Ton-sur-Ton - Saigoneer

Easybadwork's Free Spirits Are Rooted in Nature and the Underground

2024-06-24T13:00:00+07:00

A sparrow swooping across a special-edition can of Coca-Cola, the illustrations featured in the artworks of Ngọt's Grammy-nominated album boxset, or perhaps even the tattoo on a stranger you pass on the street: you have probably seen the work of Khim Đặng, the man behind Saigon fashion brand easybadwork, without knowing it. His graphic designs have graced a variety of commercial and collaborative works in Saigon, but easybadwork is his hobby business. “A true business makes you money, a hobby business makes you happy,” he told Saigoneer.

Easybadwork products at LÔCÔ Art Market (left) and Khim Đặng's show “Thả Hổ Về Trời” last year. Photos via easybadwork Instagram and Khim Đặng's Instagram.

I've seen easybadwork products at LÔCÔ Art Market, OHQUAO and elsewhere in the city, and attended his first solo art show, Thả Hổ Về Trời, last year, so I was already a fan of Khim Đặng’s style, but visiting him in his home studio earlier this month, what really impressed me was his approach to art, creativity and lifestyle.

Khim Đặng in his home studio.

Five years of easybadwork

Quality work takes time and effort; it’s difficult. Khim Đặng ardently believes this and thus playfully flips it for the tongue-in-cheek name, easybadwork, which he occasionally further changes to phrases like easybadhuman and easydeadwork on designs. Specializing in T-shirts, bandanas and caps, the brand is celebrating its fifth anniversary this July, which serves as a perfect opportunity to reflect on its origins, ethos and future.

Photo via easybadwork Instagram.

Easybadwork began simply when Khim Đặng’s friends started asking him to put his artwork on T-shirts. He gave away the first batch of 10, except for the one piece he saved for himself, a habit he continues today for the sake of archiving his work. Shirts, he admits, are the obvious first move for any clothing brand, but bandanas are more unique. He explained that they result from his propensity to create mirror-image designs that fit comfortably on a bandana’s square shape, as well as paper’s fragile nature. Prints often get bent, wrinkled, and ultimately thrown away more easily than cloth. So in addition to functional fashion accessories, easybadwork bandanas can be hung and displayed like paintings.

Easybadwork has become more popular over the years, but Khim Đặng limits each product run to 100 pieces, including the one he always reserves for his personal cataloging. Once they sell out, that’s it; he refuses to re-print or re-release popular ones. And each month, he releases one new design to keep himself creatively motivated. The decision to operate this way reflects his motivations for easybadwork as a whole: “The goal is not making bestsellers, it's a creative life,” he said.

A self-proclaimed lack of style that's impossible to miss

Tigers with elongated torsos and an occasional extra set of limbs; rabbits leaping through flaming hoops; slithering dragons and elephants circling verdant undergrowth: while easybadwork doesn’t restrict itself to any particular subject matter, a few themes and images reoccur, particularly Vietnamese flora and fauna.

“I love and respect nature, but I cannot do anything to save the environment and nature in Vietnam or the world; I’m too small. [So] my work is to keep nature in mind - for myself and for the people that buy it,” Khim Đặng explained.

Images via Khim Đặng's Instagram.

This reverence for wildlife and its prominence in his artwork were cultivated, in part, by a trip he took with his mentor Tuấn Andrew Nguyễn. For a project the renowned artist was working on, they visited several of Vietnam’s national parks and observed how humans and animals interact. Khim Đặng was surprised to see that the individuals leading the efforts to protect the forests were mainly foreigners, suggesting a need to raise awareness and appreciation for nature amongst Vietnamese. Art allows him to channel his passion into this productive goal. Frequently depicted as supreme deities, the animals featured by easybadwork aim to instill a sense of pride, admiration and respect for nature. He hopes this will result in better stewardship of the natural world.

When our discussion of favorite subject matters turned to talk of his influences, Khim Đặng brought up Grimms’ Fairy Tales, and how if those German stories could become books, films, cartoons and general pop-cannon fodder worldwide, why not Vietnamese ones? This realization further motivates him to include references to Vietnamese myths, fables, phrases and cultural touchpoints, particularly for but not limited to Vietnamese audiences.

Plates made in collaboration with a local ceramics artist.

I asked Khim Đặng how his style has changed over the past five years, but he rejected the question’s premise, claiming he has no specific style. Rather, his work represents the confluence of all his influences: the many artists across mediums that he knows personally here in Vietnam, as well as those abroad with whom he is acquainted via social media and online portfolios. While working for Tuấn Andrew Nguyễn, Khim Đặng learned studio, film and production design, sculpting, and fabrication that he added to his repertoire of self-taught skills. He can point out specific elements of his creations that he learned via studying other individuals, but ultimately, his work is a tapestry of styles and comingled reinterpretations of countless artists that he has admired and attempted to emulate in different ways. He hopes to pay this concept forward as well, encouraging young artists to seek out his work and copy it as a form of practice while they work on developing their own styles that they can eventually share with the world.

The value of a boring, orderly lifestyle

Easybadwork is not a profitable venture. Khim Đặng explains that, after the cost of supplies, with an emphasis on always treating his suppliers well by paying on time and not asking for discounts, and renting his studio space in a shared District 10 tube house, he has yet to turn a profit, and isn’t concerned if that never changes. He has a few unrelated business ventures that bring in relatively passive income and he also takes on contract design work for brands, but admits his fierce commitment to his own vision has earned him a reputation as a “difficult” artist in some circles. “I really don’t care about the brand target, I just do [the work] for myself and try my best,” he explained. It appears that this approach has helped him, as the only clients that approach him now do so as fans of his creations, eager to give him ample latitude and limited demands.

Recent commercial projects.

Khim Đặng is fastidious about the materials he uses. The imported shirt fabric, for example, is stunningly nice — soft but sturdy and made to last; among the best I have ever encountered. When discussing materials, he explained that screen-printing his designs poses a challenge, particularly in creating gradients and shading with only four colors. His printer, serendipitously, was his friend back in 2013, long before either was on their current career trajectories. When the pair reunited years later, they discovered their respective talents fit perfectly. Smiling while proudly showing off the printing details up close and praising his friend’s work, he says he has no interest in learning how to screen-print. His friend can do that, and Khim Đặng is a firm believer in the power of appreciating creative industries without a desire to pursue them.

This idea of leaving specific fields to those passionate about them reoccurs throughout our conversation. Khim Đặng enjoys creating album designs for musicians and of course listening to music, but has no desire to create music himself. Similarly, he spent four years helping tattoo artists in a loose collective improve their illustration skills, but has never wanted to learn to tattoo himself. Contributing flash designs and helping the group secure a space and sponsors is enough. Similarly, he recently created a stunning three-piece series of gold sign lettering with his friend, Saigon Gold Signs, who has studio space in the same tube house, but Khim Đặng doesn’t plan to get into letter design.

Hinh flash designs he drew and now keeps in his personal archives.

Những mẫu thiết kế xăm flash (hình xăm được thiết kế sẵn) được Khiêm lưu trữ trong bộ sưu tập cá nhân.

“I started underground, I like underground,” he explained of his DIY lifestyle that consists of networks of creatives across mediums. I recognize the impact of this “brotherhood” as he calls it in his willingness to do all his own marketing and promotion as well as his skepticism of private galleries that approach him, expressing fandom for the sole purpose of profiting from his art. It pairs well with the assemblage of tools that fill his workspace for his various projects as well as the expansive garden of philodendrons on the balcony. Learning from the internet and plant enthusiasts in Saigon, he has slowly cultivated what he estimates to be one of the 10 largest philodendron collections in the city. And when they get too large, he gives trimmings to his friends to grow. It’s all really quite punk when you think about it.

As much as I love the designs themselves, this punk vibe is what I admire most about Khim Đặng. He creates with a spirited confidence in his personal taste and vision with no concern for commercial implications. And yet he does so with a regimented schedule and organization at odds with the romantic notions of the devil-may-care artist one might expect. Answering my first email within an hour, he proved to be the most responsive and organized creative I’ve ever engaged with. Every morning, he wakes up early, goes out for breakfast and returns to his workspace, a set of wooden tables he handbuilt 15 meters from his bedroom. He will remain in this space until 5pm, after which time his energy is reserved for friends and family. It reminds me of the famous French novelist Gustave Flaubert who advised: “Be boring, orderly and bourgeois in your life, so that you may be violent and original in your work.”

Before founding easybadwork, Khim Đặng fulfilled his compulsory military duty which he credits with helping him appreciate the virtues of a strict schedule. And although he acknowledges that previous dalliances with youthful, rowdy indiscretions helped develop his perspective, he knows such behavior would have ultimately doomed his ambitions, if he hadn’t abandoned them. This maturity, coupled with his ability to make ends meet, convinced his family of the potential for a successful life creating art. Coming from a family of business-minded individuals, he had encountered all-too-common condemnation when he revealed he wanted to be an artist. It took some years until he was again welcome in his family’s home.

That Khim Đặng’s fiercely free-spirited style exemplified superficially by his sleeves of menacing tattoos is juxtaposed by the routine of an accountant and supplemented by a calm and earnest reverence for nature is interesting enough. But the most endearing aspect of his personality might be his humility: “I don’t want to be famous, I don’t need everyone to know who I am. I just want to grow authentically and make merchandise for people to have nice stuff and to create a legacy.”

Chiecquanque Breathes Life Into Patchwork to Create Unique Handmade Clothing

2023-07-12T17:18:02+07:00

Chiecquanque is an independent fashion brand presenting clothing items, backpacks and bags that were handcrafted. Each item that the store carries is a one-off creation that exists on its own due to the way they are formed.

I paid Chiecquanque a visit at their location inside an old tenement in Hanoi. The house is nested right next to a narrow alley on Kim Mã Street. This is the workplace of Nguyễn Trung, the young designer behind Chiecquanque. The store name is a humorous wordplay on a Vietnamese slang word that literally means “crippled trousers.”

Trung moved into the location nearly a year ago from a previous homebase inside a breezy, sun-drenched tree-top hut on Thái Hà Street. “I used to be so proud of Chiecquanque for having the best shop location in Hanoi. Alas, the landlady needed the space for something else, so I couldn’t stay there anymore,” Trung recalled with an obvious tinge of regret in his voice.

Each clothing item here is a unique piece that was created by hand.

From a risky move gone wrong

The idea behind the brand was conceived after Trung got into a minor accident in Đà Lạt: “I attempted a risky move by going down a steep slope on a board. I fell over, rolled around on the ground a few times, and my clothes were all torn up. That included my favorite pair of pants. I couldn’t bear to throw them away, so I patched them up. It turned out to be really good, so I kept wearing them. That’s how I thought of Chiecquanque.”

The idea behind Chiecquanque really began from a pair of quần què.

The first product Trung ever made under the brand Chiecquanque was a small sac to hold a USB. He took a photo of it and posted the design on Instagram, which still had the name title “Nhà khởi nghiệp” (lit: A startup founder). Trung didn’t anticipate that such a spontaneous piece would receive so many compliments and even custom orders, so he decided to rename the account to “Nhà thiết kế” (A designer) and began to seriously invest time and effort into Chiecquanque.

Trung’s tool kit.

During the early days of the enterprise, Trung faced countless setbacks, especially on the financial side. To independent designers, funding is always a major hurdle that threatens to put a stop to everything if left unchecked for too long. To help the business tide over, Trung tried to work with materials at hand, sell products and then immediately invest back into the business. “Money was the main issue. Idea-wise, I just started making things when I feel inspired. But now I have to be proactive, all because of the pressures to make ends meet,” he reminisced.

Attention to the tiniest details

At first, Trung produced designs using old denim, then he expanded to other materials like old leather or indigo. He even recycled scrap fabrics collected from a close friend working as a tailor.

Trung doesn’t operate with a fixed set of standards, but tries to mold his design to the condition of the fabric. If the piece has tears, he may opt to retain those imperfections, or even reshapes them to look better.

A vest being worked on.

Trung employs Japanese techniques like sashiko embroidery patterns and boro patchwork to stitch the fabrics together. “Before, whenever a piece of clothing is worn out at home, the matriarchs would patch it up, after a few rounds, the clothing item will look like this. It looks like a sky, really pretty,” he explained of the reason behind his fondness for the techniques, while showing me the piece he was working on.

Selecting the textile, opting to embroider or stitch are all phases in the production process, which takes up a lot of his time as he feels a need to polish everything. Trung usually crafts a prototype first and then irons out the faults before putting the design up online. “I want to dedicate all my efforts into the products like how I would make things to wear myself. No matter how many times I sew something, I want it to be just like the first time.”

The iconic Thượng Đình shoes have also received makeovers by Chiecquanque

Perhaps it’s thanks to Trung’s razor-sharp-focused approach to creating that most pieces that Chiecquanque have put out share that distinctive quirk. “My most memorable design is probably Thượng Đình shoes. That was when it suddenly became a hot trend because rapper HIEUTHUHAI was wearing a pair.” Thượng Đình is a domestic brand of sportswear known in Vietnam thanks to its affordable prices and utilitarian design. Trung put his own spin on them using denim patches and spontaneous patterns. These made-over shoes climbed to the top to be Chiecquanque’s most highly sought-after items, to the point that there were days that Trung’s workstation was inundated with the iconic striped shoes.

“Sustainable fashion may not exist”

Observers of Vietnam’s handmade fashion landscape might encounter a plethora of names heralding an operational philosophy that involves “sustainable fashion.” To Trung, this concept might be a misconception by some. He believes that even in the case of clothing items crafted from recycled materials, there are many steps in the production process that have negative impacts on the environment. Moreover, the cycle of trends churns rapidly on a daily basis, so the amount of discarded old clothes just increases over time.

“Maybe in the future, the idea behind ‘sustainable fashion’ will be viable when science develops more. But currently, ‘sustainable fashion’ doesn’t really exist, or maybe people simply consume fashion like in cartoons: every day they wear the same outfit and accessories.”

From pants to boots and notebooks

Trung shared that Chiecquanque doesn’t identify as sustainable fashion, and he feels that hand-crafted clothing doesn’t necessarily have to follow this philosophy. When I asked about what distinguishes Chiecquanque from other names, he explained that the techniques are not that different, but the color palettes and patterns of each item might differ. “I personally don’t think I’m that special. People always feel the need to find that difference.”

“Oh, maybe there’s a difference in prices. Some customers picked me because my prices are lower,” Trung laughed after giving the question some thought.

Affordable and detailed

In the near future, Trung wishes to keep Chiecquanque running, though he also wants to share more techniques and experiences with those keen on exploring handmade fashion. To Trung, that kind of knowledge should be promoted even for free.

Great Vietnam Resurrects Nguyễn-Era Fashion, One Traditional Costume at a Time

2022-08-12T11:00:00+07:00

In the last four to five years, ancient Vietnamese costumes have gained more visibility, becoming a welcome sight among young locals thanks to the efforts to reproduce and promote historic fashion from a number of designers, brands, and interest groups that appreciate the country’s history and traditions.

Great Vietnam is made up of such individuals. Founded in 2019 and officially going into operation in 2020, the group focuses on researching and reproducing clothing that was worn in Vietnam hundreds of years ago. A few costumes they produce have been featured in the art show “The Quintessence of Vietnam” at Grand World Phú Quốc (2021); the photo-video project “VIETNAMESE? REALLY?! – 1000 Years of Vietnamese Fashion” (2021) in collaboration with the Vietnam Centre; and the exhibition “The Resplendent Vestiges” in Sydney, Australia (2019).

The video project "Người Việt Xa Lạ" by Vietnam Centre featuring costumes made by Great Vietnam.

From individual struggles to a collective effort

Great Vietnam comprises young Vietnamese who love culture and creativity and aim to make their reproduction of ancient clothing as historically accurate as possible. The three core members are 28-year-old Vũ Đức and 33-year-old Trương Tuấn Anh, who are in charge of designing the costumes; and 36-year-old Đoàn Thành Lộc, a researcher of Sino-Vietnamese culture who provides expertise on the accuracy of the clothes and handles customer feedback.

Đức has a degree in political science and Tuấn Anh is a research fellow that focuses on space technology. Despite the seemingly irrelevant backgrounds, the two share a passion for cổ phục, or ancient Vietnamese clothing, which drew them together to found Great Vietnam in 2019.

Inside Great Vietnam's Hanoi showroom with their works on display. At the time of writing, the showroom has been closed.

That was after they both made personal attempts to research and promote what they knew about the clothes: Tuấn Anh learned, designed and sewed traditional patterns by himself and joined the Hoa Văn Đại Việt project; while Đức created cartoon characters wearing historic royal clothes and published them on a Facebook page named Anh Hoàng.

Vũ Đức tells Saigoneer: “On our individual journeys, when it came to ancient clothing, we all encountered challenges, and when we realized that even the official sources sometimes delivered incorrect information on this type of clothing, we decided to become the ones who make it right. That’s how Great Vietnam was born. Step by step, we reproduced the costumes, and at some point, it became something we do together.”

Áo phụng bào, based on the real version worn by Empress Dowager Từ Cung, the mother of Emperor Bảo Đại. Featured: headwear by Phượng Điển. Photo by Bạch Như.

They realized many Vietnamese love the country’s ancient costumes, but often mistake the majority of replica designs available in the market for the real thing. This shortcoming applies to áo dài (narrow-sleeved tunics, considered the national costume of Vietnam since the Nguyễn Dynasty), áo tấc (wide-sleeved tunics, used on important occasions), áo nhật bình (special vestments reserved for women of high status under the Nguyễn Dynasty), and áo bào (round-collared robes for feudal-era mandarins).

Young Vietnamese wear ancient costumes as part of the parade event Bách Hoa Bộ Hành. The walk was joined by many historical interest groups and individuals, including Đông Phong, Great Vietnam, Hoa Niên, Thủy Trung Nguyệt, Quê cực, and Đại Nam Chân Ảnh. Photo by Ann Anh with retouching by Bạch Như.

“It has not changed since the ancient costume 'movement' by young people started five years ago,” Đức says. “That’s the reason why we want to recreate the ancient costumes, to run Great Vietnam — as one of the key players in the process of changing awareness of ancient Vietnamese costumes.”

Lộc joined the team later, after he was approached by Đức. “I decided to collaborate because of the good vision Great Vietnam wanted to pursue, which is to create patterns and textures as historically accurate as possible,” Lộc says. A scholar with more than 10 years of studying and doing research abroad on Sino-Vietnamese culture, Lộc has access to source texts written in Chinese from China, South Korea and Japan.

Costumes of Nguyễn Dynasty court guards recreated by Great Vietnam. On the right is the reference image taken by W. Robert Moore in 1931.

“A lot of people say that what was written about Vietnam in Chinese texts is not accurate, which is a perspective I would really like to criticize,” he says. “Not everything China says about Vietnam is wrong and inaccurate, especially things that were written hundreds of years ago.”

He relies on documentation both in and out of the country to deduce what ancient clothing items should look like, Lộc says. “It has to be a two-way process, with exogenous and endogenous variables. We have information in our books, historical records, from statues in pagodas, temples, and communal houses, as well as in documentation of family trees or handwritten books from the older generation...That is one source. I then compare them with foreign sources. That is the scientific method we use. We never completely rely on only one source.”

A video featuring áo mãng lan, a tunic often worn by court guards or military mandarins of the Nguyễn court.

Promoting Vietnam through cultural products

Art producers and practitioners are the people Great Vietnam aims to collaborate with, since the group thinks art is a great way to reach out to a wider audience to promote Vietnamese culture through costumes.

A few examples of robes and costumes for female members of the court.

“Our target customers are those that are carrying out large-scale art and cultural projects such as stage performances, movies, or festivals because they have high demand for ceremonial clothing and have great potential for promoting an authentic traditional culture,” Đức explains. “Despite the scarcity of such customers in Việt Nam, through our activities, Great Vietnam hopes to gradually encourage people and organizations to think about and carry out such projects.”

The group also produces and supplies costumes to retail customers. They do everything themselves, from making designs and patterns to measuring and cutting the clothes.

A young couple in Vietnam wore ancient costumes for their engagement ceremony. Albeit not very common, historical costumes have increasingly been selected by culture-minded individuals in Vietnam for their betrothal. Photo by Jamex Production.

“In this field, it’s difficult to find experienced partners, so we have to actively research, think, and learn from scratch,” Đức says. “In terms of supplies, Great Vietnam looks for both modern and traditional sources. Apart from stages that need modern materials such as designing, printing, sewing, etc. For other techniques such as embroidering, carving, weaving, it’s compulsory for us to reach out to craft villages, especially when making silk costumes.”

Vạn Phúc, La Khê, Bưởi, Nha Xá, Nam Cao, Mã Châu, and Tân Châu are some traditional craft villages that the group often visits. The process of producing a set of ancient costumes is the same as any other type of clothes, Đức explains. He is responsible for designing the decorative patterns, while Tuấn Anh is mainly in charge of drafting the sewing patterns.

Áo nhật bình created by Great Vietnam, based on a real version worn by Princess Mỹ Lương, photographed in 1931.

“First we would sit down together and decide whether the costume will have patterns on them or not, and whether the patterns will be embroidered or printed,” Đức elucidates on the process. They will then create a sewing pattern and send it to manufacturers, who will cut fabrics and follow instructions on the pattern to produce the clothes.

Photos of their products and feedback from clients are often posted on the Great Vietnam 大越南 Facebook page. Included in each post are detailed descriptions of the costumes and references to the texts from which they learned about the meaning of each pattern and accessory. But behind this thoughtful presentation is a lot of hard work put into finding credible documentation and making sense of them.

Three other áo nhật bình prototypes created by Great Vietnam.

“The artifacts available in the country were either so poorly preserved or hard to access due to barriers in cultural management, so those available outside the country, albeit scarce and scattered, were the ones we placed our expectations on,” Đức shares. “Because of this, our work in the last three years is like sailing against the wind, with almost no support, or struggling to get support, the type of struggle that we thought we shouldn’t have to go through. But also because of it, we got used to finding solutions ourselves instead of relying on unreliable connections that might affect our eagerness to research and learn.”

Mãng lan tunic worn by court mandarins. "Mãng" is a four-claw dragon, a motif often seen on costumes for court officials. Mãng is lower than "Long," a five-claw dragon that's highest in level and is only used in costumes for the king.

Not undermining the authorities’ role in preserving cultures, Lộc and Tuấn Anh both think there should be a collaboration between the state government and private companies to better promote ancient clothing. Lộc tells me: “Both sides should find a common voice and agree to cooperate. The government has an advantage in terms of literature and law. Private units have strong teams and good knowledge. They really should collaborate.”

“Personally, I hope historical researchers and the government will pay more attention to preserving traditional costumes and culture. That is what we should really aim for at the moment.”

Costumes as a cultural trademark

Despite having only been in the business for a few years, Great Vietnam is serious about their work. Their goal is to keep reproducing ancient costumes — from simple to intricate, from the latest dynasty to earlier ones — and fill the gap in documentation and knowledge about them in the country. They also hope that historical clothing will be studied carefully, treated with respect, and that their honest reproductions will help the next generations appreciate the past culture more.

Mãng bào, often worn by court mandarins.

Đức shares: “In Vietnam, the process of reviving ancient costumes started slowly and did not receive enough attention, but that’s not how it’s done around the world, because traditional artworks such as drawings, carvings, and embroidery show the depth of local culture. If we continue to not pay attention, we don’t really know our culture.”

Lộc has a rather unusual vision for the revival of ancient clothing: "I hope people will wear them to bars, pubs, luxurious international events, and on planes. Let’s consider them, even though they are a bit loose, a bit baggy, a bit untidy. They’re called ‘ancient’ but they don’t belong to dead people. So don’t just wear them to go to temples, pagodas, or the Temple of Literature, or the Imperial City of Huế."

“Their name is ‘ancient clothes’ but they are not old. Let’s consider them as just a style, and take advantage of it. Only then can ancient clothing endure and exist in our daily life. If we only wear them to temples and pagodas and traditional ceremonies, they will just stay there, they will not evolve.”

In Seattle, a Vietnamese Jewelry Maker Finds Comfort in the Quirky and Queer

2022-06-27T17:00:00+07:00

The big, bold, and fun accessories with an air of mystique that Đinh Nguyễn Song Khanh and their spouse, Meiyin, create under their brand XYZ reflect their definition of queer fashion in the US, where they now live with a bunch of cute and mischievous cats.

Khanh (left) and Meiyin (right).

Đinh Nguyễn Song Khanh (they/them) is an old friend of mine from high school. They're currently an exchange student at the University of Washington, finishing their graduate degree in Digital Media while also working as a videographer. Their spouse, Meiyin (they/them), is a Chinese-American with a degree in marketing who is currently working in a coffee shop to help support their artistic dream of designing jewelry.

In addition to parenting a cuddly crew of cats, the pair are co-owners of XYZ, a boutique jewelry brand with pieces crafted by the owners. Khanh and Meiyin sell their creations via their website or at monthly pop-up markets across Seattle.

A love story that started it all

The idea behind XYZ was kindled when Meiyin made a few handcrafted earrings for themselves as a personal project; the custom blings immediately brought in quite a few compliments from their friends. “Oh, these earrings are so fun! You should sell them!” Meiyin recalls the praise. This was around the beginning of 2020 when Meyin and Khanh were only friends. Meiyin invited Khanh to design earrings with them and, by the end of that year, XYZ was officially founded.

“[After that], we fell in love, and started dating,” Khanh says. “So XYZ was there at the beginning of our relationship. It was there when we were just friends, and when we developed into a relationship, XYZ was also there. So I would say queerness is at the core of XYZ's mission.”

Despite its simplicity, the name XYZ is actually a clever wordplay on Meiyin’s actual name, which contains the Chinese character for "swallow," a species of chirpy birds that have an important role in many Asian cultures, Vietnamese included. “I really like those birds,” Meiyin says. “In Chinese, you call them 小燕子 [xiaoyanzi, or tiểu yến tử in Vietnamese] so I took XYZ from Xiaoyanzi.” Young Vietnamese might also know the name Tiểu Yến Tử from the classic Chinese drama Hoàn Châu Cách Cách.

Big, bold, and beautiful

XYZ’s style emphasizes big and bold accessories that juxtapose elegance and eccentricity, giving many of their products an overarching aesthetic of “just having fun.” Currently, Khanh and Meiyin make mask chains, necklaces and earrings, the latter of which are amongst the most popular.

Most of XYZ’s earrings are dangles, usually made by attaching precious stones to chains. They frequently incorporate crystal beads and chips in metal frames, wire-wrapped crystal quartz and other semi-precious stones. Occasionally, the pair will also use fun little shapes or miniature items to embellish their creations with extra cuteness.

“Meyin has a pair of soy sauce earrings, and sometimes we would have tiny little chili peppers, we just attach them to a chain and they’ll be dangly,” Khanh shares about some of their more comedic products. Meanwhile, during Tết, Khanh also helped channel some festive air into their craft with iconic Tết colors like red and yellow to introduce a part of Vietnam to Seattle.

Their creation process is simple: lay out every piece of material they have on hand and wait until a spark of inspiration hits. On rare occasions, they will sketch out their design’s silhouette to see if it would look good, “but most of the time, we just wing it,” Khanh explains.

Video via XYZ Style Co.

When it comes to material, the duo opts to source ethically from other small businesses around the city or through sites like Etsy, partly because they don’t want to rely on big corporations, and also would rather support the local community. The semi-precious stones used are also bought at Gem Faire — a marketplace for gemstones and minerals that allows Khanh and Meiyin to support small businesses directly.

Khanh and Meiyin first started selling their wares on the net. After a while, they decided to expand their horizons by attending local pop-up markets and sought the support of VietQ — a grassroots organization that aims to help LGBTQ+ Vietnamese living in Seattle. “It's a little community that has a couple of big pop-up markets for queer and trans creators. So those markets were some of our first-ever markets,” Khanh reminisces.

It’s through these markets that Khanh gets the chance to meet Vietnamese customers. Outside of VietQ’s market, Vietnamese are rare. However, the ones they do encounter seem to share a similar taste: “For the Vietnamese customers that we have seen, they usually go for dainty, simpler designs,” Khanh notes.

Even with a sense of camaraderie among queer Seattle residents, the pair continues to encounter cultural differences. For Khanh, the Vietnamese, queer, and queer Vietnamese communities are three circles that don’t overlap often.

“When you're queer, you have a certain hardship, and when you're Vietnamese, you have a certain hardship, so when you're both, it's like a combo,” Khanh shares. “Queerness is so foreign to the Vietnamese community here [and] because our language is very gendered, it’s hard to communicate.”

XYZ helps navigate and even connect the fragmented communities via friendships formed. “We have this one friend that we’ve met through VietQ’s market,” Khanh says. “This person’s name is also Khanh and they constantly buy from us, and now we’re good friends. So it’s cool to see that XYZ can establish friendships that way.”

But not everything has gone smoothly for the pair. Besides the occasional creative blocks that hinder their design process, they also had a few tumbles. “One time we prepared five packages, which included custom orders and products that we already made, ready to be shipped out and we left them at the outgoing mailbox at our apartment. All five of them were stolen. So now we always go to a UPS or post office for our mail,” Khanh recounts an unfortunate incident.

Finding comfort in crystals

There’s no common consensus on what the “queer aesthetic” is, as it differs between people and cultures. For me, it’s cuffed jeans and an almost excessive amount of accessories. For Khanh and Meiyin, it is “goth fashion, ‘witchy’ fashion, and big, fun things, even things like bones.” This description certainly fits many of XYZ’s products.

Crystals seem to be another typical element of queer culture and, by proxy, queer fashion. Khanh and I agree that queer people, almost regardless of nationality, seem fond of crystals. A sizable subset of the queer communities around the world are really into hobbies and aesthetics that are considered “mystical,” yet not too overtly religious, like tarot cards, witchcraft, and healing crystals.

When I ask Khanh if they can try their hand at explaining this odd connection between queerness and mysticism. Khanh shares a personal interpretation that resonates with me.

“Part of queer culture is spirituality,” Khanh says. It’s something that they noticed not just in Seattle, but in other cultures as well. “A lot of queer people are into being Wiccan, which is being witches and spiritual. Because fashion is such a big thing in how people express themselves, they start to incorporate spirituality into their fashion…which is why when we package our [crystal and gemstone] products, sometimes we include the stones’ healing properties because it’s something that I, Meiyin and our customers are interested in.”

The way forward

Khanh is still in the middle of finishing their grad school degree, so Meiyin is temporarily doing a lot of the work for the business, which means that XYZ’s presence in markets is inconsistent. “Because I’m a full-time student, and Meiyin has to work [at her other job], we haven’t been able to [do sales at markets] every week, but we've been able to do it every month,” Khanh says.

Once they are finished with grad school, Khanh hopes that they’ll be able to spend more time working with Meiyin on XYZ. Both of them want to be able to expand into other kinds of products, such as bracelets and body paint, as well as being able to donate to charities again, particularly ones that are Asian and queer-focused — something that they did in the past, but have put on hold due to some setbacks regarding schedules and finances.

“We sell what we make, instead of making what sells” is a philosophy that allows Khanh and Meiyin to enjoy themselves in this line of work. They had allowed customers to design their own products but dropped that approach “because we feel like we should have the creative freedom to create whatever we want to create. So yeah, we would just make anything that inspires us and people would see that it's creative, they'll be naturally drawn to it and buy it,” they say.

A Gia Lai Entrepreneur Brings Her Hometown's Brocade Art to Modern Jewelry

2021-11-29T10:00:00+07:00

Vũ Thị Thanh Vân had a simple wish: she wanted to find a well-crafted brocade gift for a friend but the only items she could find were generic, run-of-the-mill fillers sold at tourist sites. Thus began Vân’s dabbling in fashion entrepreneurship three years ago.

Incorporating brocade art into fashion designs is nothing groundbreaking, but the practice’s application had been limited to all but a few items in one’s wardrobe, and authenticity is lacking, more often than not.

theMay, a Saigon-based accessories brand founded in 2018, is on a mission to prove that these beautiful patterns aren’t just doomed to be on sourvenir headscarves, but can be preserved and presented through crafted pieces that accurately reflect their worth.

When entering theMay’s little shop on Hai Ba Trung Street, the first thing visitors will notice is the abundance of wood decor, greenery and natural light. The interior looks more like an art gallery than a retail store. Here, every single product on display, from earrings and bracelets to necklaces and handbags, is inspired by unique brocade art from different ethnic groups in Vietnam.

Bamboo (left) and Ashes (right) earrings.

Vân didn’t get the idea for her business until she crossed paths with cultures different from her own. As a new graduate who just earned her degree in international economics, Vân was able to secure a well-paying job in the chemical industry in Japan. Her early success was a feat that many young people wished they could achieve, but the experience she got abroad brought her attention back to Vietnam.

Having witnessed Japan's success in embedding traditional elements into contemporary designs, Vân began pondering the cultural heritage of her mountainous hometown in Gia Lai, and its potential and significance. After two years of doing market research, in mid-2019, she quit her job in Japan and returned to Vietnam to create theMay, much to her family's objections.

Vũ Thị Thanh Vân, theMay's founder.

“I’ve been fortunate enough to be able to travel around, and what I’ve seen is that many of our neighbors, such as Thailand and Cambodia, are putting in a lot of effort to protect and promote local textile materials and patterns. In Vietnam, we love to talk about áo dài and nón lá, but there are also 53 other ethnic groups out there whose cultural identity and community haven’t been appreciated properly. They are our country’s wealth of unexplored artistry because brocade arts are where ethnic groups tell their stories. And I want to bring those stories to more people."

So far, theMay has featured in its collection some of the most distinctive brocade arts from the Chăm in Ninh Thuan, as well as the Ba Na in Gia Lai. These include Chăm people’s mắt gà (chicken's eye) and chân chó (dog's foot) embroidery motifs, and Ba Na people’s Juji, a shape inspired by a local fern called rau dớn. In addition, Vân has also worked with Chăm artisans from Bau Truc, a pottery village in Ninh Thuan, to create accompanying details for the accessories.

Juji, which frequently makes appearances in theMay’s designs, is an embroidery style inspired by the shape of a fern, rau dớn. Not only is it woven into fabric, this pattern is also employed in the architecture and visual arts of the Ba Na and other ethnic groups in the Central Highlands.

As having products grounded in ethnic culture involves serious social implications, Vân must tread carefully when it comes to doing her research. Field trips and conversations with artisans are essential, as they help her gain a better understanding of the clothes, the thread, and the way of life behind them. These narratives are shared by Vân on social media, so that people "don’t just find them beautiful, but know what they mean." theMay also sources its materials directly from ethnic communities in hope of providing incentives for people to maintain their traditional craft.

When it was just founded, theMay struggled to operate as a business due to its low volume of sales: "We didn't have many customers then. It took us three to four months just to get some stock sold." Part of the reason was that the brand’s early pieces designs were too complex and too dark-toned, which weren’t ideal for modern outfits.

"Because we were one of the first, we didn’t really have anyone to look up to. We designed, produced, tested everything and drew our own conclusions," Vân said. Since “culture is always changing, and absorbing new ideas," she realized that what her products needed was contemporary elements to find themselves in the daily rotation of snappy dressers.

Sóng Biển (Waves) mini collection.

This modification was evident in theMay’s latest releases, including Cát, Sóng Biển và Đại Dương (Sand, Waves and Ocean). These collections feature bold colors and funky shapes that can be easily mixed-and-matched, but the presence of brocade arts is still a constant in all of the designs. For instance, to make the Cát necklace, which is inspired by a constellation, the design team spent a year figuring out how to roll the Chăm brocade fabric into a zig-zag shape and adhere the pearls in between the nodules.

A constellation-shaped design from the collection Cát.

When asked if there was a lesson she wanted to share with like-minded designers and start-ups, Vân said that there must always be compatibility between the product’s design and message. "Customers care about how it looks before they want to know what it means.”

She also considers brocade fashion to be a niche market, as public interest remains limited, though certain customer segments have been paying more attention. Thus, designers need to keep a close eye on prevailing trends to see which would fit their own identity, and create a fusion that could ride the success of both.

Finally, "a balance between profit and social sustainability" is the most important thing to keep in mind. For Vân, the best thing about running her own business for two years is not just finding customers who love her style, but also meeting and supporting knowledgeable artisans who are working diligently to preserve their community’s handcraft tradition in the age of mass production.

Ton-sur-Ton is a series highlighting local brands in Vietnam that have a strong personality and compelling story. More than just textiles and colors, they bring a breath of fresh air to the nation's fashion scene. Know a distinctive local brand? Write to us via contribute@saigoneer.com.

How Local Brand Re.socks Spins Discarded Plastic Bottles Into Comfy Socks

2021-08-28T11:00:00+07:00

How much thought do you put into socks?

While some people — a few of my colleagues included — take the colors and designs of their socks seriously, for many, socks are an afterthought. Something to simply protect your feet and, if you somehow misplace one while doing laundry, that's sort of annoying, but oh well. It's safe to say the that the team at Re.socks is part of the population which takes socks seriously.

The eight-member startup began in September of last year, and they pursue a model that is becoming more prominent amid the global plastic crisis: using waste that is already created in order to produce something else. Specifically, they transform discarded plastic bottles into socks.

The Re.socks team with their product. Photo by Bình Minh via Tuoi Tre.

"We share an interest in the environment and sustainable fashion," said Quach Kien Lan, Re.socks' head. "Plastic waste is a major global issue, but waste can actually be a resource when we know how to recycle it into useful products."

They determined that Polyethylene terephthalate (PET), or the plastic used to make water bottles, could be broken down and then spun into yarn in order to make a fabric good. This involves collecting used plastics, turning them into plastic beads, pulling the beads into recycled yarn, spinning the yarn into polyester fiber, and finally creating socks from that fiber.

The production process. Image courtesy of Re.socks.

"The yarn factory will collect and then process plastic bottles and filter impurities to create plastic beads," Lan says in explaining the initial step.

While this model may be relatively unknown in Vietnam, it is well-established in more developed markets like the United States. According to the Financial Times, an American manufacturer named Unifi first launched a recycled polyester fiber in 2007, and the outdoor clothing brands Patagonia and Polartec quickly began using it.

Now, around 800 apparel brands use this material in some way, including household names like Nike and Adidas as well as high-end boutiques such as Prada.

One challenge is that since waste collection and recycling in Vietnam are often done through informal networks, there are no set standards, meaning most waste isn't classified and it can't meet the standards needed for recycling into another product. As a result, most of the plastic fiber material used by Re.socks has to be imported, meaning it isn't yet improving Vietnam's waste issues.

Fabric being spun to produce socks. Photo courtesy of Re.socks.

In fact, this is a global issue, as the average plastic recycling rate around the world is just 14–18%, according to the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development. As a result, the type of high-quality PET that can be reused is in high demand in the textile and garment industry, which also competes with the general recycled product sector. This drives the price of PET up as well.

The Re.socks team understands this, and hopes that their work can play a role in driving the kind of change needed within Vietnam's recycling sector to meet the standards required to repurpose plastic into a functional product. "We hope that Re:socks' story will inspire people about sorting waste, and we hope to achieve the goal of building a collection, recycling and spinning process in Vietnam in the next five years," Lan says.

But why socks? These are probably not the first item that comes to mind when people think of recycling.

The final product. Photo provided by Re:socks.

"Our first product is socks because we want to communicate the story of 'green footsteps' made from recycled materials on a sustainable journey," Lan says. "Besides, this is a very common product; almost everyone needs it. A pair of socks, no matter how small, will help people see how recycling can create useful products."

Each pair of socks takes about three plastic bottles, and each package includes three pairs of socks in black, dark grey and light grey.

While this process reduces the number of plastic bottles going to landfills, it also eliminates greenhouse gas emissions that would normally be generated from processing virgin polyester. Once Re.socks perfects their process and partners with more companies, they will begin working with other materials, and also other productions. "We are working on creating more eye-catching designs in the near future, focusing on functionality and using combined fibers such as coffee or mushroom yarn to draw attention in a wide market where there are already many low-price products," Lan says.

Thus far, the team's customers have largely been people within the sustainability community, as well as shops in countries like the United States and United Kingdom, and they are now aiming to focus on younger Vietnamese to raise environmental awareness.

The packaging, which is recycled from paper. Photo courtesy of Re.socks.

"In the future, we will produce more products such as shirts, wallets and hats, not only made from recycled plastic materials, but also with many other sustainable materials," Lan adds.

From Discarded Denim, a Young Vietnamese Designer Crafts Artisanal Fashion

2021-07-01T12:00:00+07:00

Dương Hoàng Hảo founded Perfect Vintage Stuff, a secondhand clothing brand to provide sustainable fashion that aims to pave the way for circular consumption. But far from your average off-the-rack thrift picks, the brand focuses on eccentric and artful preloved denim pieces.

Sustainable Stitches

Since launching in 2019, Perfect Vintage Stuff has gained traction on social media among environment- and fashion-conscious consumers for its thoughtfully designed items. The brand focuses on upcycled items, mainly clothing articles and accessories made from used denim that Hảo handpicked and manually patched.

Explaining his decision to use old denim as a base material, Hảo explained: “Pre-owned fabrics often show signs of wear and tear due to extensive use, but it’s the imperfections that make them as unique as they are. What I do is take advantage of these distinct patterns and enhance them with special needle treatments like sashiko, patchwork, boro, etc. As such, each finished product is an original with no duplicates.”

To prevent future waste, Hảo chooses to use only 100% cotton thread. “The type of thread that is commonly sold in wholesale markets is usually made of synthetic polymers, meaning that it can leave a non-biodegradable residue. I try to avoid any plastic-based or virgin material to ensure that the clothes that I make don’t stray far from their sustainable origins,” he said.

While secondhand clothes are often associated with being cheap, the well-broken-in garments that Hảo collects carry their own worth. Some of his favorites, including linen, indigo or army pieces, come from all over the world: “Some come with a hefty price tag as they are vintage items. Some are just regular used clothes. But I find them equally meaningful as they all do their parts in making fashion sustainable.”

Hoàng Hảo, Perfect Vintage Stuff's founder.

Due to the cost of procurement, the prices of Perfect Vintage Stuff's products tend to be on the higher side, which relegates the brand to a rather niche market. "Hardly anyone noticed and bought my products when they first came out. The financial setback was very difficult for me at the time. But I was content with what I was doing," he said. Indeed, it is a tedious road bridging the gap between sustainable fashion and mainstream consumption habits, but Hảo is proudly taking the first steps.

Patchwork Makes the Dream Work

Hảo upcycles most of his products through a method called sashiko, a Japanese embroidery technique that has existed since feudal times. The young designer said that he chose this particular technique as "it embodies the spirit of sustainability" he wants to promote.

Sashiko, which means "small stitch" in Japanese, is often performed on sturdy indigo fabric to create sophisticated patchworks. This technique requires the craftsperson to concentrate and adhere to strict rules. For instance, sashiko stitches always take more space on the top of the fabric than they are on the underside, and it is important that all stitches are the same length.

Hảo's embroidery on a purse made in collaboration with a leather brand.

In the past, sashiko was a common practice among poor Japanese farmers, who used it to patch and reinforce worn-out clothes. Not only is it an excellent embroidery technique, but it is also an expression of the Japanese minimalist way of life: “Don’t throw away your possessions. Repair and use them with even more gratitude.”

Although Perfect Vintage Stuff's products are made up of different materials and colors, it is apparent that the predominant shade is indigo. This was an intentional aesthetic on Hảo’s part, who wants customers to associate his brand with the color. According to the young designer, indigo is an important marker of Asian culture and heritage. It also presents a more simplistic and natural means of production, one without chemicals, dyes, manufacturing plants and waste.

Having built his brand on the internet for two years, Hảo is now preparing for Perfect Vintage Stuff's first physical store in Soc Trang. While not having a location in a central city might be limiting, Hảo believes that the brand is already making waves from where it is: “I can see genuine growth in the conscious fashion movement, and increasing environmental awareness from the community." Perhaps, we will soon see more of Hảo’s impeccable styles in eco-friendly wardrobes across Vietnam.

Enjoy the Simple Things: The Essence of Hanoi's Gian Don Clothing Store

2021-07-01T10:00:00+07:00

Gian Don is not much of a commercial fashion brand but a "family shop," where Diệu spends her days delivering stories on "friendly" fashion, and puppies are “employed” as sales associates. I visited Gian Don, or Simplicity, on a slow Monday morning and was quickly welcomed by founder Giáp Diệu and her two furry friends: SuSu and Spot.

Their “family shop,” as they referred to it, is located on the quiet, shady street of Yen Hoa, overlooking the West Lake. Inside the shop, clothing items and accessories are neatly displayed on wooden furniture, and on the walls hang a couple of art pieces that are also for sale. Just like its name, Gian Don is not overly decorated, but rather simple

Diệu’s background is in tourism and she worked at a design company for over six years before opening Gian Don in April 2018. The store is now a team of 10 "family members," focusing on two different segments: retail and workshop.

"Gian Don at the very beginning was just a tiny studio," Diệu reminisces. "Half of the store was the clothing display, the other half was the workspace. Everything was just always messy." The smiley, small-figured founder did not establish her brand out of any fierce ambition. Instead, Gian Don simply satisfied her two personal goals. "First, it is to be able to do something I love even though it can be difficult. Secondly, to supply myself with clothes. In the past, I used to struggle so much to find clothes that fit my taste, so I decided to make my own."

“I have a motto that is: enjoy the simple things. I don’t need too much; I seek happiness from the simplest things in life.” Something that Diệu always keeps in mind while doing business is knowing what and when is enough. “Gian Don is moving very slowly, and hopefully we can still learn and grow along the way. I, myself, have been constantly learning and growing from the very beginning,” she continues.

The brand’s overall theme is minimalist, easy-to-wear items. Their products range from casual wear to formal, workplace-appropriate attire. On their neatly arranged racks are summer dresses, tank tops, midi skirts, button-downs, and dress pants. The design is mostly plain, neutral-colored — no ruffles or sequins. Also, Gian Don favors linen materials for their lightness and comfort.

When asked whether Gian Don calls itself a sustainable brand, Diệu quickly said no: “Sustainable remains a very controversial term. I do not claim my brand to be sustainable because it is still a vaguely understood concept that our community is still trying to understand and adapt to it.”

In Vietnam, Diệu explains, people are still used to the shiny, eye-catching stores that sell clothing items that are fashionable but might not last long. Simplicity isn’t a popular concept. “Gian Don is trying its best to do what it can, not to achieve the title sustainable, but to simply bring the values we appreciate to the community. There’s no need to work towards any label,” Diệu opens up.

One special thing about Gian Don is that they don’t purchase fabric in mass as most brands do. Instead, Diệu chooses to hand-pick her fabric from the abundance of excess fabrics from factories. “The advantage is that because the factories I purchase from manufacture exported goods, the fabrics are unique and high quality, not the mass-produced fabrics on the market. The disadvantage is that the supply is inconsistent and there are often not many choices. I can often only make 3-4 dresses out of the same fabric,” Diệu shares.

Gian Don also adopts a very special sewing technique. “I use a very old-school sewing method,” Diệu says while fetching an example. Gian Don’s seam consists of two neat and flat parallel lines, not a flap like the shirt I was wearing.

“This seam gives a cleaner finish. There is neither a flap, excess thread nor threads falling apart. Every seam takes triple the amount of time and effort to sew compared to if we just use an overlock machine as other manufacturers do. Thus, the quality of the shirt is noticeably better. The structure of the clothing will stay even after years of wearing and washing. You won't notice a stretch or any thread falling out. The flat finish will eliminate the possibility of any discomfort. I seek the highest perfection for my products.”

“This is a very old-fashioned way to produce clothing — a technique people used before the invention of overlock machines. So yes, progress isn't always something great,” Diệu laughs.

She goes on: “Anyone can make a great product. But can you bring it onto the market? Will you be able to make a profit from it? The most difficult challenge for every business, and for Gian Don as well, is how to balance creativity, sustainability, and commerciality. In order to survive, you have to balance them well. It is like a three-way balance, if you deviate to one side, the other two will collapse as well.”

Describing her brand in three words, Diệu chooses simple, friendly and affordable; emphasizing on friendly. “Customers of Gian Don won’t feel like they’re going shopping. We treat our customers like friends and many of them became our friends too. I want to establish a connection deeper than just sellers and buyers. That’s my motivation to keep going.”

Gian Don is a family to Diệu; she values transparency and honesty above sales and numbers. The past year hasn’t been very easy for retail businesses like Gian Don, but Diệu is lucky to have the close companionship of her staff as well as her customers, “No matter how much pressure there is, if we have great support and company, everything will go by with more ease.”

Deep into our conversation, Diệu opens up to us about a side of the Gian Don that not many people see: “I don’t normally talk about this, only the closest customers and friends know because I don’t want to use it as an advertisement: my group of seamstresses are all women with disabilities. We have been together since the very beginning, sticking with each other through thick and thin. Working with them was difficult in the beginning when we hadn’t yet figured out a way to communicate. But they are the most hardworking and inspiring people and I would want nothing more than to have their companionship.”

One thing that Gian Don has been trying to do from the beginning is to deliver the story of their products to customers, beginning from who made them. To Diệu, customers will appreciate the clothing items more if they understand the story and values behind the products. To do this, Diệu runs weekly sewing workshops for anyone who wants to learn the basics of making clothes. Here, she aims to inspire others to recycle their old clothes and to create their own stories with their clothing.

Ending our conversation, Diệu revisits her vision on the minimalism trend in Vietnam today: “I am beginning to see many more stores producing minimalistic and sustainable clothes, and that makes me very happy! The more the merrier right? The more sellers there are, the more people will begin to pay more attention to that style. It is a challenge but also an opportunity.”

Vietnam's Traditional Indigo Dyes and Kimono Come Together in Kimono Ơi's Designs

2021-05-19T14:00:00+07:00

Will there be a day when the image of a woman wearing a helmet, clad in a kimono with ripped jeans while driving around the streets of Saigon becomes the next trend?

Read the article in Vietnamese here.

The kimono has long been an icon of Japanese culture. The lure of this famous traditional costume is not limited to its 1,200 year-long history or its various charming patterns, but also the meticulous details required in each sewing stage to produce these stunning outfits. Wearing a kimono is a point of pride for Japanese citizens because of these rich traditions.

Still, because of these design intricacies, the kimono has gradually been replaced in everyday use with simple, modern western-style clothing items introduced to Japan during the Meiji era. The kimono is now only worn during festivals or on special occasions. Nonetheless, many young designers around the world who love Japanese culture take this as a challenge: can they bring a contemporary touch to the thousand-year-old traditional design and embrace Japanese culture in an international setting?

Inspired by this conundrum, Kimono Ơi — a new fashion label from Saigon — was officially launched last December with an ambition to take on both the cultural and climatic challenges of adapting the kimono to Vietnam.

The Indigo Crop Kimono design from Kimono Ơi.

Founders Lilly Wong and Tom Scrimgeour both are experienced in creative fields. Wong is a visual artist fluent in the language of fashion and photography. Scrimgeour used to be a chef working in many countries and has taken time to practice a special hand-dyeing technique employing indigo in many Kimono Ơi products. They share a fondness for kimonos and Japanese culture, so decided to join hands to launch their brand here after over four years in Saigon.

Deconstructed from the original complex and sophisticated costume, Kimono Ơi's designs omit the bottom flap of the shirt and minimize the waistband by sewing it onto the shirt itself, forming a criss-cross detail along with comfortable wide sleeves. “When designing, we always keep in mind the target customers of this product. We carefully consider the customer’s needs, aesthetics, and applicability when modernizing a traditional clothing item. For instance, with Haori designs. We use light and airy materials such as linen to suit the warm Saigon climate. Not only that, we integrate large pockets so the wearer can conveniently store anything they want,” Wong shared.

Kimono Ơi’s designs can be worn by both men and women.

Kimono Ơi currently has two main product lines: POP and Indigo. Inspired by the Pop Art movement of the mid-20th century, the POP product line includes the latest designs. The products aim to be user-friendly, easy to coordinate in different ways, but at the same time, stand out for their vibrant colors and details.

The POP product line features mass-friendly designs and bright colors.

On the other hand, the second product line, Indigo, focuses on bringing the spirit of craftsmanship and artistic elements of the products to customers. The process of making indigo dye is a journey that can take months. The pigment paste comes from an indigo leaf. Creating an indigo-dyed product requires extensive effort and care by the maker.

Scrimgeour hand-dyes the fabric at their studio in District 2.

“Indigo-dyeing is somewhat like cooking food,” Scrimgeour opines. “The craftsman must pay careful attention and ‘listen’ to their ingredients so as not to overdo any steps. Not many people know this, but blue is the rarest color in nature. The only way to achieve an organic shade of blue on fabric is to hand-dye them using natural plant-based ingredients. Naturally dyed indigo often has a much higher concentration than synthetic dyes. Just as with film photography, each type of fabric will absorb the dye in different ways, thus creating unique products.”

Wong drawing in the details of an indigo-dyed design.

Since Vietnam has its own craft indigo villages, they didn’t have too much difficulty finding the ingredients. “We spend a great amount of time researching the history of indigo in Vietnamese culture, how it’s used, and which ingredients are readily available here. Instead of using imported ingredients, we take advantage of natural ones grown locally. Currently, not many countries are continuing the production of natural indigo dye. We feel very fortunate to be around communities that still appreciate this art.” Wong adds: “Traditional crafts are gradually disappearing, so we try as hard as we can to collaborate with local craftspeople to create our products.”

Incorporating Vietnamese traditional dyeing techniques whilst bringing a contemporary breath into kimono designs, the duo hopes to help customers better understand and appreciate the stories of both cultures.

Kilomet109's Thảo Vũ: 'Clothing Is a Language That You Can Write With'

2021-04-16T11:00:00+07:00

In October last year, eco-fashion label Kilomet109 launched its latest collection “Miên.” Designer Thảo Vũ sat down with us to share the label’s awkward beginnings and what the label means to her now.

The story of your first sewing machine is not as romantic as people could think. Can you tell me why you didn’t want to get into textiles when you were younger?

I was a tomboy when I was a kid and just wanted to hang out with the boys. We would go fishing and play a lot outside, I preferred that to knitting and sewing which was what my sister, mother, grandma and girlfriends all did.

My parents got me a sewing machine when I turned 17. They were so excited, it was very expensive for a family back then, but I was so grumpy. I just didn’t get why they got it for me and I covered it with a blanket for months. For me it represented the feminine and being stuck at home, just doing things like everyone else was doing.

But when I went to college, I wanted to make my own clothes. I have always dressed quite differently and didn’t want to wear the stuff that you could buy on the street. When you're not living with your parents, you have to manage your money and I would always burn mine quickly, so making clothes helped me make extra income. Even now I'm not 100% sure that I was passionate about sewing, but it gave me a completely different vision of how to react to this sewing machine thing.

You have been living in Vietnam during periods of huge change for the fashion industry. At what point did it really become an industry?

When I went to college in 1996, “fashion” became a word, before it was just “clothes.” Then around the year 2000 we started to talk about “design.” Before the 90s, makers were just people working with their hands, they had skills that they learnt through generations but there wasn’t an interest in creating something new. Then the “design” word became very fashionable, people were really drawn into the term because of the creative element, that was not just presenting clothing culture.

Because of the opening of international policy, in Hanoi we started seeing people wearing different things, different hair, different eyes. It was an exciting moment! For my generation, there were so many things we had never seen before and I realized how limited it had been in Vietnam for so long. We realized that the world is so vast, so big and we had cracked something huge!

I arrived in Hanoi for fashion college and fashion magazines had started to appear but they were so expensive! It never crossed our minds to buy a magazine. There was only one shop on Trang Tien that sold overseas foreign publications like Vogue and it would be like a month's expenses for a student. So we would just copy them at the copy shop or rip out a page or two then take them home to stick on the wall.

So I would say by the year 2000, we had learnt the words, there were fashion weeks and runways and generally it was more structured. The industry had enough vocabulary to describe what they were doing rather than just making clothes.

When forming the direction of Kilomet109 you did extensive study on the dress of Vietnam’s ethnic minorities. Can you describe this process?

I have always loved not just ethnic but vintage clothing. I collect for myself and I still wear a lot of it. I love different shapes, silhouettes, textiles, color, patterns, prints, motifs. What is so strong about old clothes and textiles is their history. When I was a journalist working for different magazines, I wrote a lot of articles about craft communities, makers and traditions so I had a knowledge base through writing and then when I went to fashion school I appreciated this a lot more. I used minority esthetics as inspiration in design. Taking different elements and techniques like quilting or patchwork from the past. This supported me through studies and I realized the direction that I wanted to go. To be able to work with the local makers, artisans and communities, using what they have.

In the beginning when you started to approach ethnic minority groups to work with them what was the interaction like?

In the beginning most of them were confused and very reluctant to cooperate with me. I was very new to them, in their daily lives they are not exposed to other cultures as much as people coming from the city where there is access to different knowledge. They knew I was not at all local and that I didn’t have their skills.

We also had to deal with the stereotypes, as a Kinh person you are always told to be very careful not to cross lines, to respect in every word you say, and you always remind yourself of that. The language we were using was just not the same culturally or design-wise. When I first approached them I knew about that community as a whole but I didn't know them as individuals. We were more like business partners, and that was where I failed.

When I first experimented with indigo dye I tried to do different shades. Some that they thought were very ugly and I thought were very beautiful. You can see the differences there, looking at the same object and seeing different things. When we were doing the tests on a small piece of fabric it was easy to control. But when I wasn’t there they didn't have a belief in what they were doing and it was a disaster! I ordered hundreds of meters of fabric and when it arrived in Hanoi, everything was wrong. I was overwhelmed, so I just put the fabric in a corner.

And that was a turning point for me, after eight months I realized the problem came from me. I had come into their home, so I needed to at least take the time to get to know them better. When I came back, I spent time getting to know them as a community and individuals. Watching, cooking and just living. It helped me realize how little I really knew and also to see some weaknesses in their systems, things they could improve — like in weaving there were unnecessary processes, in spinning as well they could make it stronger or more refined. When you are a bit invisible in the community you can see the strengths and weaknesses that they have and also the skills of each artisan, maybe one is weaving, the other dyeing. Spending this time was definitely a turning point for me.

Kilomet109 is much more than a fashion brand, you are engaged with safeguarding techniques and traditions as well as advocating ethical practice in the fashion industry. How do you measure the success of the brand?

I measure my brand’s success through the two major elements. The brand stands for artisans and design esthetics. Firstly, if the artisans have work, an income and are able to keep their tradition alive. If they can invest in more tools for their agricultural life, more water buffaloes, pigs, and expand their fields. If they can provide for their family and send their kids to school. When I first worked with many of them their kids didn't have schooling, now many go to college. In this way, I can measure the brand’s success if the community can live healthily with what they make and what they are good at. It is very important to me, and to be honest, I think it is the most important.

Secondly is the design, I measure the success through designs that we create that are unique and culturally attached to different communities and traditions. Of course we modify and change things, but the base is what already exists. You can’t really find these pieces elsewhere, the hands-on level is extreme, from planting to weaving to dyeing and of course design. So even if you don't want to look at the social impact aspect, we make solid signature fashion with a recognizable style. That is important to me. It helps the brand travel within Vietnam and expand internationally with a style that is very contemporary, easy to adapt and made to last. It's not ethno-wear with boring color ranges, or yoga wear and one-size-fits-all. We make things that look good, with structured pieces that are fitted like bias gowns and multifunctional pieces that you can wear four or five different ways. It's contemporary, functional and practical.

The Mien collection that you are about to launch, how is it different from your previous work?

This collection has the most communities we have worked with, five that are spread across Vietnam. From Cao Bang, Hoa Binh, Lao Cai to Bao Loc and the Mekong Delta where the Khmer group live. We usually make one collection a year but this one stretches over two, we cover all four seasons so in a way it's season-less. So the span, the number of artisans and the number of techniques that we apply make it the biggest collection I’ve ever made!

Can you describe the journey to make one piece in the collection?

The piece I am wearing right now is made from handwoven Tussah silk from a Khmer family of artisans in the Mekong Delta. The father is a master of silk making and also ebony dyeing. The ebony fruit creates a black dye that is one of the rarest in Southeast Asia. Only in the Mekong, Thailand and Cambodia do they do it but in Chiang Mai or Cambodia the depth is not comparable. In Vietnam, it is a really dark, thick black and they use it on silk whereas the other countries only use cotton. It is very unique and difficult to do. After dipping the fabric 40 times twice a day, over two weeks non-stop, it is buried in mud to fix the color. Then you pound it. To melt the dye into the fiber and melt the fiber together. When you touch it, it's waxy and it's very matte, almost like leather, making it waterproof and stainproof, super warm but breathable.

When they bury the fabric in the Mekong they have to wake up very early in the morning at about 3, because the dye oxidizes in the sun and you can't let that happen. I love going to see that, in the early morning light and you hear the sounds of the artisans kicking that fabric, the sound of the mud and the water and the people's heavy breathing in this massive empty river scene...it's so magical. If you have the chance to visit that community during textile season, it's the most beautiful thing. You see from afar the whole village is black, with the southern sunlight, it sparkles like a wave.

What does Kilomet109 mean to your family?

Unfortunately my parents did not know I was going in this direction. When they were still alive, I was still working for magazines so they had no idea that I would do fashion design. But I think sometimes, at least many people have convinced me that my parents knew because they bought that first sewing machine for me. And I think from the other world they look at me and say “We told you!”

Do you have any advice for young aspiring designers in Vietnam?

Yes. I think young designers should not focus only on their trade. Clothing culture is so much bigger than just being a fashion designer, it can be a global movement, it can be involved in the political landscape or with cultural traditions or very simply with one artisan making one really unique thing. The scope of the fashion designer is so much deeper than how we have been looking at it and fashion students should look at other things rather than what they are already good at. For too long we think design is just about a beautiful sketch, being on stage, being on the cover of the magazine. No, you should be behind the scenes, hands on working face to face with the artisan. You need to know how to make things too. And when you do that it will change the way that you view your career and appreciate meaning rather than just making clothes.

Clothing to me is a language that you can write with. And you can write about anything, not just about being cool. Be an activist, a writer, be a cultural ambassador, the career you want to create can go in different directions if you are willing to look at it and you can write anything with clothing. Right now the world is changing so fast and the fashion industry is facing so many problems with the economy and the post-virus stages. It is hectic and designers should play by other rules rather than just creating more beautiful garments.

Tarp, but Make It Fashion: A Saigon Trio Upcycles Canopies Into Backpacks

2020-12-09T16:00:00+07:00

With a love for the environment and ample creativity, Kiều Anh, Trang, and Tú Quân have built a unique fashion brand named Dòng Dòng Sài Gòn. The line of bags and other items created from recycled tarpaulin encompasses a message of youthful experimentation: “Let’s just give it a try, should it turn awry, make a U-turn.”

Despite only being on the market for just under a year, Dòng Dòng has won over a number of customers from a wide range of demographics. Prior to that, the trio of co-founders had to weather through many hardships to form their brand and build a loyal following.

On a drizzling day last October, while chatting over a cup of warm coffee, Kiều Anh and Trang suddenly spotted a used piece of tarp in the trashcan along with some single-use raincoats and torn umbrellas. “The tarp was quite new. It was probably torn or no longer wanted after the event it served was over, but for sure no one would reuse it,” Kiều Anh — the group’s oldest member — chronicles Dòng Dòng’s inception. “We had a discussion and decided to give it a try.”

Old tarpaulins are transformed by Dòng Dòng into unique fashion items. Photo by Alberto Prieto.

Right away, the duo embarked on days of experimenting with sewing together some simple items using hiflex, a PVC-based material commonly seen at outdoor events. The source material was not hard to find, as they have many friends working in the media industry, where events are commonplace. Their journey hit the first speedbump, however: the tarps are brittle. After countless changes in design and sewing techniques, the problem didn’t go away. This dampened their enthusiasm for several days as they were sure that the idea has gone bust.

“At the moment, we saw in the corner the canopy tarp that’s been thrown around but still seemed so sturdy, so we tried again with that and it worked,” Kiều Anh adds. “Then, we realized that just the two of us wasn’t enough, as we’re both designers, not very business-savvy. So we sought out Tú Quân, our friend working in marketing.” In March 2020, Dòng Dòng Sài Gòn was born.

Custom-made colorful bags made out of tarp.

The name Dòng Dòng is the phonetic approximation of how Saigoneers pronounce the Vietnamese word “vòng vòng” — meaning to wander around town. The trio often had to travel “vòng vòng” in Saigon and even nearby provinces to source suitable materials for their brand, along Ly Thuong Kiet Street, in Cho Lon, at times dropping by garden coffee shops to seek old tarps. Scouring every nook and cranny in town and trying different materials, they eventually settled on the decision to use canopy tarp to make backpacks, wallets, and pencil cases, while hiflex is only for delivery bags.

Currently, Dòng Dòng Sài Gòn doesn’t have a physical location, but only a small production workshop on Nguyen Huu Canh Street in Binh Thanh District. They usually collaborate with other shops and cafes, which carry their products, while they focus on creating bags and devising new products at the workshop.

The group disassembles an old hiflex-covered banner.

At the workshop, there are two full-time tailors and two assistants. This is where the entire process of reincarnating old tarps into backpacks takes place. The steps include cleaning, drying, categorizing, cutting, sewing and sanitizing the final products.

Outside the place lies a small courtyard where Dòng Dòng processes sourced tarps. Each piece is washed with water and enzymatic detergents to minimize environmental impacts. Once washed, they are dried and folded neatly on a shelf. Then, depending on the design, they will be divided into pieces according to the blueprint, each corresponding with a segment of the final item.

“Our cutting board is placed inside our workshop. When it was first assembled, it was spotless, but after a while, many ‘scars’ appeared. It embodies the journey we’ve been through,” Tú Quân says. “Tarp pieces, once cut, will head to the sewing room to be worked on by our seamstresses. We use sewing machines, but they have to exert a lot of effort as the material is quite tough. When done, it’s washed once again and then moved to our display right next door.” With a small team and a process that’s entirely done by hand, Dòng Dòng’s designs don’t look mass-produced, mainly because no two pieces of recycled tarp look the same.

“Chơi Cam Đoan” bag

“Quần Trôi” backpack

When queried about their key values, Kiều Anh said: “Each creation is like a child one gives birth to. Each has its own appearance, identity and quirks. What they have in common is their history spent outside under the elements, sheltering everything below, now including our vow for environmental sustainability. Every product at Dòng Dòng bears our three core values: functionality, sustainability and uniqueness.”

“Tri Ca Pu” clutch

“Tri Ô Lét”

Even though their beginning was in the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic, the founders are still sanguine: “We always keep the most positive attitude we can to create products of high quality, with a lot of thoughts and precision. Dòng Dòng is still young, but it doesn’t mean we can excuse unprofessionalism. We feel lucky to have gotten this level of attention for creating things out of recycled materials. What’s to come will come.”

How a Vietnamese Ethiopian Designer Built Her Fashion 'Dynasty'

2020-10-23T15:00:00+07:00

“I’m young so I still have big dreams,” Kim Berhanu begins our chat on an early September day. At the tender age of 23, Berhanu is already the CEO and creative director of the fashion brand Dynasty the Label. And that’s just the beginning for the half-Vietnamese designer.

Born in Australia into a family of a Vietnamese mother and an Ethiopian father, she understands more than anyone what it means to feel different. That sense of not fitting in nurtured Berhanu’s aspiration to travel the world to experience cultural diversity. “After saving enough money from part-time gigs in high school, I decided on France because I love the arts and culture scene there,” she reminisces. “When I returned, I resolved to explore more destinations because Australia has become my ‘comfort zone.’”

Filled with hope and determination, she moved to Vietnam in 2018. To her, Vietnam is a promised land where many of her personal plans could become a reality. Berhanu said of the opportunities she’s gotten since her return: “As long as you have a big idea, you’ll quickly be able to find kindred minds to actualize it.”

Building the Dynasty

In the early days in Saigon, Berhanu made ends meet by teaching English while delving deeper into the culture and market and brushing up on her knowledge of the fashion industry. Even though she had major ambitions in the fashion world, she didn’t expect to open her own brand one day. “Since I was a little kid, I’ve loved reading fashion magazines,” she recalls. “When I got older, I enjoyed trying on new styles to see which one fits me best. I even started designing some outfits, which even got compliments from friends, but I didn’t think that this could be my career. Besides, there are many fashion entrepreneurs in Vietnam so finding a corner where I stand out has been hard.”

Then, thanks to the enthusiastic support of friends, family and her boyfriend, Berhanu established Dynasty the Label with a simple website. This is where she showcases new designs; it also helps give a big-picture perspective on everything she produces. Something that’s immediately apparent about her creations is their connection with traditional materials and imperial motifs. Dynasty celebrates the intricacy of embroidered patterns on bomber jackets, kimonos, skirts, and even face masks. Every creation from Dynasty is unique because Berhanu wants to infuse a personality in her brand.

Outfits by Dynasty epitomizes the confluence of Asia and Africa.

To fulfill that vision, she maintains a level of precision, from picking fabrics with eastern patterns to incorporating seaming techniques from African fashion. The details of clothing items from the continent always excite her: “Not only do they have an incredible sense of style, [people from Africa] are also very confident in dressing in their own outfits. I too want my customers to be proud of the clothes that I made.”

Even though its business is confined to online channels, Dynasty the Label is growing every day. There were periods during the worst stretches of the COVID-19 pandemic when Berhanu only recorded three orders, but from May until now, she’s amassed a considerable number of loyal customers and made consistent sales. Now, every working day is a day of happy memories, from learning how to juggle a business to being recognized while out in town. “Had I still been in Australia, I wouldn’t have experienced these feelings, so I feel very grateful for Vietnam,” she gushes.

Kim Berhanu wearing the Phoenix Rising Reversible Bomber.

During the infantile stages of her journey in fashion, Kim Berhanu faced a number of challenges too. “Through Facebook, I managed to find a very experienced seamstress; she even gave me advice on design and brand management, so I hired her immediately,” she explains. “But, after a few weeks, her work started to lag behind and she even made errors. Most seriously, she couldn’t finish a major contract that I planned to ship to Australia and deliver the products myself.”

Berhanu saw this initial fiasco as a crucial life lesson on the importance of picking the right teammates, leading to her finding two dream collaborators now. They are a tailor couple with 20 years of experience and are helping her turn passion into actual products.

One of the best-selling items at Dynasty: Heavens Gate 2-Sided Bomber.

“Not only should fashion be beautiful and unique, it also needs to be sustainable.”

Dynasty the Label follows a key mission — becoming a brand of ethical fashion. To its founder, if her brand achieves growth in a way that tarnishes the environment or the livelihood of the people involved in it, it will go against the mission. Therefore, Berhanu and a small team of workers focus on maintaining high quality with small orders.

Additionally, she also pays tailors 30%, or even 60%, more than similar boutiques. She shares: “Some people think that I’m overpaying my garment sewers, but I appreciate their work, so I want them to continue to contribute [to the company] and help us grow.”

Most recently, Dynasty the Label presented a new collection of face masks crafted using excess fabrics from other clothing designs. Each mask is a small step towards minimizing waste in the brand's business. To Berhanu, fashion shouldn't just be beautiful and unique to look at, it should also be sustainable.

The road ahead

The year 2020 brings countless hurdles to small businesses, but for Kim Berhanu, existing successes should be treasured. She wishes to keep designing and chronicling new knowledge gained from everyday life. “I’m just a normal human, so I really want to show the world many facets of myself,” she explains.

An intricate face mask by Dynasty with a reflective exterior and soft cotton interior.

Knowing how to employ resources, finding brilliant teammates, and doing everything with heart are essential to Berhanu’s business operation. To reach the current progress is not easy, but she’s still constantly finding ways to finetune her creations. She also hopes the brand will reach more people in Vietnam and elsewhere. “The concept of ‘perfection’ doesn’t exist in the creative industry,” she opines. “We’re all learning, and if you need help, that’s completely fine.”