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Sahibs, Bibi aur salam
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FASHION When she turned up at the London College of Fashion in the '70s, people looked askance at the young Bangladeshi girl. BHUMIKA K. traces Bibi Russell's success story
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Never say fashion is for one class Bibi Russell
FASHION EXOTICA Bibi Russell drew a lot of curiosity because of her subcontinental origins Photo: Bhagya Prakash K.
It must have been an intense homing impulse that charmed Bibi Russell off the ramps of Paris into the villages of Bangladesh. How else would one describe the dramatic homecoming of a supermodel who was all over Vogue and Harper's Bazaar, to live amidst the squalor and poverty of weavers in her motherland? Are beauty queens who swore by Mother Teresa and then signed up blockbusters in Bollywood listening?
"Having grown up in Bangladesh, my eyes were full of its colour, beauty and culture. I didn't understand it when people said it was a country of poverty," shrugs Bibi Russel, smiling to reveal her uneven, nicotine-stained teeth. But it's easy to imagine how the five-foot-ten dusky beauty with her high cheekbones would have set hearts afire in the 1970s when she graduated from the London College of Fashion, only to be snapped up for modelling assignments by the likes of Yves Saint Laurent and Giorgio Armani. Even today she looks exotic, wearing designer khadi, loads of finger rings, trinkets and charms on her hands, a sexy nose-ring and a great attitude to boot.
Turning fashion designer in 1994, she was back home, catapulting the phrase `Fashion for Development' into fashion's rarefied arena. She now provides work to over 35,000 weavers in the perennially flood-hit Bangladesh to create a fashion line at her Bibi Productions, finding buyers the world over for her bright handloom miniskirts and other fashion gear. Even the shoes her models wear on ramp and buttons on the clothes are hand-made in grambangla. Bibi was in Bangalore recently to show off exotic tunics and stark pink shirts — a special men's collection at the Castle India Men's Fashion Fair.
In a chat with MetroPlus, Bibi reminisces how modelling took her places, and allowed her to talk on couture, learn the craft and technique of the fashion world. "I always knew I was going to come back. I wanted to make my dreams come true," says Bibi, in her thick Bangla accent. "No one asked me to come. But I had to feel there is nothing else I want to do. Today, I'm using what I learnt during my modelling career in Europe. I don't only do fashion, I show the positive Bangladesh."
She's been elected UNESCO's ambassador to promote Fashion for Development and travels to India often. She vociferously protests when I suggest that fashion and development are opposites because fashion is of, for and by the elite. "Everyone uses a cloth to cover their pride," she says drawing her stole across her chest to suggest what she means. And waits with a raised eyebrow for impact. "Never say fashion is for one class. Everyone buys it whether it's for 30 taka or 3,000."
She cheerfully confesses that Bangladeshi weavers looked at her with suspicion when she wished to work with them. They automatically assumed she was one of those pseudo do-gooders who was doing it for the cameras to get famous. "I had to convince them how I had left everything behind, given up all my luxuries, my stardom, for them. I told them, `You are my stars'. This convincing took time."
She sold her house and possessions to fund her dream. She lived in the villages and the jet-setting supermodel travelled by road, because it was a self-funded project. "People sell poverty. I sold the beauty in poverty," is how she explains her work.
Weavers of a region that had produced the legendary fine yards of muslin that could be contained in a tiny matchbox before the days of the Raj could also not accept easily that they could do other things with their looms.
"Handloom gives me the same joy that a handwritten letter does; its beauty is unique and it lasts forever," as she puts it.
Bibi won critical acclaim at the London Fashion Week the first time she showed her khadi (or khaddor as they say) and handloom collection, got Harrods to stock up her designs, and had an eventful debut in the U.S. too.
She strictly believes that fashion can be used for the development of a country. "For developing countries like India, Bangladesh and Pakistan, after agriculture, the largest industry is craft. You can't better a country without improving its craft," says Bibi firmly. "I salute workmanship." And she shows it too. Even the thick deep maroon and brown bangles she wears so stylishly are hewn from water hyacinth fibre, made by villagers back home.
She owes a lot in her life, especially in the volatile world of fashion, to being a Bangladeshi girl. Growing up on Tagore's poetry and imbibing all aspects of Bengali art in a culturally inclined family, helped her stay rooted. "People were curious about me and my looks, and would ask, `You can speak English?' and I would snap back and ask: `What do you think?'" she laughs, with a tilt of her head.
It wasn't easy making it to the London College of Fashion as the first ever Bangladeshi girl who turned up for admissions in the '70s. "It was a struggle. The college didn't want me because I didn't have enough O and A levels. They finally agreed to give me a chance on the condition that I would be allowed to stay depending on my performance in the first six months. I had to grab that chance. Today they spread out the red carpet for me."
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