An explorative journey on the production of traditional Vietnamese garments; in interview with Gabes Morris on her recent trip to Vietnam. 

Gabes has been a longstanding customer of Tamay and Me, almost since the very beginning. Creativity runs in her veins - her mother a seamstress and Gabes herself a jewellery designer—she's always had an eye for the artistry behind design and production. A few weeks ago, Gabes travelled to Vietnam to visit her sister – a reunion that had been 5 years in the making. Whilst this was primarily a trip to catch up with family, it also provided a perfect opportunity to meet someone who has been somewhat of a celebrity to Gabes for the past 8 years or so… Tamay.

Having travelled up to Northern Vietnam from Hanoi, I asked Gabes what her first impressions were of the city of Sapa - the main town of North-Western Vietnam, and home to a diverse array of traditional Vietnamese tribes including Tamay’s own – Mien (or as they are known in Vietnam the Red Dzao). Having endured the 16-hour sleeper bus up from Hanoi, Gabes arrived at 5:30am:

“Firstly, it was very wet. Torrential downpour. But the main thing that struck me was just how bustling it was… for 5:30am the town was thriving… people just never seem to sleep.”

These first impressions of activity and life which resonated with Gabes set much of a precedent of the energy and the humdrum of life that remained throughout her time in Vietnam. From arrival, Gabes then went on to stay in a homestay up in the mountains – a chance to soak in the daily activities of a traditional way of life.

“Everyone was so friendly, and efficient. It was both lovely and humbling”.

I asked what Gabes meant by this. Despite a significant language barrier, she and her homestay hosts found a new way of communicating – a way of conversing without words. This strikes as something of an important message, that we are able to connect and communicate through actions, gestures, and shared experiences, even when words are not possible.  

Gabes had been in contact with Tamay several days before arriving at the homestay with the intention to meet – but had no real sense of when or where this would be. So, it was a great surprise when at dinner with her hosts on the second night, out of the blue, Tamay appears.

Gabes describes the moment:

“There we were, having dinner in a traditional Dzaou homestay – me rather awkwardly perched at the (very low) table, vegetables drying above the hearth, when all of a sudden, there she was.”

Was it like meeting a celebrity?

“Yes, I suppose in many ways it was – I was rather struck”.

I asked Gabes if she had had any specific goals or intentions for meeting Tamay and her time in Northern Vietnam.

“I suppose I wanted a sort of textile explorative journey, a chance to watch the embroidery and the processes.”

Whilst unfortunately Gabes didn’t manage to embroider with Tamay, she was able to watch the process in action during a trip to a craft house organised by her homestay, and even have a go herself. And what did she think of this experience?

“It was incredible. It felt so special to see a process so steeped in history.”

But something that really struck Gabes was the deeper, more emotive aspects of embroidery.

In Mien culture, the men pray. Religion is deeply engrained in their culture. Shrines and prayer are greatly important to them. Women on the other hand do nor pray. This cultural divergence was striking to Gabes initially, but, over time spent with the Mien women, she noticed that the women ‘prayed’ in other ways. For them, the process of weaving, embroidery and sewing was a form of meditation – their own kind of prayer. Through their craft, the wisdom of their predecessors – their grandmothers, and great-grandmothers, and those before - was passed down through a “living art” – creating a physical connection to their culturally-rich ancestry.

Whilst choosing pieces of embroidery to take home, Gabes describes herself sitting amongst countless scraps of material, trying in vain to reorganise them to return to each individual seller.

 “They just laughed. To me, each piece of embroidery looked so similar to me, but they knew. They knew exactly which pieces were theirs. Some weren’t even their own work but their mothers, their grandmothers, and yet they knew instinctively. I realised how engrained embroidery is. It runs in their veins”

Gabes is a proud owner of several Tamay & Me jackets, one of which she has had for now over 8 years. I asked if she was wearing it during her visit (“of course!”) and how that felt:

“There was a sense of nervousness actually whilst I was wearing it out in the streets. Women would approach me asking “how old!”, pointing out its wear and tear. But when wearing it within the homestay, and amongst Tamay and her friends, it felt like a connection to them – love and connection. They would come up to me smiling.”

This observation alludes to the sense that despite enormous cultural differences, a piece of clothing can transcend social boundaries, and forms of communication such as language, to connect two distinct worlds together.

After her time in the homestay, Gabes then accompanied Tamay to watch production and embroidery.

“It was surreal. Tamay put on her glasses – I really realised just how arduous and straining the task is… These women are measuring within millimetres - less than - with their eyes… seeing Tamay weave that needle between the indigo… it was incredible.”

Observing the practice of embroidery left a lasting impression on Gabes. Her reflections on the deep connections to ancestral wisdom and knowledge resonate the concepts of care and reciprocity. These values are becoming increasingly important in today’s world, where throw-away, ‘fast’ fashions have stripped away much of the care and authenticity in creating things, particularly garments.

As far as ancestral connections, the process of embroidery is one of the most physical and metaphysical process there is. It’s a tangible manifestation of a bloodline that can be worn on the body – an outward symbol in Mien culture of belonging, pride, familial ties, and tradition. I asked if Gabes came home with any new purchases.

“Yes”. She smiles. “I actually came back with a Shamans* jacket… it took me a while to decide on, but Tamay worked on me for three days and I finally caved.”

Shamans jackets, traditionally worn by men, are of enormous cultural and traditional prestige.