It is
not easy to define the mod look but there are clear definitions as to what mod
is not. “Mods are not into rock, hip hop or black metal, and we don’t like torn
jeans,” says Azmeer Idrus, 35, a team building trainer.
The apt
description comes from Mohammad Azwan Shah, better known as Wak Doyok. The
co-founder of clothing line The Garment simplifies it by offering an
antithesis: “The opposite of grunge would be mod.”
“Where
grungers are messy, mods are prim,” adds Wak Doyok, 33. “We don’t wear T-shirts
unless they are collared. Being a mod means not having a hair out of place and
you’ve got to have that slightly aloof attitude,” says Wak Doyok, who was one
of the nominees for Esquire magazine’s Best Dressed Real Man.
The
spirit of mod brings back the nostalgia of an era when good manners and proper
behaviour took precedence over everything else. “I call it the golden era of
fashion because the clean lines bring out the best of a person’s character.
These were the kinds of clothes you wore if you wanted to look smart and leave
a good impression. In Malay, we say it is ‘not hurtful to the eyes’,” says Wak
Doyok.
In his
opinion, actors Tan Sri Jins Shamsuddin and Sarimah were the local epitomes of
mod. The former for his clean-shaven look and sharp suits, the latter for her
elegance and heavily kohl-lined eyes.
Mod
influence in Malaysia is believed to have originated from young adults who had
returned from Britain after following their parents who may have pursued
academic degrees or embassy postings. While trying to assimilate themselves
into local culture, their style of dressing left an impression on peers.
Among
the stories of mod initiations, the most dramatic belongs to Wak Doyok who
reveals what sealed his conviction to remain a mod. Sometime in 1996, he formed
a scooter club with three friends. One of them, whom Wak Doyok will only refer
to as Alem, met with a fatal accident in 1998.
“When he
arrived at the hospital, the police only found three phone numbers on him – all
belonging to the members of our scooter club. We were the ones who had to
inform his parents,” he says.
When Wak
Doyok arrived at the hospital, word had leaked out that Alem was dying. The
impact from the accident had ruptured his heart. As the trio were popular
figures in Bukit Bintang, a crowd of skinheads, punks and mods had converged at
the hospital.
“For
once, the hospital grounds resembled the scene of a musician’s gig,” recalls
Wak Doyok, then 18. “Alem said to me, ‘In my absence, I want you to continue
with the mod movement.’ I took this as his last will to me and gave him my word.”
There
are three elements to the making of a mod, offers Wak Doyok and Azmeer.
First of
all, there’s the music. Think The Beatles, The Who and jazz greats such as Ella
Fitzegerald. According to Azmeer, the rave scene is accredited to the mod
movement and the latest offspring to have come out of this is the techno mod,
who listens to artistes such as Chemical Brothers.
Then,
there’s the scooter and it must be either a Lambretta or a Vespa – no
compromises. Mods are known to go to great lengths to obtain their rides so
that they can modify them and show them off at scooter conventions.
Wak
Doyok recalls his first Lambretta L13, a 1965 model, while exploring Kuala
Kangsar in 1999. He had found the L13 in a decrepit state, buried up to its
handle bars in red earth. It took just RM130 to relieve the relic from its
owner, after which Wak Doyok spent a whole day unearthing the scooter.
“There
was even a rat’s nest in the engine compartment!” he recalls.
The
backbreaking job of freeing the scooter was followed by the arduous task of
pushing it to a nearby workshop where Wak Doyok took the engine apart and
serviced the carburettor himself. Lo and behold! The LI3 came to life for the
first time after 40 years.
Thirdly,
it’s the fashion.
The goal
was to achieve a classy vintage look. Iconic brands that fit specifications
were Ben Sherman, Arnold Palmer, Arrow, Playboy and Penguin, considered as the
Pradas and Guccis of the 60s.
For men,
shirts had to be slim fit with button-down collars. Suits are to be cut in the
Italian style using a three-button-down system with the top button in the same
line as the pocket. Suit hems should fall just at the hip line with double
vents, one on either side. Interestingly, paisley shirts are also embraced, a
remnant of the psychedelic era. In chilly weather, long army coats covered the
wearers so they’d look sharp indoors.
Trousers
have to be slim cut with drainpipe legs and preferably crinkle-resistant. The
only jeans label a mod should allow into his wardrobe is the Levi’s 501s, no
other. Footwear of choice are usually loafers embellished with tassels or
styled like bowling shoes.
For
“modettes” (in reference to females), the essential must-haves are white
knee-length boots to match short A-line dresses with geometric designs. The
hairstyle to sport is the “Chelsea Cut”, a short but feathery look with long
sides and also the wedge bob created by late British hairdresser Vidal Sassoon.
And always, heavy eyeliner.
It would
be interesting to take a look at, not where a mod shops, but how.
“The
Britons have Carnaby Street. In Malaysia, we have the bundle shops in Chow
Kit,” smiles Wak Doyok.
For the
uninitiated, they should know that there are two kinds of mod.
One
sector belongs to the moneyed who can afford to shop overseas and at bona fide
boutiques.
Another
is from the working class such as the bellboys, office despatchers and
supermarket cashiers. Wak Doyok and Azmeer come from the second category. The
former used to work as technical assistant at BMW’s old plant in Shah Alam,
before working as a public phone technical supervisor whereby he drove a van.
Azmeer
started life as a mechanic. “The driving force of mod is in the working class. These
are the people who are considered ‘nobodies’ during the day, who become
‘somebodies’ when they step out after work. All because they can carry their
own style confidently and have differentiated themselves from the norm,”
explains Wak Doyok.
It is this second aspect that has lent an interesting aspect to the shopping style. When the fashion movement saw a local revival during the early 90s, many of the brands which epitomised the spirit of the look were not available for retail. And so, the mods headed to the second-hand shops.
“During
the 90s, it was easy to find clothes in the bundle shops because people were
still unaware of the vintage clothing market. This worked in our favour because
many of us were still schooling. You could get a Ben Sherman shirt for as low
as RM5, or a full suit for RM20! Can you imagine?” reveals Azmeer.
Looking
the part is often a journey of self-discovery.
Nicholas
Mak, voted by Cleo readers as this year’s Most Eligible Bachelor – and one of
the models in the promotion shoot for The Garment – is an example.
A
photographer by profession, the 25-year-old has matured into suits after a
period as a rocker. He developed a liking for mod during a two-month holiday in
London in 2010.
“For the
first time, I wore a suit and discovered the art of layering. My signature look
was a long olive green coat and leather gloves,” says Mak who had saved up a
sum of RM10,000 for his trip by modelling for television commercials and print
ads.
After
two months of observing the scene, he built his wardrobe by raiding department
stores like Selfridges, Harrods, H&M and the boutiques in Kingston. To
date, Mak’s collection has grown to the space of three double sliding-cabinets,
split in two locations – one at his father’s house in Puchong, Selangor and his
bachelor’s pad in Jalan Kuchai Lama, Kuala Lumpur.
Wak
Doyok gives an insight into the “wardrobe investment” required for that
“well-dressed English gentleman’s look”.
“In
2003, I was spending RM500 every month on clothes. My paycheck then was only
RM1,800, but I’d buy a pair of Classic Clarks for RM600. A month later, I’d
spend another RM300 on a Topman shirt. The Ben Sherman shirts I have now cost
me RM350 a piece. Of course, my mother was livid! To get out of trouble, I’d
tell her I got it from the bundle shop, or would keep it aside and not wear it
until much later,” laughs Wak Doyok, a bachelor.
But the
rule is to always know what you’re looking for.
“From as
early as 19, I knew what being fashionable was about. I got my suits tailored
and was particular about my shoes matching my belts. I guess it’s in my blood
as my father, whom I think looks like Chow Yun-Fat, is also very fashionable.
He’d wear things like blue Tod’s loafers,” says Mak.
The mod
influence has naturally rubbed off on the local fashion scene – but with a more
colourful twist. Think green skinny trousers, chili red suits with polka dot
bow ties and double-breasted jackets in purple and pink checks.
The man
behind this riot of colour is none other than fashion designer Fairuz Ramdan,
who is also a committee member of the Bumiputera Designer’s Association (BDA).
Making
use of mod elements landed Fairuz an order from Parkson after a successful
showing at the Mercedes Benz Stylo Fashion Week this March.
“I came
in at the right time when the concept of the smartly-dressed gentleman was
making headway locally. This was when big brands like H&M and Uniqlo were
coming in with cutting-edge men’s fashion,” says Fairuz.
The
eldest son of four siblings, Fairuz spent half his childhood in Scotland where
his late father pursued his academic research.
“Most of
my clients are not into mod but are people who want to look good,” says Fairuz.
But
having cut his teeth as a vendor selling vintage clothing, he has met die-hard
mod followers who didn’t just see the movement as a trend.
“To
them, being mod was how you lived,” concludes Fairuz.
No comments:
Post a Comment