Ethnicity in the spotlight but designs fail to shine

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.