Morning suits felt generic, so I wore national dress to Royal Ascot

As a menswear editor, I'm approached nearly every year to write some kind of men's style guide for Royal Ascot – and I always decline. The uniform for each enclosure has changed only in small degrees for the best part of a century, so it rarely piques my interest. At least they allow divorcees these days.
The pomp and ceremony surrounding such occasions are meant to show a country and its people at their best, so 'national dress' – the most symbolic, patriotic attire worn for official events – is de rigueur. But what many top-hatted chaps wilting beneath their starched collars and tailcoats don't realise is that there's more than one uniform to wear to Royal Ascot.
I'm lucky enough to be invited to the Royal Enclosure every year, and each time I admire the guests who reject the generic look and instead adopt national dress – a long-standing part of Ascot's stylistic heritage. For example, traditional dress includes the Japanese wearing kimonos and guests from the Arab world in thawbs. It made me wonder: why am I here wearing another man's clothes?
While I was born British, my bloodlines stretch much further afield. My parents were born in what was then British Malaya – now Malaysia – and I am Malaysian Chinese and Malaysian Indian (that's the short version); two groups that have long contributed to the rich melting pot of Malaysian culture.
To me, nationality is what's on your passport, but heritage and ethnicity are rooted in the lands you are culturally tied to. So, while I'm British by nationality, I consider myself Malaysian, Chinese and Indian – and I'm proud of all three.
When I was growing up in the UK, in a predominantly white area, I was the token Asian kid. People would ask me where I was from, but it was usually out of curiosity rather than hostility. Nowadays, in our PC–obsessed times, when Caucasians ask where I'm from, I respond by asking whether they want to know where I live or what my ethnicity is. They're often mortified by the suggestion that they're really enquiring about my ethnicity – and I have no idea why (look at my face and listen to my accent; something doesn't add up). If you don't ask, you don't learn – and that's key to understanding our fellow humans.
But I digress. Back to the task at hand – an ensemble for Royal Ascot. I began looking into the logistics of wearing the national dress of my heritage. Strangely, it seemed a rather grey area within the very defined dress code guidelines on the Ascot website, which states: 'Overseas visitors are welcome to wear the formal national dress of their country… if your national dress does not include a headpiece, then you do not need to wear one.'
Overseas? What if you culturally identify with an 'overseas' nation but don't hold its citizenship?
I wrote to the Ascot PR board to clarify this. It took some time, but I eventually received a response stating that I was welcome to wear the national dress of my heritage 'as long as it adheres to the national dress codes of that nation.' Okay, clear enough. For me, that meant the Baju Melayu – traditionally Malay attire but worn by all races at official government ceremonies. While I am not ethnically Malay, according to the guidelines, this was what would pass muster with the Royal Enclosure stewards – and hopefully not send them into a clammy sweat when deciding whether to admit me.
The Baju Melayu developed from Islamic clothing in 15th-century Malacca, when North Indian traders came to the Malay peninsula, which is why it resembles the salwar kameez – the long tunic shirt style and flowing trousers common in South and Central Asia. This coordinated two-piece suit is wrapped with a samping at the waist – a short sarong-like garment made from an ornate silk-cotton brocade fabric known as songket, traditionally woven with gold or silver threads on wooden looms in a vast array of patterns, each with its own significance.
The headgear is either a songkok – a black fez-like lozenge-shaped cap – or, for the most regal occasions, the tanjak or tengkolok, which is essentially a songket fabric crown wrapped around the head; each Malaysian state has its own specific shape. The style I'm sporting here is from Kedah – originally the historic state of Penang Island, where my mother hails from.
I could also have worn the Perak tanjak in homage to my father's home state, but I didn't like the shape as much. And I can attest it's a lot more airy than a topper, thanks to its open-crown design. It's a pretty fine-looking outfit, and I shall be proud to wear it to shine a spotlight on this lesser-known national dress – and hopefully be a little more comfortable in the often sultry weather at the racecourse.
If anything, I'd like to encourage more attendees of such occasions to do the same. If you don't practice your cultural customs, they're soon consumed by the tidal wave of globalisation. Several decades ago, on my first visit to the Big Apple (New York City), I visited the Ellis Island museum and was struck by the displays of parcels wrapped with all manner of different knots. I learnt that immigration officials could tell where people hailed from just by the way they had knotted the string on their luggage.
All these cultural quirks and nuances have long been lost in the mists of time. But I hope we can at least preserve our national dress, wherever we hail from, to celebrate the differences that make up the rich tapestry of human culture – before the world morphs into one generic white Gap T-shirt. Or standard morning suit, in this instance.
How did it go on the day? On the drive to the racecourse, the first hurdle in my mind was entering the Royal Enclosure in a mode of dress that probably isn't very familiar to the stewards. But it passed without ceremony. They barely batted an eyelid. They were more concerned about the possibility of me smuggling in food in my raffia bag (but didn't even want to look in my Tanjak).
After passing the gilded gates, I couldn't shake off the swarm of photographers – mildly annoying, as I needed to pee after spending two hours in a car from east London, trying to sit in a way that wouldn't wrinkle my clothes.
Walking through the grounds of the Royal Enclosure and stepping into the turf-level Summerhouse, I received many smiling, admiring and curious glances, but no one approached me. Perhaps they thought I didn't speak English – or more likely, were too timid for fear of putting a foot wrong. A colleague informed me that, in this locale, people are concerned about breaching protocol. Perhaps they thought I was some minor Sumatran princeling.
It was a different story once the booze started flowing. Several top-hatted and fascinator-clad couples came over to compliment me – and they knew what it was. 'I lived in Singapore in 1988/1991/etc – it's beautiful.' One chap, part of an all-male group in toppers, came up to say, 'You look a damn sight better than us.'
But of course, the biggest fans were women. They had competition with their headgear, after all. Endless pictures. And compliments. I also received several curtsies, which made me chuckle. Who did they think I was?!
Later, while wandering around Car Park 3 searching for my driver, I heard a familiar lilt shout, 'You're Malaysian!' It was another driver (not mine, sadly), from Kuala Lumpur, who was thrilled with my outfit. 'I've not seen this for years. Thank you for promoting our culture,' he said. It was probably my happiest memory from the day – even though we were standing on a sun-baked patch of dusty gravel.

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