Source: Asian Wall Street Journal Date: March 6-7, 1992
Story Type: Analysis Original Language: English
Dateline: Jakarta Byline: Margot Cohen
Text: Full
INDONESIAN FASHION: THE 'PRIMITIVE' PROVINCIAL LOOK
He dressed Nancy Reagan. He dressed Imelda Marcos. He dressed the
relatives of President Suharto. Then came an even bigger
challenge for top Jakarta designer Prajudi Admodirdjo: dressing
the ethnic minorities of Irian Jaya.
In December, Mr. Admodirdjo and two colleagues were invited to
that far-flung Indonesian province to create "fashion
alternatives" to the penis sheath worn by Dani villagers and the
sago leaves favored by the Asmat. The trip was arranged by the
Asmat Progress and Development Foundation -- a private
organization under the tutelage of Siti Hartinah, President
Suharto's wife -- and funded by Freeport Indonesia, Inc., an
American mining company.
It wasn't the first time someone had cooked up a cover-up in
Irian Jaya. The Dutch colonials, the Catholic and Protestant
missionaries and the Indonesian military all have had a crack at
donating clothing, with mixed results. Some villagers died of
skin diseases, having little means of keeping the clothes clean.
During his quest for precious woodcarvings some 30 years ago,
Michael Rockefeller viewed the developments with gloom.
"There is everywhere a depressing respect for the white man's
shirt and pants, no matter how tattered and dirty, even though
these doubtful symbols of another world seem to hide a proud
form and replace a far finer, if less concealing, form of dress,"
Rockefeller wrote in 1961, not long before vanishing into the
bush.
The three designers not only survived the rigors of jungle
travel, but reveled in the splendor of indigenous finery. Yet,
after a week traipsing around swamps and mountaintops, they came
home with some doubts about their assignment. "We cannot force
them to change their culture," said Ghea Sukasah, known for her
multicolored body stockings and tie-dyed batik. "We said to the
committee, if there is a need for a modern costume, let them
develop it by themselves."
Instead, the designers are concentrating on whipping up a new
Irian Jaya look for Jakarta cosmopolites. This was also part of
the original plan. In October, models dressed in rattan hoops,
shells, braided orchid petals and feathers will strut down a
runway here in an eye-popping fashion show, with some of the
Asmat and Dani villagers flown in for the occasion. For the
ready-to-wear collections, Mr. Admodirdjo plans to miniaturize
Asmat motifs for satin and crepe-de-Chine elegance, while Ms.
Sukasah will make youthful outfits using woven Dani bags and
belts of braided orchid.
If the provincial look takes off, the designers hope to establish
a workshop in Irian Jaya that would supply some elements of the
ready-to-wear ensembles, as well as provide training. To enhance
respect for local garb, a museum of costume is planned for the
capital of Jayapura.
"We hope that the local people, having noticed that their fashion
is being appreciated by outsiders, will be stimulated to develop
their own designs," said S. Budhisantoso, a Ministry of Education
and Culture official who works with the Asmat Progress and
Development Foundation. "The problem of costuming is not just to
distribute trousers, or abolish the koteka [penis sheath], or
raise money so they can buy shorts, but to know more about the
art of costuming in their own way," said Indonesian choreographer
Sardono W. Kusumo, who was the first to suggest bringing in the
designers.
Irian Jaya is only the latest part of Indonesia to be explored by
the fashion vanguard. Fueled by a government-inspired program to
"Buy Indonesian" and a "Let's Go Archipelago" tourism campaign,
the ethnic look has quickly gathered steam, with Indonesia's
13,000-plus islands providing a potpourri of inspiration.
Textiles from Bali, Lombok, Kalimantan and Sumatra now compete
for closet space with classic Javanese batik.
Inevitably, however, this ethnicity fest has stirred some
controversy. In Kalimantan, leaders among the various Dayak
groups have complained that certain motifs connected with
funerals are not appropriate for the adornment of living people,
according to French anthropologist Bernard Sellato.
Popularizing Irian styles promises to be particularly tricky in a
Third World country eager to show a modern face. Unlike Bali or
Sumatra, which Indonesians generally consider bastions of
cultural sophistication, Irian Jaya is still largely viewed as a
dark island haunted by the headhunters and cannibals of living
memory. Upper-class Indonesian living rooms may boast world-
renowned Asmat woodcarvings and Asmat-inspired furnishings, but
the prestige often shrouds a disdain for the "primitive".
Several years ago, local officials from Irian Jaya walked out of
a screening of Dea Sudarman's documentary film "The Asmat",
protesting that it showed only the "backward" aspects of the
province. This film, and a subsequent four-part documentary, have
never been shown on Indonesian television despite awards
garnered abroad. Last year Indonesian moviegoers got a glimpse of
"Stone Age Warriors," the first feature film shot in Irian Jaya,
but the Hong Kong-Indonesian production quickly disappeared
after objections arose over some penis-sheath slapstick. "For the
time being we will discourage any producer from making a film on
Irian Jaya," said Narto Erawan, director of the government's
development center for film and video recording.
The fashion drums beat on. In January, Indonesian cosmetics queen
Martha Tilaar launched a new line of makeup called "Asmat". In
department-store displays, faux-Asmat carvings cradle the palette
of colors plugged as "natural". Behind the counter is a
videotaped fashion show, where Irian university students dressed
in ethnic costume hoist models down the runway. The ad campaign
pictures a fair-skinned, half-German, half-Javanese model in the
foreground, set off by a cluster of dark-skinned Asmat men in
feathers and body paint.
The January issue of Dewi, a trendy fashion magazine, also
featured some eye-catching photographs to illustrate a story
about the designers' journey. In one photo, an Asmat teenager
clutches a spear, his chest casually draped in a green silk
shirt designed by Mr. Admodirdjo. Across the page, a rattan-
wrapped Jakarta model vamps it up before a group of men with
curved white nosepieces.
While some observers see the photo spread and the cosmetics
campaign as typical fashion-shoot exoticism, others detect a
Western-style appropriation or distortion of foreign culture.
"We're looking at ourselves through other people's eyes, when
it's our own culture," said Debra Yatim, an Indonesian
journalist who accompanied a group of Irian Jaya dancers last
summer during their first trip to the U.S., in conjunction with
the Festival of Indonesia.
The Asmat and Dani performers on that trip reportedly had no
reservations about appropriating the cultural accouterments of
another country's racial underclass. Impressed with the colorful
summertime styles sported by African-Americans, they splurged on
shorts, T-shirts, caps, sunglasses and sneakers -- and ended up
with 1.8 tons of excess baggage.