The amusement of Kuala Lumpur Fashion Week is best exemplified by the hilarious “viral sensation” Behati

Major Behati customer, Datuk Seri Vida, attending the Behati show of KLFW 2023 in what could be a puffed up Mylar blanket. Photo: Saufi Nadzri/KLFW

It’s always fun to follow Kuala Lumpur Fashion Week (KLFW). In fact, it is admirable that they have a fashion week, and we do not. That’s why we look across the border, if not for serious fesyen, certainly for humour. The just-concluded KLFW is no different. In its 11th year, KLFW, a motley gathering of the country’s kreatifs, is, as the event communique states, “an event Platform Focusing (sic) on Malaysian fashion industry, providing our emerging young designers and renowned designers a continues (sic) fashion & retail opportunities (sic) that gives recognition to Malaysia made fashion and retail items”. The nearly-a-week-long affair—this year, spread over seven different hotel ballrooms—was admirably going strong, garnering more and more sokongan (support) from brands, selebritis, fashionistas, and influencers. While it is not quite industry-centred (it isn’t a trade event), KLFW does give us a peek into the carousel of the emergent and the acclaimed.

The “show that must see”, one KL fashion insider enthusiastically told us, was Behati, so we did. The label came to our attention last year via its colourful, publicity-ardent designer Tan Kel Wen (陳楷文), dubbed the “king of viral fashion”, and one who is presently considered “untouchable”. Two days ago, he wrote on Instagram: “This KLFW show is a memoir of my 5 years with Behati, with 3 songs I listen when I design. What I’ve learned, what I saw, what I’ve been known for.” What Mr Tan is known for is his affinity to exaggerated shapes and proportions, consistently reimagined—and comically so—on clothes that are considered ethnically traditional. He is culturally aware and proud, and he gladly plunders the budaya rakyat (Malay or local folklore), which readily includes the customs, as well as clothing of the people, not necessarily indigenous. And he was at it again, at the Shangri-la ballroom, putting out Malay baju (clothing) and Chinese samfu (top and trousers) and those between—absurdity intact. His Behati this season, as many of his fans concur, did not disappoint.

Here come the whites. Photos: Behati/Instagram

After the previous season’s koleksi Pelangi (Rainbow collection, to coincide with Hari Raya), Mr Tan moved on to something less likely to evoke the home ministry’s propensity to frown at anything that has more than one colour, which could result in an outright ban. So he traipsed into territory that is chromatically conservative although aesthetically no less camp: Space Malaya, but not nearly as galactic as the title suggests (it turned out to be a schizophrenic theme—more to come). In fact, it could be a dimension of the past, since the ancient pahlawan (warrior) was evoked. “I’m reimagining this new world – Space Malaya,” he enthused on IG, “where pahlawans are dressed in space ‘suits’. Where draping techniques are advanced. Where people unite their culture as one. I decided to go monochrome because it just resonates with my current mood after Pelangi, with a sense of sorrow for the future. It’s a rebirth of the past but present.” And he added, “Will there be a silver lining?”

Did he mean that rhetorically or literally? Or that between the clothes in orang minyak black and the pontianak white (both, Malaysian folklore ghosts), there were looks in kilat (shiny) silver, as seen in what VIP guest Datuk Seri Hasmiza Othman (popularly known as Datuk Seri Vida) wore—a muumuu with a puffed-up hoodie, balloon sleeves, and a train (!), that looked like it was fashioned out of Mylar thermal blanket. And, as to his “draping techniques”, it was hard to see any purported advancement. Sure, he made roses—“the rose represents the Tudor rose of England,” he shared on IG again, “which symbolises unity, a nod to the collection theme – British Malaya.” A theme within a theme? Or is it, as indicated earlier, just schizo? The show opened with a white rose dress (no pahlawan, yet) that made us bite our tongue so that we won’t laugh. It was a terrible gathering of fabric plonked as bodice on a bustier mini-dress. As the model walked, she stroked the rose as if it was her baby bump. All this to a mournful a cappella of Getaran Jiwa that sounded like it was sung backstage (was Mr Tan—known to sing—crooning?!)

…and the blacks. Photos: kel_wen/Instagram

That white rose dress marked the white segment of the show, which plodded on until it suddenly stopped (the singing too!). Somewhere in there was semblance of an intrecciato (they’ll likely say it was ketupat weave!) bustier mini-dress. Then, five bare-feet dancers in long-sleeved, floor-length tunics, with heads encased in something rose-like that Mr Tan’s pop-star customers would throw up their arms in appreciation, appeared and swayed to more lagu asli (traditional songs)—Saloma’s Mengapa Dirindu (Why am I Missing You?). It was hard not to begin enjoying the kampung vibe. These goofy wavering pillars with kepalas (heads) that look like Yubaba’s (Spirited Away) welcomed the black sequence of the presentation. More roses appeared (there was a rose bra and a rose coatie) among, presumably, more urban looks—such as the by-now-tired oversized blazer and, on the fertile land of Behati, the updated voluminous baju Melayu, their cash crop.

Mr Tan is proud of his handwork. It is admirable that there are designers who are willing to put their fingers through the actual paces of garment making. We do not know how dexterous he is, but he is often shown fiddling the creations his customer try on. Despite this seeming savviness, the results on fabric frequently escape the quality that can be described as halus or refined. Still, he is exceedingly proud of his handiwork—so much so that he made sure to note on his comments to his IG photos shared after his KLFW show that the roses—big or small—are “draped by @kel_wen”, just in case you thought it was the tukang kebun (gardener) who did it. And, why should he be doubted? If he could make a ketupat (and enough for a whole dress), surely he could “drape” a bunga ros?

Tiffin carrier as bag. Photo: Saufi Nadzri/KLFW

And then there was another interlude. Out came the boys of the rebana (here, we know the musical instrument by the smaller kompang) or tambourine. They were led by two guys who held aloft a massive tanjak, also known as the tengkolok, an asymmetrical hand-folded hat—now largely used for ceremonial purposes. The giant tanjak was inexplicably placed on the floor. From here on, the collection was homage to the pahlawan and a slow dive into what could be the hikayat Hang Tuah (or the story of Hang Tuah, a Malay folk hero—and a pahlawan no less). But not quite. To denote the warrior element, he turned the tanjak into an article he could use to express modernity. Traditionally, the tanjak is made with songket (Malay brocade), but in the hands of Mr Tan, they were folded with clear plastic or the same metallic fabric we keep seeing. And the pahlawan himself? When he appeared, he was a diminutive, middle-aged tanjak-wearing man whose height was absurdly augmented with what could be two galahs (bamboo poles) under his shirt (in denim, not leather as it appears—sounds familiar?), pushing the shoulders skywards!!! Even Viktor & Rolf would have marvelled at the engineering, and the lembik (limp) lapels.

It is remarkable that Mr Tan does consider the cheese factor when his modernisation of ethnic wear is more jokey than bergaya (stylish). Cultural element are obvious in his designs. Subtlety is not his strength. Tan Kel Wen is clearly proud of his culture and the attendant materiality, to the extent that he happily mines even items from the kitchen to enhance the self-conscious and self-amusing sense of cultural relevance or superiority. The tingkat (a stacked bento) in modern-day aluminium made its appearance, presumably as a bag. So did the Chinese 结婚礼篮 (jiehun lilan) or wedding basket (usually made of bamboo). Cute, perhaps? But can that be said of the enormous tanjak in the last look, worn around the waist like a wheel-less chariot or a boat? Or a Chingay float? Mr Tan designs for an audience for whom the larger-is-better everything is fashion. Size can distract from other failings too. When we pointed out to one of his fans—naturally dressed in Behati—that we could see that all the bajus are not well finished, he said, “it’s okay. Behati is not luxury. It’s fesyen.”