One Bead at a Time

A pair of handmade Nyonya shoes can take three months to complete, with tiny glass beads stitched into elaborate patterns one by one. Once an essential expression of Peranakan identity and status, these ornate shoes are now made by only a small number of artisans. In his George Town workshop, Tan Kok Oo continues a craft that rewards good eyesight, steady hands and a heroic amount of patience.

Three months. That is how long it can take Tan Kok Oo to make a single pair of Nyonya beaded shoes. In that time, fast fashion could launch a collection, declare it unfashionable and replace it with another one. Mr Tan would still be calmly stitching tiny glass beads onto the first shoe – and probably searching for the occasional bead that had made a successful escape.

Tan Kok Oo’s shophouse stands in the middle of George Town’s busy Armenian Street, partly hidden behind stalls selling souvenirs and cold drinks. Its worn exterior gives little indication of its reputation among Penang locals. Inside, Mr Tan has been making traditional Nyonya beaded shoes since the 1970s, apparently untroubled by the fact that the street outside has become considerably more interested in refrigerator magnets.

I found him seated at a table crowded with leather swatches, trimmings, wooden shoe lasts, scissors, hammers, pattern drawings, pots of glue and bottles of beads. It looked as though a shoe workshop, a bead shop and a small hardware store had agreed to share one table. Yet whenever Mr Tan reached for something, it was exactly where he expected it to be. The chaos, clearly, was organised; only the visitors required guidance.

My previous encounter with a strict “No photos” policy at a shoemaker’s workshop in Melaka made me approach with some caution. Mr Tan, however, was proud to share his work. “I am happy for people to come and see my shoes, and take photos to show to their friends,” he explained. For a photographer, this was an encouraging welcome – and considerably better than being shown the door.

He disappeared briefly and returned carrying a pair made for a client. The surface shimmered with an intricate beaded design, its colours and motifs carefully balanced. Each pair is created individually, combining the customer’s preferences with Mr Tan’s eye for pattern and proportion. They are shoes, certainly, but they make a strong argument for spending more time looking at feet.

Mr Tan learned the craft from his uncle. As he assembled pieces of leather, he explained that making Nyonya shoes is slow and demanding, particularly the beadwork. An elaborate pair can take around three months to complete. Fast fashion, this is not. Even moderately paced fashion would struggle to qualify.

The work begins with a design and a selection of colours. Tiny faceted glass beads, known as manek potong, are stitched by hand, one by one, onto cross-stitch fabric stretched across a rectangular wooden frame. Once the pattern is complete, the beaded panel is fitted to the upper and attached to the sole. The smaller the beads, the finer and more detailed the result – and the greater the strain on both the eyes and the budget.

By the time I visited, the sixty-year-old craftsman had students helping with some of the painstaking beadwork. The designs, however, remained his. He chose how colours would interact, how motifs would fill the curved upper and how the finished shoe would look from a distance as well as close up. Assistance could share the stitching; the creative decisions still belonged to Mr Tan.

Known variously as Nyonya shoes, Peranakan shoes or kasut manek in Malay, beaded shoes developed within the Peranakan communities of the Straits of Melaka.

The Peranakans are descendants of early Chinese settlers whose culture evolved through centuries of interaction with the Malay world, particularly in Penang, Melaka and Singapore. Their clothing, food, architecture and decorative arts reflect this layered inheritance.

Beadwork and embroidery were traditionally important skills for Nyonya women, learned from a young age. In the past, beaded shoes were worn by both Peranakan men, known as Baba, and women, known as Nyonya. Today they are mainly associated with women and worn for weddings, birthdays, Chinese New Year and other special occasions. Colour also carries meaning: shoes intended for mourning traditionally use black, white or blue beads.

The shoes reached the height of their popularity around the 1930s.

By the time of my visit, Mr Tan said he was barely breaking even, despite prices beginning at about US$180 a pair. The figure sounds substantial until one remembers the months of work involved. Divided bead by bead, it becomes a rather less extravagant proposition.

Mr Tan refused to lower his standards to compete with cheaper footwear. He used quality glass beads from Japan and natural leather from Singapore rather than inexpensive PVC. Regular customers commissioned shoes with square, rounded or pointed toes and low or high heels. They could select a motif from his catalogue or bring their own ideas for the pattern, colours, soles and heels. Custom-made meant exactly that.

A finished pair is both footwear and a small piece of portable art. Yet the patience required to make it is increasingly at odds with a market accustomed to buying shoes quickly and replacing them just as quickly. The tradition survives because artisans such as Mr Tan continue to design, teach and stitch, even when the economics offer little encouragement.

When I looked again at the beaded shoes on his table, their price no longer seemed the most remarkable thing about them. What mattered was the accumulation of tiny decisions and tiny stitches, repeated over several months until they became something luminous and complete. Fashion may rediscover Nyonya shoes one day. In Mr Tan’s workshop, they had never gone out of style.