Ethnicity in the spotlight but designs fail to shine

Text by Dini S. Djalal, photos by Arief Hidayat

JAKARTA (JP): At the Nuansa Kuning (Yellow Ambience) fashion show held last week by the Indonesian Textile Association, women in Balinese traditional dress walked down the runway carrying offerings (sajen).

Real-life Balinese rituals offer flowers, fruit and rice, but not this staged procession. Instead, balanced on top of the women's heads were stacks and stacks of plastic fruit.

As models and dancers sashayed down the stage in an array of ethnic attire, it was clear that this was less a fashion show than a photo opportunity fit for National Geographic. Rather than a study of traditional cultures, the show was a podium for patriotism. The complexities of our sprawling archipelago were simplified into a technicolor tourist brochure. Plastic pieces of fruit have rarely been more appropriate.

In the show's booklet, sponsor Halimah Bambang Trihatmojo, wife of the treasurer of the ruling Golkar grouping, wrote of the need to heighten appreciation of traditional culture and merge its elements with modern society. She added that Indonesia may have many cultures, but it remains one nation.

Yet this cultural diversity was not shown in its entirety. In the show, only 14 of Indonesia's 27 provinces were represented. Notably absent were Southeast Sulawesi, North Sulawesi, East Nusa Tenggara, Riau, and Aceh -- all negligible tourist attractions. East Java was also excluded, perhaps because Central Java shares its Javanese culture. The perceived similarity of traditions may also explain why the three provinces of Kalimantan were unfairly lumped into one category: Kalimantan.

A thorough representation of Indonesia's ethnic mix is a tall order. Many ethnic groups slip through the cracks of provincial categories. The world-famous Toraja of South Sulawesi take a back seat to the Bugis of the same province. The Madurese are hidden under the shadow of East Java, while the Baduy are literally hiding in the forests of West Java.

So the show had lofty ambitions. And judging by the elaborate stage set in the cavernous Jakarta Convention Center, it also had a big budget. Singing and dancing preceded the collections, and the performances often upstaged the clothes.

After all, the clothes had to follow guidelines. Yellow was the color to be draped over the designs and, so to speak, the nation. Some designers even chose the same shade of the yellow, in the same fabric. Having to work under a common theme, at times the clothes looked the same.

Some designers were not so conformist, using yellow in subtle hues or for mere detail. The collection of Thomas Sigar, for example, drew gasps as models marched down the catwalk in black shrouds. Sigar was representing East Timor, and the requisite yellow of his designs was obscured in the green-tinted golden taffeta paired with dark-hued ikat. His designs -- boxy jackets over sarongs -- may have been conservative, but his message was not.

The rest of the show was mainstream. The show opened with the collection of the late designer Prajudi. Representing North Sumatra (read: Batak), the models wore ulos (printed suits). The ulos themselves -- in hot pink, avocado, and yes, yellow -- were softly woven, but the shoulder-padded and calf-length silhouettes were matronly. Next was Chossy Latu for West Sumatra. By the time the lilin (candle) dancers exited the stage, the audience was primed for something more exotic that Jackie-O shift dresses and A-line suits.

Style

Ghea Panggabean, representing South Sumatra, showed more pizzazz. Here she reprised her jumputan (tie-dyed) designs -- the style she gained recognition for in the late 1980s. But this was not a retro take of her own style. The raw-silk suits, worn with capri pants and flat sandals, suit today's modern mood.

Susan Budihardjo also went modern. Designing for Lampung, she showed little ethnic inspiration, save for a swath of ikat here and there. But the clothes were great, particularly the silver synthetic gowns, brilliantly paired with subtle yellow.

The West Java segment, designed by Biyan, was more nostalgic and grandiose. Two boys on fake lions were carried by eight dancing footmen. A regular occurrence on the streets of Bandung or Sukabumi? The clothes were more familiar. Beaded kebaya, flower-printed satins, embroidered tulle; all the pretty things Biyan is famous for. Iwan Tirta, representing Central Java, also did what he does best -- traditional kebaya in lustrous prada (gold-painted) batiks. For this segment the yellow theme was appropriate, as the Javanese consider golden hues as a symbol of prosperity and nobility.

Little else in the show was as informed. Having to portray the whole of Kalimantan, Itang Yunasz had a thankless task. There were no dancers or singers on stage, just a video showing Dayak ikat and beadwork. But Itang's designs were hipsters and asymmetrical gowns in tie-dyed satin -- fine ensembles but bereft of the richness of Dayak culture.

Afterwards came the evening's highlights. The dancers returned in the Bugis baju bodo of South Sulawesi, followed by models in Hutama Adhi's Gothic versions of the same. Using a mix of chiffon, lace and synthetics, Adhi expertly revised this most difficult and sculptural costume, which resembles, depending on the fabric, either a flower in bloom, or a balloon. The traditional tunic was transformed into a buttoned shirt, the sleeves elongated to look like flutes, the fluid fabrics folded and pinned up for the necessary bustle effect. The lace and folding of the fabrics, subtle references to minimalist designer Helmut Lang, only strengthened the collection.

Here was a perfect marriage of tradition and modernity, hinting at both the romance of the seafaring Bugis and the severity of the 21st century.

Dipa, in his West Nusa Tenggara collection, tried to be as avant-garde, mixing lace and brocade with ikat, flouncy coats with lean gowns. What resulted was an awkward hodgepodge of mismatched styles.

At least Dipa's designs were unpredictable, unlike Susie Hedijanto's Moluccan kebaya and baju kurung (long tunics) upstaged by renowned singers Harvey Malaiholo and Ruth Sahanaya. Carmanita offered her usual fare of layered tie-dyed shirts and sarongs, accompanied by equally fancy entertainment.

Will two dozen Irianese dancers do? Or rather, a few Irianese dancers, and the non-Irianese remainders decked out in obligatory grass skirts and body paint. Also shadowed by performers were Robby Tumewu's Bali-inspired white gowns with gold prada details, which literally paled in comparison to the colorful procession of traditional dress.

Is there an unintentional lesson here? While designers busy themselves scheming up ethnic chic, authentic traditional costumes are stealing the show. The models looked prettiest when wearing traditional kebaya, particularly Edward Hutabarat's Betawi versions.

But worn throughout the islands in government ceremonies, the kebaya -- whether in yellow, red, or green -- has become a national uniform. Recognizing the range of traditional costumes has its merits, but celebrating diversity requires more sensitivity than a chorus line can offer. If simplification is preferred to an in-depth exploration of ethnicity, and thus national heritage, then perhaps focusing on the ubiquitous kebaya is the most astute choice that a patriotic designer can make.