Silk and skill: Meet the Chinese sisters who’ve made Malay kebayas in Geylang Serai for 40 years

SINGAPORE – Mandarin chatter fills the small shop, mingling with the rustle of pattern paper, the soft nip of shears and the steady whir of sewing machines. Yet, when customers drop by with clothes to alter or ideas for custom pieces, tailors Cassandra and Carol Chong switch effortlessly to Malay to discuss fabrics, cut and fit.

The sisters are familiar faces at Joo Chiat Complex, where they have run Cassandra Fashions for more than 40 years.

The shopping centre in the heart of Geylang Serai – one of Singapore’s oldest Malay enclaves – is known for its traditional Malay goods. And the Chong sisters are believed to be the first Chinese tailors here to specialise in traditional Malay women’s attire, crafting garments such as baju kurung and kebayas. They also sell outfits for men and boys, altering them if necessary.

Their shop has been especially busy over the past few months, as business peaks each year ahead of Hari Raya Aidilfitri. Families would order sets of matching outfits in coordinated fabrics, sometimes with several outfits per person.

“Typically, it takes about three weeks to make a set of clothes, and up to three months when orders pile up before Hari Raya Aidilfitri,” says 70-year-old Cassandra in Mandarin, explaining that she does not offer express services.

Clients do not mind the wait. Some regulars do not even try their new clothes to see if they fit. “They say, ‘No need, I trust you’,” says Carol, 60.

The Chong sisters grew up helping out in the shop their father opened in the Geylang Serai neighbourhood in 1976 and learnt Malay from interacting with customers. Back then, they sold sarongs, batik, wigs and chaddar, the bedsheets that Malays often purchase for weddings.

As the business flourished, Cassandra – the third of five sisters – decided to learn tailoring to expand the shop’s offerings, as customers frequently asked for not just alterations, but also custom-made garments.

The family eventually pivoted their business and in 1984, they moved into the newly built Joo Chiat Complex. They have been there ever since.

Carol, the youngest of the sisters, came on board later after her husband closed his fast-food business. “That is why the signboard does not have my name,” she jokes in Mandarin.

These days, Cassandra mainly drafts patterns with customers’ measurements and cuts fabrics while Carol assembles and stitches the garments. A team of seamstresses, some of whom have worked with them for the past 25 years, helps share the workload.

Over the decades, the sisters have dressed generations of customers for festive seasons and special occasions, from weddings and birthdays to full-month celebrations for newborns.

They remember their regulars’ preferences and keep the paper patterns drawn to their measurements.

A customer walks into the shop while the sisters are chatting with The Straits Times, and they greet her warmly as she introduces her brother’s young daughter, who has tagged along.

The customer needs a grey outfit for an occasion on Saturday – something off the rack that the sisters will alter to fit her perfectly.

Cassandra recalls that customer first came to them as a young woman before leaving Singapore to study medicine. Now practising in London, she makes it a point to stop by the shop whenever she is back in town, often bringing along new family members.

Like the shop’s signage and the shopping centre itself, the Chong sisters’ methods carry echoes of an earlier era.

As she drafts, Cassandra instinctively reaches for two thin iron plates that she uses to precisely trace out curved lines for cuffs and sleeves.

For most garments, she explains, the sleeve openings at the front are smaller while the back near the shoulder blades must be broader, so the arms can move freely. “If the back curve is too deep, the sleeve will feel tight.”

The custom-made plates Cassandra uses were given to her by her instructor in the 1970s, when she attended a tailoring school in Toa Payoh. At that time, it was customary for teachers to pass down modified tools meant to help students learn.

When she is done with the pattern drafts, Cassandra reaches for a pair of scissors. “This is from 1984,” she says. “We have bought and broken many pairs of scissors over the years, but this one is the best; it does not rust.”

Even so, it has had several adjustments. Its handles, for instance, are wrapped in coloured cloth to cushion the grip for smaller hands. “These tools are not designed for women’s hands – they are too big, so we have to adapt to our needs,” she says with a laugh.

Since good, durable tools are hard to come by, the Chong sisters protect theirs fiercely. They never use their prized pair of vintage scissors to cut sequins or beads.

“We would remove all of them, painstakingly, from the fabric before cutting,” Carol says. “Scissors that cut through sequins and beads will go blunt – and no amount of sharpening can reverse that.”

They also keep dozens of cheap, old-style scissors as backups, discarding them after just one use if necessary. “We don’t want to ruin our only pair of good scissors,” Cassandra adds.

Cassandra says that much of what she knows comes from reading fashion magazines, listening carefully to what customers want, and learning through trial and error.

“You learn the perfection yourself,” she adds, describing that this is how many artisans of her generation honed their skills.

Carol, meanwhile, picked up the trade largely by watching Cassandra work.

The sisters say sewing traditional Malay attire, in itself, is not difficult. The real challenge is handling the fabrics. Delicate materials such as chiffon and silk slip easily under the scissors and sewing machines, so they must work slowly and carefully to avoid stretching or damaging the cloth during the process.

Wedding garments made from songket – a traditional handwoven fabric shot through with gold or silver threads, often for ceremonial occasions – are even more time-consuming to make. Such garments come with multiple layers, intricate lacework and heavy beading, and they demand painstaking craftsmanship and meticulous attention to detail.

Decades behind the sewing machine have made the sisters more than just tailors. Many customers have come to regard them as part of their family, sharing with them their joys and sorrows.

A customer, Cassandra says, once called her and started crying. His wife, who had battled cancer for 10 years, had passed away.

“They were our long-time customers and we remember them as a loving couple. So when the husband said, ‘At home now, I am all alone.’ We tried our best to console him.”

Another vivid memory involves a woman who arrived carrying her late mother’s kebaya, asking the sisters to alter it to fit her. “Her mother loved kebaya,” Carol recalls.

They were surprised that the daughter had kept the piece, which the sisters believe they made back in the 1980s or 90s. It was still in excellent condition.

In those days, fabrics such as kasa rubiah – a lightweight, semi-sheer fabric valued for its breathable texture and soft drape – were expensive but durable. They can last 20 years or more and still look stunning.

Factory-made apparel comes in standard sizes, but the sisters not only know the secrets to a good fit, but also prefer to leave extra allowance at the seams. This way, garments can be altered later, whether to accommodate weight changes, a design refresh, or be passed down in the family.

The sisters have seen tastes and fashion change over the years, too. In the 1980s, women wore corsets beneath their kebaya. Today, many prefer full linings and looser cuts for comfort and modesty.

Seasoned customers can sometimes recognise their handiwork at a glance.

“We are not quite sure how they do it,” Cassandra says. “Some tell us it is the cut, which they find beautiful. Others say it is because the fit is simply better.”