Fashion from the hills: Keeping tradition alive in a modern world
Ethnic designs are finding new life in modern fashion, as traditional fabrics, motifs and craftsmanship are being adapted into modern silhouettes and everyday clothing
The easiest way to notice the changes in ethnic fashion is to look at what people are wearing when there is no festival to dress for.
A shirt, a pair of trousers or a Western-style outfit may be the usual choice. Then, somewhere in the outfit, a familiar fabric or pattern appears — thami fabric made into a shirt, a Chakma traditional motif worked into a modern top, or Pinon styled as a skirt.
For many, the complete traditional outfit is now reserved for weddings, festivals and religious occasions. But the textiles and designs that make those clothes distinctive are not staying within those occasions. They are being cut, stitched and styled into pieces that fit more naturally into everyday wardrobes.
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Designer Tenzing Chakma has watched this change for more than two decades. After returning to Bangladesh in 2000 after studying fashion design, he founded Sozpodor, a brand focused on traditional textiles and designs.
When he started, he remembered a very different wedding wardrobe.
Bengali brides were generally associated with Benarasi sarees, while Pinon-Hadi was not yet a common choice for weddings. Over time, that changed. People began choosing their own traditional dress for such occasions, and the range of colours and customised designs expanded.
Tenzing also looked for ways to make the textile more practical. He began cutting Hadi, traditionally worn as a breast-covering garment or shawl, into pieces and using it as patchwork on three-piece outfits, kameez and kurtis. The idea later appeared on men's fotuas as well.
That kind of adaptation is now visible in the Chakma wardrobe.
Aishwarjo Chakma, 24, a research associate at Gorai Films, says the way Pinon-Hadi is worn has changed. The Hadi, once wrapped around the chest, is now commonly draped over the shoulder like an orna.
The change is also generational. Older women may still wear Pinon-Hadi regularly at home, while people of Aishwarjo's generation are more likely to wear it at weddings and special occasions such as Biju.
The difference is even sharper among men. The traditional combination of a simple shirt and dhuti has largely disappeared from daily wear, and Aishwarjo says men rarely wear it even at weddings. Lungis and trousers have become more common.
Yet the designs remain in circulation. Chakma patterns are preserved in the Alam, which contains more than 100 traditional motifs. These designs are now being adapted into yokes and used on salwar-kameez, fotuas, tops and shirts made from fabric similar to Pinon-Hadi.
The Rakhain wardrobe shows a similar shift.
Mong Shonie Rakhaine, 26, a Dhaka University student, says thami remains common among older and middle-aged women. For others, it is more closely associated with festivals such as Sangrai, as well as visits to temples, monasteries and keyangs. Girls wear thami with the angi blouse, while boys commonly wear lungis and shirts.
Outside those events, fashion choices have widened. Y2K styles, baggy silhouettes, anime, K-dramas and Bengali fashion have all influenced everyday dressing.
At the same time, thami fabric is being made into shirts for both men and women.
In Bandarban's tourist areas, traditional motifs are also appearing on fatuas, salwar-kameez and three-piece sets in Western and Bengali silhouettes.
For these communities, this creates a way to wear elements of their culture without necessarily wearing the complete traditional outfit. But their growing use in commercial fashion also raises questions about ownership and who benefits when cultural designs enter the wider market.
For Silchi Dalbot, 25, a BUP student from Modhupur, Tangail, another concern is what happens behind the clothes.
The Garo Dakmanda is now mainly worn during festivals, and much of it is imported from India. The dok shari is still produced locally, while the orna is largely made in workshops owned by Bangali people.
Some members of the community are now trying to bring traditional handloom weaving back.
Tenzing is concerned about the future of waist-loom weaving too. He doubts whether the practice will survive another 15 to 20 years in its current form.
The reasons are practical. Weaving is physically demanding, yarn has become expensive, and extreme weather and monsoon humidity make the work harder. Younger people are also moving towards other professions.
He remembers a time when women spun cotton, used natural dyes and wove their own clothes. Learning to weave an Alam was once part of the preparation for marriage. That practice has now disappeared.
Tenzing believes preserving the craft requires more than financial assistance. Weavers need practical support, better training and opportunities for the next generation to learn the craft. He points to Nagaland, where waist-loom weaving is taught in schools, as one possible model.
The tension is clear: traditional fashion is finding new life in contemporary wardrobes, while some of the traditional skills behind those textiles are becoming harder to sustain.
A Hadi can be turned into patchwork for a kurti. A thami can become a shirt. A Chakma motif can move from the Alam onto a modern silhouette. But someone still has to know how to make the fabric, understand the pattern and pass that knowledge on.
And not everything has found a new form.
Heavy jewellery associated with communities such as the Mro — large bangles, necklaces and earrings — is now rarely worn as everyday attire. Chandan, or sandalwood paste, once worn casually during festivals and even at formal meetings among Arakan-descended communities, has also largely disappeared from daily use.
What remains is being negotiated in different ways.
For some, that means wearing the full outfit on an important day. For others, it might be a shirt made from thami fabric or a modern piece carrying a Chakma motif.
Perhaps that is the most important distinction in the current movement of ethnic fashion. It is not about bringing people back to an older way of dressing. It is about making space for their own textiles, patterns and craftsmanship in the lives they have now.
The silhouette can change. The way a fabric is worn can change. Colours can change. What matters is that the story behind the cloth gets to move forward with it.
