifuxiang silk once gave a person, or even a country, status, putting it at the top of most people’s laozihao list. The first flag of the People’s Republic of China ever raised on Tiananmen Square was made of Ruifuxiang silk.

Continue west to Tongrentang (同仁堂), another laozihao legend. Established in 1669, Tongrentang served as the pharmacy to the Qing Dynasty’s emperors, and is still popular today based on its reputation for quality and efficacy. Tongrentang’s bitter ganmao qingre keli treatment has cold sufferers feeling better in no time. Traditional Chinese medicine prescriptions can be filled on the second floor, and for ¥3, pharmacists will boil the herbal mixture on customers’ behalves. Pick up the brews from a window in an unassuming door on the second floor, where in summer the overheated pharmacist wears Bermuda shorts to do his dispensing.

Now it’s time for Neiliansheng (内联升) shoes. Prices are similar to Buyingzhai’s, but Neiliansheng’s museum and legacy are unmatchable.*Established in 1853, Neiliansheng means to “gain promotion in the imperial court,” winning it many officials as customers in its prime. Pop in on a Sunday between 10am and 5pm, when cobblers are available to measure your feet for customized shoes, just as they did for past officials. The store kept excellent track of these measurements, and lower-level officials visiting the capital used to purchase tailor-made shoes for their superiors as gifts. A first pair of made-to-order shoes costs over ¥1,000, but follow-up pairs cost about the same as readymade versions. Customers have included Jackie Chan and Jet Li, as well as the Beijing Olympics’ comely medal presenters.

Find it: Buyingzhai and Majuyuan: 8 Dashilan Commercial Street, 大栅栏街8号, Qianxiangyi: 5 Zhubaoshi, 西城区前门珠宝市5号 Tel: 6303-1859, Neiliansheng: 34 Dashilan, 大栅栏34号 Tongrentang: 24 Dashilan, 大栅栏24号, Ruifuxiang: 5 Dashilan, 大栅栏街5号

Strategy Two: Ditch Wangfujing for Dongsi

Head north from Dongsi Subway Station to tackle Dongsibeidajie, a surprising laozihao hotbed.

Shengxifu (盛锡福) hat shop’s Dongsi outlet is library-like, especially in back, where an engaging museum (open Monday-Friday, 9am-4:30pm) unfolds behind latticed doors. The museum covers Shengxifu’s history, starting with its 1911 founding by a Shandong waiter-turned-entrepreneur. Replicas of hats created for Mao Zedong and Zhou Enlai are under glass; further inside one finds hats of past dynasties with sketches showing how each was assembled. Shengxifu still makes a handful of traditional fur hats in a factory behind the shop (starting at ¥300), but most of the store is stocked with a range of fabric flat caps suited to hipsters and grandpas alike for around ¥70.

Continue north from Shengxifu to Daoxiangcun (稻香村) and its dozens of delectable snack cakes, or dianxin. Founded in 1895, the store thrived for 20 years—even famed writer Lu Xun referenced popping in for an afternoon snack. Competition, poached staff and political instability led Daoxiangcun to close in 1926, not to reopen until 1984, but the pastry skills were still passed down. Try the heimajiaoyuan (¥28 per 500 grams), whose black sesame paste filling and flakey layers make for an addictive combination of salty and sweet. The osmanthus and rose-stuffed xianhua meigui (¥30 per 500 grams) also go down a treat.

Further north, find Wang Mazi (王麻子), the scissors shop that got its title from the unfortunate nickname of the man with pockmarked cheeks who founded it in 1651. Wang Mazi’s scissors and knives remain legendary for their quality, but if your thumb-sized ¥28 pair of clippers happen to go dull, the shops will sharpen them for a small fee. Dongsi’s Wang Mazi is only eight years old, but has a more neighborly feel than the Qianmen flagship/showroom, where any loon can purchase a ¥166 10-inch meat cleaver before rejoining the swarms outside. Over near Xuanwumen Subway Station, a gallery showcasing Wang Mazi’s 400-year history opened in December last year for serious fans.

Finally, hit the one Dongsi laozihao that remains in its original location. Wuyutai Tea Shop (吴裕泰), established in 1887, built its reputation on quality teas at decent prices, and its popularity has remained consistent with people from all classes. No other tea shop has as many grades of tea with prices from as low as ¥30 up to ¥1,500 per 500 grams. The highest grade of oolong runs a whopping ¥9,800 per 500 grams here. Tables are set up for patrons wanting to enjoy a pot, but charges are rather steep: ¥80 for a pot of green tea and ¥100 for a pot of hua cha. No snacks are provided, but smart visitors will have brought their own from Daoxiangcun.

Shengxifu: 368 Dongsi North Street, 东四北大街368号, Daoxiangcun: 126 Dongsibeidajie, 东四北大街126号, Wang Mazi: 82 Dongsibeidajie, 东四北大街82号, Wang Mazi Gallery: 33 Xiangluying Toutiao, Xuanwumenwai, 宣武门外香炉营头条33号楼, Wuyutai: 44 Dongsibeidajie, 东四北大街 44号 Tel: 6403-3443

Strategy Three: One-Hit Wonders

A few laozihao are worth a special trip, even into tourism-infested waters.

Rongbaozhai (荣宝斋) is a Liulichang landmark, established in 1672 during the Qing Dynasty, that looms over the surrounding shops with a dignity only 300 years can confer. Calligraphers come for the store’s huge paper selection, with decent quality sheets starting at ¥1, as well as ink sticks, pigments, brushes and ink stones of all qualities.

Find it: 19 Liulichang West Street, 琉璃厂西街19号

Zhongguo Zhaoxiangguan (中国照相馆) was founded in Shanghai in the 1930s and produced photos of actors and film stills, but after 1949 it was commissioned to document workers, peasants, PLA officers and soldiers. The studio was moved to Beijing in 1956, and now people go for wedding photos (¥800 to ¥10,000), family photos (starting at ¥150) and portraits (starting at ¥90), as well as complicated camera repairs.

Find it: 180 Wangfujing, 王府井大街180号 Tel: 6512-0623

Quanjude’s ducks may be more famous, but Bianyifang (便宜坊), founded in 1416, is older. Typical Beijing kaoya are hung up to roast, but Bianyifeng’s ducks go into a sealed menlu oven that never exposes the duck to open flames. The store’s mascot—a duck wearing Qing Dynasty garb and riding a skateboard—shows that Bianyifang maintains old traditions while striving to keep up with the times.

Find it: 4/F, 16 Bianyifang Dasha, Chongwenmen Waidajie, 崇文门外大街16号 便宜坊大厦4楼 Tel: 6711-2244