🌈 Culture in the Clutter
On the historical significance of colour and Southeast Asian opulence
From scattered Sony Angels and glossy laser stickers to varnish-worn trinkets and mismatched memorabilia, the organised chaos of maximalism has rippled its way into mainstream media. Many consider its resurgence today as self-medication for isolation during the pandemic and nostalgia for the ‘golden years’ of a simpler, happier childhood. However, maximalism and vivid colour never really felt like they left for some of us. The protest against identical ‘greige’ picket-fence housing and white-collarish fashion outside of work is simply a parallel narrative on the history of clutter and colour.
Colour in Colonialism
Minimalism was once the pinnacle of wealth and intelligence. In the West, vivid colours were historically criticised. Aristotle saw colour as pharmakon, a poison that polluted profundity. Similarly, late 18th-century writer Johann Wolfgang von Goethe similarly expressed, “Savage nations, uneducated people, and children have a great predilection for vivid colours… People of refinement avoid vivid colours in their dress and the objects that are about them.”
Colour was a language of the primitive, juvenile, feminine, and irrational. Of course, the educated were too busy advancing the modern world to care about such superficialities, while labourers couldn’t afford to keep their linens pristine and perfume-washed.
When they were first excavated, Grecco-Roman statues appeared white. No traces of hues could be found, so traditionalist historians were all too pleased with this proof of white superiority. In reality, these polychromatic marble masterpieces simply faded over time. Of course, this wasn’t popular information because the elite high-brow society seemed satisfied enough with the discovery.
Sometime during the 19th century, this conviction crumbled. The introduction of colour as a status symbol only furthered the slave trade. Upon the discovery of Indigofera, a plant native to India and South America, Europeans rushed to plant this cash crop in their settlements. The indigo fever weaved its way into tapestries and royalty, built on a dependence on exploitation. Barely any money was given to indigo growers in exchange for richly pigmented Victorian ball gowns and parasols. This attraction for grandeur and pre-industrial maximalism was in practically everything, with craftmanship in Rococo architecture and ornamental art. Undeniably, the materials for these could have only been sourced with their colonies wrung dry.
Southeast Asian Opulence
More-is-more has always been the philosophy of Southeast Asia. Warm-toned wood with elaborate carvings were honed crafts of generational woodworkers. Gold and multicoloured fibres were woven into patterned batik and other fabrics with complex motifs. Homes were bursting with knickknacks. All of these form integral aspects of pre-colonial Southeast Asian opulence.
Many cultures like that of the Filipino people deck their homes with sentimental doodads and hold on to long broken objects “just in case” they’re needed in the future. Heirlooms, family photos, plates for the guests, and a giant calendar for everybody’s plans. Easy. Stuff it in there. This practice isn’t surface-level either; it extends to graves and ancestral shrines engulfed in abundant offerings of food and flowers, every nook and cranny cramped with declarations of love and devotion.
Ironically, Western maximalism now serves as an exploration of individualism, whereas its roots in Southeast Asia were a product of community and a fervent adoration for sentimentality. The (Southeast) Asian identity was most defined by tribe and by family, in generationally passed down homes and the youth tasked to stay in their nest to care for their elders.
After WWI and WWII, people felt loss and want. A collective horror vacui, or a fear of empty spaces, was present in those who experienced deprivation or poverty, but having more than you needed was a luxury. This translated into cluttercore maximalism of sorts that had been chalked up to the lower economic class’ desire to feel lavish and wealthy. Life-size toys, beautiful religious figurines, and lots of items that only money could buy.
"The common Filipino is a maximalist, filling up every available space with forms and things. It springs from an expressive exuberance deeply rooted in emotional sensitivity and the strong urge to connect.”
Maximalism at present
Our cultural bubbles are no longer airtight, and globalism has come to influence the maximalism we know today. While East Asian styles like Harajuku can more directly be credited for the new wave of maximalism in fashion with FRUiTS Magazine and K-pop over-the-topness, it’s simply worth noting that it’s been constant for some.
Today, industrialism and the transition from iron oxide tints—discontinued due to health risks—to oil-based enamels have further contributed to the dullness of paint. Don’t be mistaken, there are more colours now than ever. It’s just that an AI-generated floor plan against plain walls is perfect for apartment sales, cheaper copy-paste housing is enough to satisfy the government and boom private construction revenue, and the clean girl aesthetic is alive and well, breathing through the plasterboards. For the time being, now that the dominant Western upper class has found taste in the bold and loud, maximalism is here to stay.
horror vacui is such an interesting term, I'm stealing this (also know as kenophobia!).
Another brilliant article! We missed you last month :)