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If you’re willing to brave the swerving motorcyclists of Ho Chi Minh City, a short journey into the central district reveals a city that wears its checkered history on its sleeve. There are the wide boulevards, bakeries, and colonial architecture from its period as a French colony; the monolithic gray cube of the War Remnants Museum, a sobering reminder of Saigon’s position as the Vietnam War’s final frontier; the gleaming skyscrapers and shopping malls that reflect (quite literally) the developing nation’s increasing business and financial clout, and the city’s position at its epicenter.
But for the visitor of today that’s willing to dig a little deeper there’s another attraction, albeit one largely taking place on social media or in underground clubs: a new wave of fashion-conscious youth, quietly refreshing the eclectic tapestry of Saigonese culture for their generation.
“I think the city’s music scene has been really important,” says Le Thuy Uyen, a singer and artist who sits as a central figure within this new guard. Citing style inspirations including Vietnamese alt-pop musician Naomi Roestel and Dolly Parton within the same breath, Le epitomises the blend of past and present that defines Saigon style today. “Since there’s a language barrier, people in Vietnam have historically held the bias of listening to foreign songs. But I love music from all over the world, and young people are forgetting about that barrier. My goal is to become an artist who brings the world together.”
She isn’t alone in taking a global outlook. “I don’t really have any specific style icons—it’s more of a mix of 1980s and 1990s actresses and models from all over the world,” adds Vu Thiên, an Instagrammer who has harnessed the power of her 83,000 followers to cultivate a small-scale clothing resale business, trading in her own hybrid looks of thrift store finds and streetwear. Even if this attitude reflects the pick and mix nature of Gen Z style anywhere in the world, hers still maintains an East Asian frame of reference. “I don’t know much about style in Hong Kong today, but I’ve always loved watching movies made there in the 1990s and been inspired by the clothes the actresses were wearing.”
Vu’s cultural touchstone of Hong Kong’s Second Wave filmmakers feels apt, given the nostalgic instincts of auteurs like Wong Kar-Wai and Stanley Kwan—not just in their art direction and costume design, but also with their broader riffs on the dégagé realism of the French New Wave. Despite the dissolution of the French colonial rule in 1954, its cultural impact held strong in South Vietnam for many decades. Images from 1960s Saigon show women in mod shift dresses and Courrèges-inspired A-line skirts, or sleek form-fitting takes on the traditional áo dài, reflecting the lingering influence of French tailoring on these conventionally looser garments.
This thread has been picked up once again by many of the city’s young women. Lưu Tử, the founder of popular Saigon vintage store Lunasa Clothing, regularly Instagrams herself in strings of pearls, vintage hats, and loose-fitting pussybow blouses that offer a breezy, Gallic take on the thrift store obsession of Vietnam’s youth. Even Vu, who is more likely to be seen in Matrix-inspired mini sunglasses or Prada nylon than anything pointedly romantic, mentions that the country’s style heritage is an important focal point. “There are lots of elements of classic Saigon style that inspire me,” she says. “I have these old pictures of women riding motorbikes wearing an áo dài and black sunglasses for example. They are so freaking cool.”
For a broader insight into the street style trends of Saigon’s youth, there is the popular Instagram account @vietnamesestreetstylegroup (247k followers and counting), a team effort headed up by Tan Nguyen. “There’s a misconception that young people only buy and wear what’s on trend, when in fact if you really pay close attention, everyone has a different story, a different voice, a different aesthetic,” says Nguyen, namechecking Nguyen Cong Tri, a Saigonese designer whose work has been seen at New York Fashion Week (he will show again this season) and worn by Rihanna, as one figure reimagining traditional Vietnamese garb.
A quick scroll shows that while the Seoul-driven trend of graphic streetwear is present, the strongest impact remains the áo dài’s tunic-like shape and structure, even when riffed on and distilled into the simple formula of a loose-fitting shirt and trousers. “With the current trend for vintage, a lot of young Vietnamese look to their parents for styling inspiration,” adds Nguyen. “Wide-legged pants, drop-shoulder shirts, and sporty dad sneakers have come back stronger than ever.” He also notes that the second-hand shopping culture can be traced back to his generation’s childhood. “When we were considered a third world country, we would get sent clothes from countries like the U.S. to be sold by hustlers to local markets. When I was young, my mum would dress me in these one-of-a-kind clothes from overseas because it was all we could afford.”
It’s too easy to credit the source of East Asia’s endless wellspring of trends to more affluent, international cities like Seoul or Tokyo, but a closer look at Saigon makes it clear that this trickle-down model is only half the story. For the Vietnamese who sense their youth culture has been overlooked, Instagram offers a platform for self-expression that celebrates their individual heritage, directly addressing the homogenous perception of East Asian style in the West and beyond, as well as the pervasive conformism at home. “Vietnam, like many other Asian countries, is a monolithic culture, in that we have a tendency to think alike, act alike and even dress alike,” adds Nguyen. “With the boom in social media, that mentality is slowly, steadily changing, and we can learn about different cultures and subcultures. For that reason, I have high hopes for the younger generation.”
And unlike the relentless pursuit of trends in other corners of East Asia, for those growing up in Saigon, fashion offers a unique and gentle means of bridging a gap between the complexities of the city’s past and the present day. Somehow, within a metropolis moving forward at breakneck speed, the comfort and endless adaptability of traditional dress makes it the perfect uniform. Why reinvent the wheel, when you can simply give it another spin?
