Malaysian Khimar and Tudung: Heritage, Craft and Contemporary Style

A Malaysian headscarf can hold several stories at once: the purpose its wearer gives it, the skill that made its surface, and the setting in which it is worn. Understanding those stories makes the differences between a plain everyday tudung, a carefully embroidered Sarawak covering and a contemporary batik design much more interesting than a simple division into traditional and modern styles.

Begin with the language, then look closely at actual cloth and individual lives. The examples below move from a museum textile to religious organising, family workshops and contemporary designers. They offer ways to appreciate Malaysian head coverings without expecting one garment to represent every Malaysian woman, or asking a particular style to prove how traditional, fashionable or religious its wearer is.

Khimar, tudung and selendang: understand the words first

In Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka’s dictionary entry, tudung has a broad meaning associated with covering; the clothing expressions identify a cloth or covering for the head. The same language authority’s encyclopaedia entry for selendang describes cloth that may cover the head, decorate the shoulders with traditional dress, or serve another wrapping purpose. It includes triangular and long rectangular forms. These definitions leave room for different garments and uses. A name alone will not tell you the precise outline, how the cloth is arranged, or whether a particular example was intended for the head.

The Federal Territories Mufti Department makes a useful linguistic connection in its 2019 explanation of khimar: it describes a covering for a woman’s head and identifies tudung as the familiar local term, encompassing different types of head covering. That helps explain why a discussion of Malaysian khimar belongs within a wider discussion of tudung. The word does not, by itself, establish one uniquely Malaysian cut with an unchanged ancient history.

When discussing a particular piece, keep its maker’s name for it and add a straightforward physical description. A square cloth with a decorated border, a long shawl and a shaped pull-on covering deserve separate descriptions even when their wearer uses the same everyday word. For detailed garment construction and coverage questions, our complete khimar guide provides the practical clothing context. Here, the emphasis is on the people, materials and histories behind the names.

A historical cloth offers a more precise starting point

The NUS Museum’s selendang pelangi, object S0001-0023-001-0, is a silk shoulder wrap attributed to Malaya and tentatively placed in the early twentieth century. Its catalogue identifies pelangi, tie-dye and resist dyeing as techniques. Geometric repeats fill the centre; bands of plant and triangular motifs cross the cloth, with zigzags and triangles around the edges. The museum describes the layout as reminiscent of patola while recording the object under its own name and techniques. It is catalogued as a shoulder wrap, so its presence cannot establish how all women covered their hair.

That close description is valuable for anyone drawn to historical style. It gives you a particular arrangement to study: centre, transverse bands and enclosing border. You could sketch that structure to understand how a textile is organised, keeping the museum’s date and attribution beside the drawing. If you later develop a personal design, describe the relationship accurately. A new scarf inspired by an early twentieth-century shoulder wrap is a contemporary interpretation; the original object remains a specific piece with its own recorded use.

Religious commitment helped shape modern tudung histories

Women’s organising provides another part of the story. In ABIM’s 2022 account of its women’s work, Faridah Mohd Tap describes HELWA’s involvement in encouraging head covering in educational settings during the 1970s. She records Khalijah Salleh’s recollection of wanting to wear a headscarf after reading the Qur’an, and of facing ridicule when she and friends began doing so. The account also describes campaigning for nurses to be able to wear uniforms meeting their religious coverage requirements. This is an organisation’s account of its own contribution, with the commitments and perspective that entails. It gives named women and particular activities a place in the history, rather than reducing change to an unexplained shift in fashion.

A different kind of evidence comes from Saniah Ahmad and Zairul Anuar Md. Dawam’s 2020 study of tudung forms. Their investigation covers the period from the 1970s to 2020, drawing on informants alongside photographs in magazines, catalogues, newspapers and online media. They connect changing forms with different purposes and tastes, identifying function, practicality and aesthetic value as important considerations. The study’s time span matters: it examines a particular modern development, rather than proving that every present-day design existed centuries earlier.

These perspectives open a conversation about change. A wearer may speak about faith, a designer about cloth, and an older relative about what was familiar during her youth. Let each explain the part she knows. Different preferences between generations can prompt a discussion without becoming measures of sincerity. Ask when a style entered someone’s wardrobe and what she liked about it; the answer can reveal more than deciding which generation dressed best.

Sarawak keringkam brings the embroiderer into view

Sarawak deserves attention in its own right. A 2020 study by Awang Rozaimie and colleagues investigates the head coverings described as selayah and keringkam through interviews with makers and Malay elders. The authors explore distinctions between the terms and the challenges of passing on the craft. Their discussion itself shows why local names need care: descriptions and proposed distinctions do not automatically produce one settled classification. When examining an individual piece, ask its maker or custodian which name they use and how they distinguish its form, materials and embroidery.

Recognition also belongs to named practitioners. Kraftangan Malaysia’s master craftspeople register identifies Salbiah binti Muhi of Sarawak with keringkam embroidery and records her appointment in 2022. Including a maker’s name changes how we discuss heritage: the craft becomes work carried by a person, rather than an anonymous decorative effect.

A family workshop and an heirloom are different kinds of value

In Christina Thomas-Mamora’s 2023 interview with Noraini Zaidan, the Kuching embroiderer described learning keringkam from her two adoptive mothers at fifteen. The report shows metallic thread worked into rubia gauze stretched over a wooden frame. Noraini kept some pieces for her children and grandchildren rather than offering them for sale. For commissions, she explained that clients paid for thread as work progressed and could see the developing piece; payment for the embroidery followed completion. The amount of decoration affected the material required. Her account brings together skill, family memory and the practical cost of making, while preserving the distinction between a treasured family object and commissioned work.

A borrowed family piece may come with preferences about the occasion, who handles it and whether its story is shared publicly. Ask the owner to explain those wishes. If you are having new work made, let the embroiderer describe their design and process in their own terms. An appreciation of the finished pattern should include an appreciation of the time and judgement that produced it.

Continuity also depends on new learners

Yayasan Hasanah’s 2025 report on the ASPIRE programme describes Brooke Museums’ work with young learners at Sekolah Henry Gurney Puncak Borneo. Support included materials, workshops, museum visits and contact with experienced embroiderers and textile conservators. The report introduces Amran, who continued the craft and worked at Brooke Museums, stitching metallic thread into gauze. It also records his hope of eventually teaching others. This is the funder’s account of a particular programme and participant. It shows one practical route for transmitting knowledge: provide teaching, materials and opportunities to continue practising, then make room for the learner’s own ambitions.

That example widens the meaning of a living tradition. Admiring an old textile and supporting the next person who can make one are connected activities. When you share craft work, credit the practitioner and the teaching project where relevant. A precise account of how knowledge is being passed on can offer more than a dramatic claim that a tradition is either timeless or about to disappear.

Malaysian batik includes several ways of making a surface

Kraftangan Malaysia’s explanation of batik methods distinguishes batik lukis, where a canting applies wax to draw the design, from batik terap, where a block applies the wax pattern. It also identifies batik sutera saring, using a screen to apply wax, and alternative resist approaches. This is a helpful reminder to ask about the actual process. A screen can have a role within a wax-resist method; simply hearing the word “screen” does not describe every stage of production. Likewise, a floral appearance alone cannot tell you how a particular scarf was made.

You can appreciate a design on two levels: the image you see and the work that created it. Describe both when the information is available. For example, a maker might explain a drawn border, repeated blocks or a different resist process. Keep those explanations with a photograph of the piece so the method remains attached to the design. If the process is unknown, enjoy the pattern while leaving the technical description open. There is no need to give a confident craft label to every attractive cloth.

Rosliza Muhammad: a documented meeting of design traditions

A contemporary example comes from Rosalinda Md Said’s February 2026 interview with Rosliza Muhammad. The Kelantan batik maker, founder of Liza Creations, described developing tudung and selendang after a three-week learning visit to Turkey through a heritage textile fellowship. Tulips and the geometry of kilim carpets informed the collection, alongside the floral language of her own work. She explained the care needed to measure the squares for a symmetrical border and described spending several days drawing and colouring each piece. These are details of her reported process, not a production timetable for all batik.

Her example makes cultural exchange tangible: a particular maker encountered particular designs, then worked through how to adapt them. If you are developing your own interpretation, identify the precise feature that interests you. Is it the organisation of a border, a repeated shape or the relationship between drawn areas and open cloth? Keep a record of the source and your changes. That gives the finished work a more honest and interesting story than a vague claim that it combines every culture in Malaysia.

Nur Syafiqah Mohd Sanusi: family textiles can begin a new design story

In Atira Khalisha Nor Adnan’s July 2024 Bernama interview, artist and graphic designer Nur Syafiqah Mohd Sanusi traced her interest in batik imagery to seeing her grandmother’s cloth collection in Kelantan during a university break. Floral details became subjects for her realist paintings. She also described moving into textile design, including an earlier Merdeka scarf collaboration with dUCk. Her account includes an active research habit: consulting references or more knowledgeable people when interpreting heritage. This is an individual’s documented connection between family cloth, art training and contemporary design.

A family textile can be approached with similar curiosity without promising that everyone will find the same story. Ask who owned it, whether its maker is known and which memories are certain. Record uncertainty as well as recollection. You may discover that its importance comes from a person or event rather than great age. If you create something inspired by it, the new piece can carry that connection without pretending to be the original or assigning a symbolic meaning that no one in the family recognises.

Gold effects can tell quite different craft stories

Songket: pattern created within the weave

UNESCO’s account of Malaysian songket, inscribed in 2021, describes decorative weaving on a traditional two-pedal loom called a kek. Additional gold or silver threads create ornament against the underlying cloth. Its account identifies practitioners in the Malay Peninsula and Sarawak and describes the textile’s use in ceremonial clothing, including weddings and formal occasions. The skill lies in constructing the patterned textile through weaving. It is a different operation from passing an embroidery needle through an already formed cloth.

This distinction helps when describing an ensemble containing several decorated pieces. Ask which component is songket and who wove it, rather than applying the word to everything that glitters. If the head covering is embroidered and the accompanying cloth is woven, give each its own description. You can admire how they relate visually while recognising that they required different tools and skills. That attention also makes a conversation with the makers more specific: each can explain the decisions that belong to their work.

Telepuk: a design applied with adhesive and gold leaf

Another process appears in Bernama’s April 2026 interview with Farhani Shamsudin of PADAT, the Selangor Malay Customs and Heritage Corporation. She explained how a patterned block transfers adhesive to cloth before gold leaf is placed and brushed over the prepared areas. The resulting telepuk textile can be used for shawls, sashes and other garments or accessories. The interview also described PADAT’s use of computer-controlled technology to produce stamps, placing new tooling within an established decorative practice.

That example gives “traditional and modern” a more precise meaning. A tool used to prepare a pattern can change while the finished textile remains connected to a named technique. When reading a collection description, ask which stage has changed: drawing the design, preparing the tool or decorating the cloth. An explanation of that stage tells you much more than calling the entire piece either old-fashioned or innovative. It also gives you a useful question at a craft demonstration, where the sequence of work can be explained directly.

Contemporary design has more than one starting point

Malaysian modest fashion also has histories rooted in sewing and family enterprise. In a 2016 interview with Tuan Hasnah Tuan Yusoff, the founder of Sri Munawwarah Design described the business she established in 1992. Her daughter recalled clothes her mother had made for her, while Tuan Hasnah’s own account included further training during a period in Wellington and an early project supplying clothing for pilgrims. She also spoke about observing dress in London and adapting ideas for her design work. This wider clothing example places the headscarf within an ensemble and a working life, rather than treating it as an isolated fashion image.

There is room here for different design ambitions. One person may want continuity with a family sewing practice; another may focus on a new surface design or a different way of arranging cloth. When looking at a collection, try to identify what the designer is actually developing. Is the distinctive work in the pattern, the shape, the making process or the relationship between garments? Describing that contribution is more useful than automatically treating every new release as a break with tradition.

Women’s own accounts complicate a single national story

Boo Su-Lyn’s 2015 Malay Mail interviews bring together different reasons for wearing and designing tudung. Neelofa described an interest in ease and style through instant and semi-instant headscarves. Lawyer Azlina Azamuddin explained her decision to cover through personal religious conviction. A civil servant interviewed under the pseudonym Intan described pressure earlier in life alongside her later decision to continue wearing it. Lecturer Alicia Izharuddin, who did not cover her hair, challenged expectations of conformity. These are dated individual accounts, not a survey of all Malaysian women. Read together, they make it difficult to assign one experience to a whole population.

A 2020 study by Fauziyah Hanim Abdul Ree, Md Azalanshah Md Syed and Azizah Hamzah adds a closer qualitative view. Its researchers interviewed seven tudung entrepreneurs and seven consumers in selected Klang Valley locations. Participants expressed differing views about dress and moral judgement; one younger consumer argued that a person’s character could not be established from whether she covered her hair. Another connected modern scarf style with both religious requirements and fashion. The small, selected group offers evidence of discussion and disagreement within the setting studied. It cannot tell us how every age group, region or community thinks.

For everyday conversation, allow a woman to define the meaning of her own clothes. A compliment can recognise a design or a maker’s skill without assigning an identity to the wearer. If she wishes to explain a family tradition or religious commitment, listen to that account on its own terms. Equally, someone may simply want to get on with her day. Respect includes leaving room for an ordinary interaction that does not require her to become a spokesperson.

Bring cultural understanding into your personal style

Start with the feature you connect with. You might be drawn to a particular maker’s drawn border, the story of a family textile, or a form remembered from childhood. Give that connection a clear place in your thinking before gathering more references. An outfit does not need to contain every textile you admire. Choosing one meaningful detail can leave enough attention for its workmanship and for the rest of your own style.

Separate the decisions about heritage from the decisions about what you want to wear. First establish what the piece is and how its maker or owner describes it. Then decide what role it will have for you: everyday clothing, a family occasion, a commissioned design or something you study without wearing. Those are legitimate different relationships with a textile. A museum object can deepen your understanding even when you have no intention of recreating it.

For a family event, begin with the family’s actual wishes. Ask whether there is a specific piece, person or memory they hope to honour. If a relative offers an heirloom, discuss the proposed use together before organising photographs or alterations. A newly made scarf may allow a personal interpretation while the older object remains with its owner. The decision can be collaborative and affectionate, with room for both continuity and individual taste.

For a new design, give the maker a concise explanation of your interest. You might say that you admire the way a border frames a central field, then ask how they would develop an original arrangement. Invite them to explain their own ideas as well. A useful conversation recognises that a craftsperson is a creative contributor, with choices and expertise, rather than a means of reproducing an image as closely as possible.

Keep religious questions connected to the guidance you actually follow. Cultural familiarity, family preference and the appeal of a design are different parts of a decision, and one does not automatically answer the others. If you need a religious clarification, describe the real garment and your circumstances to an appropriate teacher. This leaves the cultural story available to appreciate without asking a fashion article or a national label to settle a personal matter of practice.

Keep learning through people as well as pictures

Choose one thread to follow further rather than collecting disconnected images. You could investigate a museum’s textile record, read a maker’s interview in full, or ask a relative about a particular headscarf. Write down the name, place and date attached to what you learn. These small details help keep Sarawak embroidery, a Kelantan batik design and a contemporary urban scarf collection recognisable as distinct contributions.

When sharing an image, use the description supplied by its maker or collection and credit the person responsible. Ask permission before publishing a private family photograph or a story someone shared informally. If you are browsing social platforms for contemporary references, our guide to Malaysian hijab ideas on X explains how to find and retain useful references. A saved image becomes more valuable when the name and context remain attached.

Malaysian khimar and tudung are rewarding subjects because the details lead back to people: a woman explaining her faith, an embroiderer deciding which pieces to keep, an artist returning to family cloth, or a learner becoming skilled enough to teach. Let that attention shape your own choices. You can enjoy contemporary style while remaining curious about the work, relationships and particular histories carried by the cloth.