By Sophia-Ines Klein
Growing up, I encountered cheongsams during Chinese New Year, at Chinese weddings, or other cultural celebrations with my family. The cheongsam is deeply embedded in the experiences that make me feel Chinese. Thus, when I came across a cheongsam in the “mini dress” section of a thrift store in Amsterdam, or saw someone wearing one dancing in a club, I found myself trying to ignore an uneasy, awkward feeling.
With glimpses of Asian culture long being present in the West, many have had much to say about the appropriation of foreign cultures in Western spaces. However, I find that solely throwing around allegations of cultural appropriation allows for more nuanced forms of borrowing to go unnoticed. Hence, a focus on the factors that problematise the borrowing of cultural symbols and objects is necessary.
One cannot enter a discussion of orientalism without referencing Edward Said. As he explores the imperialist relations of white men in Asia, Said interestingly notes that the ‘Orient’ was “orientalised” and “made oriental”. Thus, the West constructed the notion of the ‘Orient’ as a material to be studied. Orientalism is a social construct and lens through which the West understands the East.
Historically, orientalism has taken root in three major areas; the Western academic study of the ‘Orient’, the colonially produced discourses about the East, and the movement of aesthetics from the East into the West. While all three are deeply significant, it is the third that I find particularly interesting.
The conflict I have with the use of materials from Asian culture in fashion lies in the displacement and dispossession of context, value, and history that occurs. Oftentimes, in using Asian symbols and objects in their work, Western designers carelessly displace it from its context and significance. In doing so, they undermine the cultural value and multiplicity of meaning that they are borrowing from.
Of course, in an ideal world we would all embracingly share and exchange pieces from each of our cultures. However, knowing the history of subjugation and inequality that surrounds many cultures, doing so would only be naïve. We cannot separate the object from the historicity that encompasses it.
With this understanding I approach the world of fashion with a discerning eye and think of the recently reignited fad of the Maison Margiela Tabi that was first released in 1988. Inspired by the Japanese worker shoe called the Jika-Tabi, Martin Margiela is widely commended for his ability to deconstruct existing pieces and reintroduce them with a renewed look. The Jika-Tabi, in its original form, is a soft shoe with a rubber sole made from a single animal hide. Japanese workers, such as rickshaw-pullers, labourers, and gardeners wore the shoe outdoors relying on its tough fabrication to protect their feet. In Japanese culture, the Tabi can also be seen in the form of socks that is worn with a Zori shoe when dressing in traditional garments.
As I sifted through media detailing the truly “divisive” Margiela Tabi, as SSENSE put it, I noticed that generally, only a brief cultural foreground was included before conversation continued to the allure of Margiela’s design.
Vogue described the Tabi as being “part human, part creature” as it “continues to inspire preternatural fascinations among an audience of art freaks and celebrities alike.”
“It takes a certain level of brain power to see the beauty in something so hideous – or to find pleasure in the perverse – which is precisely the kind of chin-strokey architecture that Margiela hangs on.”
As I read this, the othering and alienating language that positions the Tabi toe design as bizarre and inhuman only seemed to intensify. The tone of sarcasm in which it is written carries with it an element of outlandish peculiarity that seems to undermine its Japanese origins. Describing it as “hideous” and “perverse” illuminates the author’s perspective that is governed by Eurocentric ideas of what is ‘normal’.
That being said, I am able to deeply appreciate the appeal of Margiela’s design, but it is this language and discussion surrounding the design that problematises the borrowing of the Jika-Tabi silhouette. There is no inherent fault in borrowing from cultures beyond your own, but acknowledgement thereof is key. I believe that it is the designer’s responsibility to ensure awareness of the cultural inspiration in their work amongst their consumers.
In the specific context of Orientalism, it is the resultant underlying discourses, like Asian fetishization, that problematise the undetailed lifting of Eastern aesthetics for Western appeal and consumption.
Returning to the cheongsam, it is not a garment that is exclusive to people of Chinese heritage. Rather, it is the awareness of its origins, meaning, and a respect towards Chinese culture and people that is important. Through the tokenization of Asian aesthetics, orientalism becomes normalised for both Western and Asian individuals, resulting in othering as it is superficially approached as a material for aesthetic pleasure. With this consciousness and the appropriate occasion, the cheongsam can be appreciated by all.
Photo by Ben Chen
