In the past, Tet (Vietnamese New Year) didn't arrive with brightly colored shopping bags. Tet arrived with time. Tet gave its first signal when Grandma opened her worn wooden chest to touch the "sediments" of time; Tet opened the courtyard gate when Grandpa began pruning the leaves of the yellow apricot blossoms. For so many years, we've donned colorful clothes to celebrate Tet and the Spring Festival, yet we still linger on the question, "What is the red thread in our Tet attire, that makes us long to wear Grandma's clothes?" That thread doesn't lie dormant at the bottom of the chest; it weaves through generations, connecting the sacred rituals of the past with the serene beauty of the present.
Ultimately, Tet is a homecoming. And clothing is the first language of that journey.
Clothing is a flow of time.
According to the research in "A Thousand Years of Clothing and Headwear " by scholar Tran Quang Duc, traditional Vietnamese clothing is closely linked to the agricultural calendar and the "material life cycle." Fabrics are woven seasonally, dyed according to natural sunlight and wind, and tailored to each person's status and the occasion. Having a new outfit to wear for Tet (Lunar New Year) is the culmination of months of preparation and a year's worth of saving. Our ancestors didn't "buy" Tet clothes in the modern sense; they created them. Every stitch carries a clear meaning: this is clothing for the ceremonial beginning of the new year.
In traditional society, clothing was never a matter of whim. Color, material, length, and the way it was tied all spoke of ritual. Tet (Lunar New Year) was a rare occasion when all social classes were elevated to a more formal level than usual. New clothes were not just for aesthetics, but to show respect to ancestors and to the sacred moment of transition between seasons.
Memories in every thread
I remember that every December, my grandmother would take me to the market to buy bundles of fabric for making Tet clothes. She would take her time carefully selecting, touching each thread, asking about durability, and whether the colors would fade in the wind and rain. Shopping back then was an act of knowledge, even though people in the past didn't call it by such a fancy name. It was based on an understanding of the materials and a belief: Tet clothes aren't for just one day, but for memories.
The subtle disruption of the fast-paced era.
Today, Tet (Vietnamese Lunar New Year) arrives at the speed of a mouse click. We walk into shopping malls, browsing through countless "Holiday Collection" and "Lunar Edit" displays. Shopping has become instantaneous and highly personal. This reflects the freedom of an open society. But within this speed, there is a subtle disconnect: Tet attire is gradually being detached from its deeper cultural context, becoming a short-lived visual signal rather than an integral part of the living ritual.
The biggest difference between the past and present lies not in the style, but in the mindset regarding time. In the past, wearing Tet (Lunar New Year) clothing marked the beginning of a long cycle, where the garment was cherished, preserved, and even passed down through generations. Today, many Tet outfits are created for a single photo opportunity, then disappear with the holiday season.
Touching heritage in new ways.
I remember my grandmother when I need moments of quiet reflection. I wonder why I keep thinking about the dress in her wooden chest. I search for answers to my longing for the linen ao dai she used to wear on the 30th night of the lunar year when offering incense to our ancestors. I wonder, amidst the countless choices of high fashion or ready-made clothing, do I ever take a few seconds to think: What am I wearing, and why? An outfit, whether bought at an old village market or in a modern boutique, only truly embodies the spirit of heritage when the wearer is aware of its value. It's a blessing sent through its materials and colors.
Today's Tet (Lunar New Year) doesn't need to be a complete return to the past. But it does need a connecting thread. When choosing a design for the first day of Tet, we decide to pause for a moment, touch the fabric as our grandmother used to do, and ask: "How long will this outfit stay with me?"
We believe that, in that moment, the heritage began to come alive again.
We no longer open her wooden chest. But each Lunar New Year, when we choose to dress in a familiar color, a premium material, we understand that we are continuing an ancient tradition in a modern way: Shopping not just to possess, but to cherish and enter the new year with the deepest appreciation for ourselves.
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