A Stitch in Time: The Life and Legacy of Yan Ka-man, Master Cheongsam Tailor

A Stitch in Time: The Life and Legacy of Yan Ka-man, Master Cheongsam Tailor
Cheungsam master tailor Ka-man Yan displays photos of celebrities he has dressed in Hong Kong (Lau Wing Hong/The Epoch Times)
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The critically acclaimed film “In the Mood for Love” (2000) captured the essence of Hong Kong in the 1960s, it also showcased the elegance of the cheongsam. This traditional Chinese dress, known for its form-fitting silhouette and high collar, was featured prominently in the film.

Among the iconic wardrobe pieces worn by actress Maggie Cheung, were those crafted by the renowned cheongsam master, Ka-man Yan.

At 88, Yan is set to retire this September, concluding a remarkable 75-year career that has seen him dress countless celebrities and preserve a vital piece of cultural heritage.

A Lifetime of Dedication

Nestled in the Bowring Commercial Centre, a nostalgic enclave in Hong Kong’s Jordan district, Yan’s workshop, “Shanghai Po Shing Cheongsam Fashion,” is a time capsule of traditional craftsmanship. The shop’s dim lighting and vintage tools evoke an era long past, where meticulous handwork and artistic skill were paramount.

Yan, with his silver hair and lively demeanor, continues to work six days a week, embodying the spirit of relentless dedication.

“The cheongsam embodies a noble elegance,” Yan says, emphasizing the intricate craftsmanship that goes into each piece. “Every stitch has to be perfect; it’s not just about sewing but creating art.”

The cheongsam, also known as the qipao, is a traditional Chinese dress for women that features a high neck, fitted waist, and side slits. It is known for its ability to accentuate the wearer’s figure while exuding grace and sophistication.

With a thimble on a finger and a special thread line used to ensure neat stitches, Yan’s hands move with the precision of decades of practice, ensuring that every detail of the cheongsam is perfect.

Master Yan wears a tailor’s thimble on a finger and has a “slobber line” in his mouth. The latter is an indispensable tool for properly stitching cheongsam and flower buttons. (Lau Wing-hong/The Epoch Times)
Master Yan wears a tailor’s thimble on a finger and has a “slobber line” in his mouth. The latter is an indispensable tool for properly stitching cheongsam and flower buttons. (Lau Wing-hong/The Epoch Times)

From Apprentice to Master

Yan’s journey began at 13 when he moved from Yangzhong City, Jiangsu Province, to Hong Kong with his uncle, a tailor. The cheongsam industry then operated on a master-apprentice model, with skills passed down through careful observation and practice.

Yan started with menial tasks—mixing paste, fetching zippers—but gradually learned the delicate art of sewing under the watchful eye of his master.

“If you don’t learn properly, the master won’t let you touch the fabric,” Yan recalls.

Despite the challenges and the high cost of materials, he persevered, driven by the promise of a better life.

“Being an apprentice was tough, but I was determined. I used to think, ‘As long as I can learn this craft, I will have a future.’”

The apprenticeship was grueling, but it provided a steady income and, importantly for Yan, a chance to eat rice, a luxury compared to the porridge he was used to in his village, and a roof over his head.

Master Yan recalled his time in the trade in the past. (Lau Wing-hong/The Epoch Times)
Master Yan recalled his time in the trade in the past. (Lau Wing-hong/The Epoch Times)

The Golden Era of the Cheongsam

The 1960s marked the heyday of the cheongsam in Hong Kong, with wealthy families, particularly those from Shanghai, making the city their home. Yan often visited these families to take measurements for custom orders, a service highly valued by those who preferred to be served and measured in the privacy of their homes.

The cheongsam’s close-fitting design, emphasizing the wearer’s curves, made it a sought-after garment for both socialites and nightclub hostesses.

“The rich ladies rarely went out; they’d call me to their homes for fittings,” Yan explains. “It was important to get every measurement just right, especially the waistline. The cheongsam was not just clothing; it was a statement.”

Maggie Cheung, in her role in “In the Mood for Love,” wore a variety of beautifully tailored cheongsams, many of which were Yan’s creations. “Seeing my work on screen, especially on someone like Maggie Cheung, was a proud moment. It showed that the cheongsam still had a place in modern storytelling,” Yan reflects.

However, the industry’s decline began after the 1967 riots in Hong Kong, organized by local CCP loyalists against the British administration.

This period of civil unrest led to an exodus of wealthy families and a corresponding drop in demand for custom-made cheongsams. Rising rents and the closure of silk and satin suppliers further eroded the market, yet Yan’s reputation for quality kept his business afloat.

Among his many creations, Yan fondly remembers a red wedding dress he made for his cousin’s daughter. The dress was so admired that several of her friends borrowed it for their weddings. Later, the cousin’s daughter used it before it was donated to the Hong Kong Museum of History.

Master Yan works in a tight space. Despite his age, he is still full of energy. (Lau Wing-hong/The Epoch Times)
Master Yan works in a tight space. Despite his age, he is still full of energy. (Lau Wing-hong/The Epoch Times)

Preserving a Dying Art

As the last remaining cheongsam tailor in Bowring Commercial Centre, Yan is acutely aware of his role as a custodian of this traditional craft.

His work is recognized as part of Hong Kong’s intangible cultural heritage, a testament to its historical and cultural significance. With his retirement approaching, he reflects on the future of cheongsam making.

He remains hopeful, particularly about younger generations embracing and updating the style. “As long as there is someone to continue, there is hope,” Yan says, advocating for modern interpretations of the cheongsam to keep the tradition alive. “The cheongsam has a timeless beauty. It’s important that we pass it on to the next generation.”

Yan’s commitment to teaching has been a significant part of his later years. Since 2013, he has collaborated with a tailoring professional center to impart his knowledge to students eager to learn this intricate craft.

His students, he notes, show a deep interest in cheongsam making, and he praises their determination and skill. “They have the passion, and that’s what matters. With the right tools and guidance, they can do great things.”

A Cheongsam on display with Master Yan in the background. (Lau Wing-hong/The Epoch Times)
A Cheongsam on display with Master Yan in the background. (Lau Wing-hong/The Epoch Times)

A Legacy of Elegance

Yan’s workshop is adorned with two portraits gifted by his students, one inscribed with “Renowned for his brilliant robes, the maker excels in embroidery, surpassing all others.”

These tributes reflect the high regard in which he is held by those he has taught and worked with over the years. His influence extends beyond the walls of his small shop, leaving an indelible mark on Hong Kong’s cultural landscape.

As Yan prepares to retire, he does so with the satisfaction of knowing he has contributed significantly to preserving and promoting the cheongsam. His legacy is not just in the garments he has crafted but in the skills and passion he has passed on to future generations.

In a world where fast fashion often overshadows traditional craftsmanship, Yan’s story is a poignant reminder of the beauty and value of craftsmanship.

In his quiet, unassuming way, Yan has stitched together more than just fabric; he has woven a narrative of dedication, resilience, and cultural pride.

As he steps back from the sewing table, the hope is that others will pick up the needle and thread, continuing the tradition he has so lovingly maintained.