May 13–20, 1999

naked city

Wrap It Up

The simple sarong.

by Ketura Persellin

There's something compellingly grounded and casual about clothing with asymmetrical draping and layering. This look hints of Japanese influences, particularly the artistry of the Japanese couturiers.

With its wraps and twists, though, the draped garment par excellence—the sarong—is less Far East than Southeast Asian. Whether folded with a deep pleat or knotted low on the hip, the sarong is an almost infinitely adaptable piece of clothing that's showing up now as part of fashion's new ethnic awareness.

Sarongs are traditional attire for both men and women in the part of the world where they originate—Philippines, Malaysia, Indonesia and parts of Thailand. As with all native clothes, there's something vaguely primitive about the sarong in its disregard for modernity. Certainly, the riotous color combinations of sarongs made of madras cottons, batik and ikat cloth, and the blouses of fine sprigged muslin or organdy worn with them, evoke a certain tribalism, and the way they are being presented in fashion magazines—with all sorts of "ethnic" styling and accessories—emphasizes this.

But there's more to it than that.

A sarong is a simple garment, a rectangle of fabric twisted and wrapped to fit the body, suitable for women (and daring men). Zippers and buttons are rendered superfluous, since a sarong aspires to fit the body without the aid of those technological innovations. In Indonesia, the sarong is carefully arranged—traditionally, in an uneven number of pleats—before being secured by a stiff cotton cord.

There is also something both casual and finished about a sarong, and its more revealing cousin, the pareo, that takes it to the beach, with flip-flops and a bikini, or to the office, with a T-shirt and boots. It can dress up or down, go very ethnic with a beaded bag or corporate with a tropical-weight wool blazer.

Because they are often sold as beach attire, sarongs and pareos are widely available right now. The label Etro has an appliquéd silk pareu; they are also available from Chanel, Malatesta and Nicole Miller. The layered, split skirts are part of at least one fabulous Star Wars ensemble.

The sarong is even the dominant influence in a Jil Sander V-neck polyester dress, which is ingeniously draped to resemble a sarong. (Because of the way it hangs on the body, the sarong seems to emphasize the belly; it seems not at all coincidental that this particular garment is finding a new popularity at a moment when motherhood is the newest hip thing.)

Sarongs are showing up in local boutiques, but you might try making one yourself. In a recent issue of Marie Claire magazine, Ashley Judd describes buying fabric in Suriname, and creates a DIY sarong made of bright plaids worn on top of each other and secured with twists of the same fabric. So simple, even the most bumbling, inept seamstress can make her own sarong.

Typically, a sarong is a rectangular patterned piece of cotton or silk, four to five yards long and a yard wide. The edges of the fabric need to be hemmed, and then the rectangle needs to be sewn, to form a sort of cylinder.

Or, make a sarong out of a sheer fabric, like stiff, black silk organdy or cotton voile, skip the seam so that it opens in front, and layer it over a black cotton-lycra skirt. Alternatively, since such a cautious, coordinated getup is only one option—and, in fact, the idea of solid color seems anathema to the very sarong concept—abandon any idea of matching. Instead, turn up the heat with hot pinks and purples, combined to stimulate and delight the senses. Add a straw hat, and pour the mai tais.