A Clash of Clothings

There is an interesting collision of fashions taking place in Nepal. This peaceful revolution takes its shape in a visible progression across geography (urban areas being the earliest adaptors), genders (men are more modernized), and generations, from the elders in traditional garb down to the youth in western wear, with the rest falling somewhere in between. The following are my observations from living in the districts of Sindupalchuk and Dang, and they may not be representative of trends across all of Nepal.

The two traditional outfits for women are the kurta surwal and the sari. The kurta is a short-sleeved, tight-fitting top; the surwal its matching baggy pants. The formal female garb is the sari, a long cotton or silk wrap that takes an expert to tie. Saris are worn with a cholo, a sort of bodice that ties above the belly button. Kurtas, saris, and cholos come in a variety of patterns and colors, serving as casual and formal wear. Some women prefer the meksi, a floral-patterned romper more conducive to field work. Women may also wear shawls wrapped around their shoulders or waist. It may be seen as indecent for a woman to show her shoulders or legs, yet plunging necklines and exposed stomachs are acceptable and commonplace.

Male traditional attire is the daura surwal, which consists of a long monotone shirt that ties across the chest with a series of strings, matching-colored pants loose at the waste and tight at the calves, and a vest of grey or black. Without the vest, the wearer looks much like a contestant on Iron Chef. Some men opt for the less-restricting lungi, a sort of man-skirt. Male office dress is fairly western: dress shoes, slacks, and a sweater, vest, or sports coat over a button down shirt. The topi, the traditional male cap, comes in two varieties: checkered with a wide array of multicolored patterns, or jet-black. The topi has fallen out of style with the younger generation, whose preferred headgear is bandanas, baseball caps, and winter hats.

Some (mostly of older stock) don’t wear underwear or bras, which is something you always find out the hard way. Babies are often bottomless, or have their pants sagged so low that they may as well be. Villagers may wear an outfit until it gets dirty, since it’s a hassle to do laundry by hand (sometimes I feel self-conscious wearing a different shirt each day of the week). Pajamas are not very popular; for most Nepalis around here, sleepwear is their clothes from the previous day.

Really any closed-toed shoes are appropriate for most formal occasions. Nepalis mostly wear plastic flip-flops in their day-to-day, and Crocs are still very much in style. People also wear socks when the weather is “cold,” which for people in my village means any temperature below 60 degrees Fahrenheit. One of the most common questions I’m asked (I may post a list of these soon) is how I’m not cold. During slow times at the health center, we usually sit out in the sun: the staff wrapped in their down jackets and scarves; I content in my polo shirt until I get too warm and have to go inside.

Some stores sell premade clothing (like in the U.S.), but (unlike in the U.S.) this tends to be more expensive than having your clothes custom-made. Nepalis typically purchase cloth from one store and take it to a tailor, who takes their measurements and says “come back in a week” when s/he really means “come back in a week and I’ll tell you to come back in another week.” Despite this minor inconvenience, the freedom and suitability that tailoring affords has won me over. No more shuffling through clothing racks for that shirt designed just for you and the millions of other men of similar stature; no more hassle of trying to locate mediums that run a little large or larges that run a little medium. The two dress shirts I’ve had tailored in Nepal are some of the best-fitting clothes I’ve ever owned, each costing under $5 for the fabric and sewing.

But premade clothing is where much of the fun comes in. Like in many countries, the allure of American culture has made clothing with English writing very trendy in Nepal. Perhaps some things are lost in translation? As a gift for Tihaar, I received this peculiarity:

Is this combination of bizarre words and imagery truly random, or is this design an enigma with underlying meaning? My family actually gave me a choice between this and two other shirts, and this was the least weird option.

Western brand names are relatively expensive. With all the knockoffs, typos, and other oddities, however, one starts to wonder if many of the originals even exist here. A few examples: the mustard-colored baseball shirt supporting the “New York Massachubatts,” which might make a Yankee or Red Sox fan cringe. The California Clippers flat-brimmed hat a secretary wore to a meeting in the district health office. Numerous shirts bearing the name of Kevin Klein. The American flag hat with all the colors switched around, which one of our language teachers gave a volunteer as a joke.

Because many Nepalis own fewer clothes and don’t change them often, it’s sometimes possible to describe people by what they typically wear, like the characters of a TV cartoon (think Doug or Hey Arnold). There’s the old man in the leather jacket with the navy patches; the woman in the pink wool sweater; the boy in the black and red striped polo shirt. My supervisor’s outfit of choice is a puffy white North Face coat, white slacks, and one of those white flat-topped caps that Paris Hilton might wear (or have worn. Is she still alive?). One day, I met a man wearing rubber camo boots, track pants, a pink denim jacket, and a hood. In the cold weather, hoods are a preferred form of headwear, but they are often worn detached from their original jacket, making for an odd-fitting hat with a zipper at the bottom. Why don’t aren’t the hoods worn with the jackets they came with? And where are all of these hoodless jackets? If only I had the language skills to investigate.