On a scorching day emerged the boiling sun in the scattered village. On the bus rumbling to the bus stop appeared Như grimacing, “This place is hot. I have no idea why we had to spend such a long time traveling here.” She complained, fanning herself with a hand. Anh, who is Như’s older brother, tried to calm her down. “Relax, Như. Granny’s house has the best shade in the village.” Then, they hopped off the bus and followed the dusty path toward a small cozy house located beneath a canopy of shady trees.

Their grandmother greeted them with a dazzling smile on her face and two glasses of iced tea. After settling in, Như started with her curiosity sparkling in her eyes, “Granny, can we explore the attic?” Grandmother’s gaze drifted toward the attic. “The attic has not been touched for years. When it comes to the attic, my memories came flooding back.” Her voice was tinged with unspoken emotions.

Feeling intrigued, the three of them ascended narrowly steep stairs. In a dimly lit corner, there was a mysterious wooden chest draped in a faded cloth. Anh carefully lifted the cloth, revealing a vivid sight of a gorgeous ao dai neatly folded inside. The ao dai was adorned with delicate embroidery of birds and flowers on the long sleeves and high collar.

“Wow”, exclaimed Anh. His eyes were filled with fascination. “It isn’t anything like the modern ao dai we have seen before”, said Anh. Unlike her brother, Như scoffed playfully, “Wow? Maybe for old ladies, Anh. It looks like such an old-fashioned dress that nobody would keep their eyes on, let alone try on it.”

Listening attentively to her grandchildren’s argument, Grandmother chuckled. “There you go again, Như. Always the little rebel,” said she with her warm voice laden with memories waiting to be shared.

Như stuck out her tongue in her childish defiance. “It's true, though, granny! Look at all these layers! It must be so hot!” Then, Như pointed to the ao dai. “And who wants to wear such a long costume which makes them uncomfortable to move? It seems so restrictive.”  Anh, however, wouldn’t concede the point so easily. “But Như, don’t you think there’s a certain beauty in tradition? It's like a piece of history you can wear Look at the embroidery! It’s like a marvelous work of art.”

Grandmother raised her hand with a widened smile. “Hold on there, you two,” she interrupted gently. “Both of you have valid points. The ao dai has certainly evolved. But one thing remains constant – it’s a garment steeped in Vietnamese culture and tradition.” A moment’s silence descended upon the room. Như’s playful defiance was momentarily subdued. She crossed her legs and settled closer to her grandmother. Anh, whose gaze was fixed on the ao dai, seemed to ponder the weight of her grandmother’s words.

A trace of a smile played across the grandmother’s lips. “Perhaps,” she began with a more wistful tone, “Let me tell you a story. It is a story about the ao dai and its journey through time. The journey goes back much further than both of you might imagine.” 

Như’s playful gaze was replaced by a thirst for knowledge and Anh leaned toward his grandmother to absorb all the sayings. 

“When I was young,” Grandmother continued. Her voice transported them back to a bygone era, “the ao dai wasn’t just a garment, but it was a way of life. It was the only outfit I knew, which is a symbol of both practicality and elegance. Then, I was curious, much like you, Như. I used to ask my grandmother endless questions about the ao dai. Where did it come from? Who invented it?” 

Grandmother’s words sparked a fire of curiosity in both Như and Anh. 

They were about to embark on a journey through time. It was a journey guided by their grandmother’s memories and the rich history of the ao dai – a garment that symbolized not only fashion but also tradition and rebellion.

Trung sisters

“Some people claim,” Grandmother continued with her eyes twinkling with the light of shared secrets, “that the ao dai’s origin can be traced back to the time of the Trung Sisters, who fought against the Chinese Han Dynasty as early as 38-42 AD. They might have worn a similar piece of clothing, but the truth remained uncertain and passed down through generations.”

She continued, “Most folks, however, agree the ao dai has undeniable Chinese influences. It was not until 1744, under the reign of King Nguyen Phuc Khoat, that ao dai began to take shape.”

She closed her eyes. Her wrinkled face softened as she delved into the memories. “King Phuc Khoat, a ruler with a keen eye for detail and a desire to strengthen his southern court’s identity, needed a way to distinguish them from the north ruled by the Trinh Lords of Hanoi who wore garments called 'ao giao linh'. 

He decreed that his courtiers wear long silk gowns over loose trousers. It was a unique blend of Han Chinese style and the vibrant attire of the southern Champa people. Perhaps this was the first glimpse of the modern ao dai, a garment woven from the threads of cultural exchange.”

Then, she paused and gently smiled as she watched her increasingly eager grandchildren’s faces to listen to her story more. “Imagine, Như,” she continued with a picture vividly portrayed by her voice. “The court was filled with people clad in these new garments – soft silk against baggy trousers, representing a burgeoning southern identity.”

Ao giao linh

Ao Ngu Than

“The 19th century,” she announced, “witnessed another distinct transformation in the ao dai’s story. The most popular style during this period was called the Ao Ngu Than, a five-panel gown with a looser fit and shorter length than what we see today.” Như playfully wrinkled her nose. “Looser? Sounds less elegant, granny,” she claimed.

“Maybe to our modern eyes, Như,” her grandmother conceded. “But times change, and so do fashions. Back then, practicality was key for women who worked in the rice paddies under the harsh sun. The looser fit allowed for greater movement, and the shorter length prevented the fabric from getting snagged on vegetation.”

“But,” she continued, “even these practical gowns weren't devoid of beauty. The five panels were often made from silk in bright colors, and decorated with intricate embroidery depicting flowers, birds, or even mythical creatures, which reflected the wearer’s wealth and social status.”

“But granny," Anh interjected. “The ao dai we see today looks so different. How did it get to be like that?”

“Ah, Anh,” she began, “the biggest innovation came in the 1930s with a woman named Cat Tuong, also known by her French name, Le Mur.”

Như’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. She exclaimed, “A woman reformer? That's so cool, granny!”

Grandmother nodded with her admired eyes. “Cool indeed, Như. Le Mur was a trendsetter. She was a woman who dared to challenge the traditional ao dai and redefined it for a new generation.”

Cat Tuong (Le Mur)

She closed her eyes for a moment, picturing the vibrant streets of Hanoi in the 1930s. “Imagine a time of change,” she started, “a time when Western influences were filtering in through French colonization. Le Mur, a woman with a rebellious spirit, wasn't content with the looser, more traditional Ao Ngu Than.”

“She took a bold step,” she continued. “She redesigned the ao dai, taking inspiration from Western silhouettes while retaining its Vietnamese essence. She introduced a slimmer fit that accentuated a woman’s curves, raised the shoulders for a more elegant look, and lengthened the dress to the floor.”

A mischievous glint lit up her eyes. “Le Mur wasn’t afraid to break away from the traditional boundary. She embraced bright colors, bold patterns, and even floral prints, making the ao dai a symbol of both femininity and modernity.”

Ao dai Le Mur

The room was tinged with silence. The next chapter in the ao dai's ever-evolving saga was awaiting them to explore.

“Fashion,” she said with her voice laced with a hint of wisdom, “is like a pendulum, swinging back and forth between tradition and innovation. Le Mur’s design, though initially met with great enthusiasm, wasn’t destined to remain the sole ruler of the ao dai world.”

Anh inquired, “So, what happened then, granny? Did the looser style come back?”

“Not exactly, Anh,” she replied. 

“The pendulum swung in a different direction this time. In the late 1930s, a renowned painter named Le Pho stepped onto the scene.”

Anh fascinatedly leaned forward. “A painter? How did he influence the ao dai?”

Le Pho

Grandmother’s eyes sparkled. “Le Pho, known for his love of Vietnamese tradition, felt Le Mur’s design strayed a bit too far from the ao dai’s roots. He returned to the more traditional four-panel gown, with looser sleeves and a focus on classic elegance.”

“For the next two decades,” she said, “Le Pho’s vision dominated the ao dai scene. It was a time of quiet refinement, a celebration of the garment’s heritage.”

“But the ao dai,” she continued with a more serious tone, “wasn’t just a piece of clothing. It became involved in the political landscape of Vietnam.”

Ao dai Le Mur and Ao dai Le Pho

Tran Le Xuan

Anh’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Political? How so, grandma?” he asked.

Grandmother sighed softly. There was a hint of sadness flickering in her eyes. “In the late 1950s,” she began, “The French had been replaced by the Americans as the occupying force, and the country was teetering on the brink of division.”

“This political turmoil,” she continued with her bitter voice, “impacted the ao dai as well. In 1958, a woman named Tran Le Xuan, the wife of a prominent government official, caused quite a stir.”

Như interjected, "What did she do, granny?"

Grandmother’s eyes narrowed slightly. “She wore a modern ao dai with a v-neck collar and short sleeves, paired with gloves,” she explained. “It was a bold fashion statement and a nod to Western styles. While some admired her elegance, others saw it as disrespectful to tradition and a symbol of embracing Western influence.”

“This controversy,” her voice was heavy with regret, “unfortunately, led to a ban on the modern ao dai in North Vietnam. The government deemed it a rejection of Vietnamese values.”

Anh gasped. “A ban? But what about the South, granny?” he queried.

Her smile returned. “The South, my dears, embraced change,” she replied with a touch of pride. “Saigon, which was a city known for its vibrancy and openness, became a haven for ao dai innovation.”

“Designers like Tran Kim and Dung,” she continued, “introduced the raglan sleeve. It was a unique design with a diagonal seam that offered greater mobility and comfort. This innovation resonated with many women, particularly those living in the more fast-paced Southern cities.”

Ao dai with 

raglan sleeve

Ao dai (1960 - 1970)

The rhythmic tick-tock of the clock seemed to whisper tales of resilience and change echoing through the ao dai’s journey.

“But the road of the ao dai wasn’t always smooth,” her voice took on a somber tone. “The Vietnam War was a brutal conflict that ravaged the country throughout the 1960s and 70s. It had a profound impact on fashion trends. Practicality took precedence over elegance, and the ao dai took a backseat to simpler, more utilitarian clothing.”

Anh’s eyes were wide with empathy, “That makes sense, granny. It must have been a difficult time,” said Anh.

A faint tremor was in Grandmother’s voice betraying the weight of those memories. “It was, little Anh,” she conceded. “But even during times of hardship, the spirit of the Vietnamese people, and the ao dai itself, persevered.”

A hint of a smile returned to her face. “By the late 1970s,” she continued with her hopeful voice, “as the country began to heal and so did the world of fashion. The ao dai once again emerged, but it had undergone another transformation. The ao dai of the late 20th century embraced a more streamlined silhouette, with a higher collar, a tighter fit that accentuated the curves, and flared pants that showcased the modernity.”

“The ao dai, my dears,” she began, “is more than just a garment. It’s a symbol of Vietnamese culture, a tapestry woven through time, reflecting our history, our resilience, and our ever-evolving identity.”

Như was captivated by the deeper meaning. “How so, Grandma?” she inquired.

Ao dai nowadays

Grandmother smiled gently. “Look at this ao dai here,” she said and gestured towards the one hanging on the rack. “The long flowing panels represent the grace and elegance of Vietnamese women. The vibrant color was a symbol of joy and prosperity which was a stark contrast to the darker times our nation has endured.”

She traced the intricate embroidery with her finger. “These patterns,” she continued softly, “often depict flowers, birds, or even mythical creatures. They tell stories, connect us to our heritage, and remind us of the beauty that surrounds us, even amid challenges.”

Her gaze shifted to her grandchildren.  Her eyes twinkled with a newfound warmth. “And the way the ao dai has evolved,” she continued, “reflects the adaptability of the Vietnamese spirit. We appreciate change and incorporate new influences, yet we never lose sight of our core values and traditions.”

Anh replied, “So, the ao dai is like a living story, granny?”

A sweet smile across Grandmother’s face. “Exactly, Anh! It's a story that continues to be written,” she affirmed, “Today, the ao dai isn’t confined to a single style. Bold designers are pushing boundaries and experimenting with cuts, fabrics, and embellishments.”

She pointed towards a fashion magazine placed on the coffee table. “Look at these,” she said while flipping through the pages. “Modern ao dai comes in a kaleidoscope of colors and patterns. Some are short and sassy, while others retain the traditional floor-sweeping length. Some even incorporate Western elements like zippers or pockets, making them more practical for everyday wear.”

“This ao dai is so beautiful. How did you get it? Did you buy this silk to make an ao dai by yourself?”, asked Anh.

"This silk," Grandmother began with her voice softening like the caress of a summer breeze. A faint smile played on her lips with a bittersweet echo of a love story etched in time. "Your grandfather," her gaze drifted towards the two grandchildren hanging onto her every word, "presented it to me long ago as a token of his love that transcended mere words."

"It was a day bathed in the golden glow of early summer," she reminisced. "Sunlight streamed through the lush canopy of trees and dappled the rolling hills with a mosaic of light and shadow. The air hummed with the sweet symphony of nature - the chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves in the breeze, and the gentle murmur of a nearby stream." A nostalgic smile bloomed on her face as she continued, "Your grandpa, who is a young man, stood before me. His heart was overflowing with a love he could no longer contain. His voice, which was usually steady and confident, became faltered as he attempted to express the depth of his affection twice."

She paused. "He cleared his throat. His cheeks were flushed a rosy pink. He began with his voice barely above a whisper, 'Will you... will you accept to be my girlfriend?' The question, which was simple yet profound, resonated across the decades, a testament to the enduring power of love's first confession.”

"My eyes were alight with surprise," she confessed, "a mixture of shyness and excitement bloomed within me. Then, with a flourish that belied his usual reserved nature, he unfolded the piece of silk, revealing its smooth texture and shimmering beauty."

The room seemed to hold its breath as Grandmother held the ao dai aloft. The light was catching the beautiful soft sheen of the silk. It was a tangible reminder of a love story that had blossomed amidst the rolling hills and whispering winds.

"He compared the silk to our future together," her voice was filled with a quiet strength that spoke of a love tested by time. 

"Soft and beautiful, yet strong enough to endure any storm that life might throw our way. Just like the threads woven within this very fabric, he promised our hands would be intertwined, facing life's challenges side by side."

A wave of emotion washed over her as she recounted the memory. "Without a word, I nodded my head. A blissful confirmation triggered the joy that sparkled in his eyes. At that very moment, under the watchful gaze of the summer sky, I knew a new chapter of my life was about to begin. It would be a chapter written in the language of love and shared dreams."

The memory brought a bittersweet smile to her face.   "Before I met him," she began, "my life had been painted in shades of gray. A dark experience had left me withdrawn, my heart guarded and my spirit bruised. I carried a secret shame, fearing to speak of the violation I had endured. Love which was a concept that once held such promise now felt like a distant melody. Its tune lost in the cacophony of fear."

Như reached out and grasped her grandmother’s hand, offering a silent comfort. Như squeezed her hand gently. A flicker of gratitude passed between them.

"Then, like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds," Grandmother continued with her voice regaining its warmth, "he appeared. His family had recently moved into the house next door. Their arrival was a welcome change to the monotony of my days. When I confided in him, hesitantly at first, about the darkness that clouded my heart, he listened without judgment."

A tear welled up in her eye, but she brushed it away with the back of her hand. "He encouraged me to confront my fears and take back my narrative. He reminded me that I wasn't defined by that one terrible experience and that I deserved happiness and love. Slowly, with his unwavering support, a flicker of hope rekindled within me."