Malaysian fashion throughout the decades

“A good designer is one who knows everything; a great one plans smart designs."

– Bill Keith

MY prom dress was made to measure by Edmund Ser at his atelier in West Point in Pertama Complex Kuala Lumpur. This was in 1988. I had a specific pattern in mind and attempted to “sketch” it, which did not go very well.

I described it instead.

He listened for two minutes and there was my dress – a long sleeved, turtle-neck form-fitting charcoal grey knee-length dress. Edmund chose the material jersey, with a nude inlay.

It cost a bomb but my mother acquiesced – it was after all, my prom, and I knew the other girls would show up in huge candy-coloured strapless taffeta ball gowns (with tiaras) which makes you think of sparkling circus tents.

And they did. I insisted my date get his suit done by Edmund so we’d match. I was gunning for Prom Queen and King. Thank you, Mr Edmund Ser … we won.

I learnt, scrutinised and observed fashion at five, when my mother used to dress me up in white underwear, a singlet, (we now say “tank-top”) knee-high socks and strap-on sandals.

My hair would be in two ponytails tied with, yes, white satin ribbons. I was already suspicious, surely clothes cannot be this “plain” – where is the rest?

My niece, Suraya, was almost always in colourful, abstract dresses, wore her hair in a chic bob and the sleeves of the frock were ruched and falls perfectly. Until now, I thought it was just wondrous. We grew up developing contrasting fashion senses, but that particular dress has always stuck with me.

Edmund Ser, for one, is a Malaysian designer who started his career designing menswear, but has since expanded his fashion label to include womenswear. This is by no means a complete biography of him, but more how his designs influenced my own sense of fashion.

Edmund’s cuts were exquisite: clean, pristine and no fuss. His choices of material range from soft cotton to out-of-this world linen. For years I dressed that way – in tapered pants and starched shirts.

Then came the Bon Zainal phase – another Malaysian designer whose atelier is within walking distance from where I live. Each time I am out, I would make a point to pass by his boutique.

We had a short chat a couple of days ago, and this man looked like he was in a Savile Row suit – a pin-striped shirt, vest, double-buckled shoes purchased from Paris in 2016 and the show-stopper; his skinny jeans, made by Tarik by Afiq Iskandar, a local brand.

My obsession with fashion began in the 70s, from flipping through my fashion bible, Vogue, courtesy of my mother who never missed a copy. That was when I discovered Yves St Laurent’s (YSL) Le Smoking suit. There is a sense of rebellion and in those days of the late 60’s when women were “punished” by silhouettes which were either knee length or flowing all over the floor, YSL gifted the world with straight pants, ruffled shirts in organza, and perfectly tailored sequinned blazers.

It set me off to the skies when Bon Zainal made suits as perhaps, partly a tribute to YSL. His songket jackets are a sight, and I began looking at high street labels for similar-looking ones.

No luck just yet.

You cannot mention the 70s and not include bell-bottoms; pants snug till the knee and flares into a bell shape. I went crazy for them – a great pair of denim paired with a flowered shirt. Whilst my peers were in haughty European-made velvet dresses with lace collars and hems, I was glued to variations of this outfit, and completed it with Dr Martens boots.

My grandmothers were both incensed, and insisted I wore the baju kurung, a traditional dress which is, of course, beautiful and elegant.

In 1988 when my niece Zarina had her engagement ceremony in my father’s hometown, Menglembu, Ipoh, I gave it a go. It did not go well as I still wore the garment with my faithful but decaying Dr Martens.

Denim, as in jeans: almost everyone on this planet own a pair or 50. In the 70s and 80s, there was no official category, as in highrise, midrise, lowrise, superlow rise. Jeans were jeans. And Levi’s was the rage. My mother was generous and indulged me. After all, at the time, my sister Juliet had ONE favourite outfit, a pair of jeans which original colour we no longer knew, and a shirt which shared the same fate. She practically lived in trees, and if made to wear a dress, would stage a riot.   

I dress practically. Mostly in jeans, white T shirts and ballet flats. On certain occasions where formal wear is required, I opt for a jumpsuit and if a dress is unavoidable, my go-to-person is Sonny San, who founded the label Eclipse. He passed away in October 2016 but his legacy lives on. Very few does draped dresses like Sonny, he was a maestro.

Bill Keith must be mentioned here. His clothes are practical, light, and the finishing are refined. I still wear his designs, that is how timeless they are. He taught me that clothes can be simple, but uncomplicated. 

My mother, grandmother and great grandmother were all kebaya fanatics. My mother especially, I used to watch her get dressed every morning – the hand embroidered kebaya, her batik sarong, the gold pins which held the garment together, those platform heels. I have no idea how she walked in them but the lady sure knows how to pull it off. My grandmother and great grandmother were the same, they’d dress up in full regalia, with coiffed hair and those embroidered purses daintily swinging from hands every single day.

I’d ask: “Nenek, where are you going?”

“To the market,” was her reply.

And for the longest time I thought that is how one must dress when going to the market.

When they arrived home, the kebaya stays on until evening, before bed. These two matriarchs would be cooking bedecked in clothes we now only wear anywhere but in the kitchen.

In that sense, we have become lax. I am re-thinking this. Dig into the closet. Maybe one of these days I will go to the supermarket in my Jimmy Choos while shopping for celery. Fashion is about expressing yourself, and not caring what others think. 

The only two fashion items I have never worn are the baby doll dress and the peplum. The former is self-explanatory. Peplum is described as a short, gathered or creased slip of material attached at the waist of a woman’s jacket, dress or blouse to create a hanging ruff or flounce. I just could not make sense of it. Is it a tiny skirt or a tutu? It has no function but to shorten a woman’s waist and make an otherwise beautiful dress completely unbalanced.               

Malaysian fashion designers must never be underrated. To celebrate Pink October, local designers took part in a show to raise awareness on breast cancer. From Melinda Looi’s whimsical brooch cum pendant, “Pinkster” to Celeste Thoi’s organza scrunchie inspired by ballerina costumes, and Keith Kee’s butterfly/ roses/ pearls embellished pink face masks, we see them as getting bolder.

Scrunchies are actually what women use to tie their hair, and it was a huge hit in the 80s. I wouldn’t be caught dead using one now, (though Celeste’s creation is unbelievably pretty) but there was a point in time where my collection was in the hundreds. I gave them all away upon finding out my brother were using them as weapons to trap tadpoles.

Let us not forget Dato’ Tom Abang Saufi, a formidable figure in our fashion world. Tom Abang Saufi has this gift for assimilating the traditional and contemporary, and the wearer immediately gives this pose of lustrous froideur (coolness). A great friend and fashionista Sasha Bashir and I once came across a burnished amber sarong by Tom, and we eyed each other like hyenas about to pounce. We pounced. She won.   

There are so many names of fantastic fashion designers not mentioned here. In time, I would love to do personal interviews with them. This review is just some of my fashion forays across the decades.

But this must be said, fashion is a blueprint of our personalities. It is moody, conceptual, frank, sensitive, and whether you are into explosions of prints, bohemian, love crepe or chiffon – fashion is bliss.

And my journey has just begun. – The Vibes, November 15, 2020