Magazine # 33
RELEASE DATE: 2013-10-01
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EDITORIAL BY AMARU VILLANUEVA RANCE
One of the symbolic objectives behind the campaign that took Evo Morales to power in 2006 was to move towards a ‘gobierno de poncho y corbata’; a government equally made up of new indigenous leaders (represented by the poncho), and mestizo leaders of the prevailing political class (represented by the corbata, or tie). The party leaders could just as easily have heralded a government era of ‘pollera y vestido’, the corresponding symbolic female garms. But they didn’t. While racial and social inequality was strong on the agenda, gender was not a salient political issue. As it happens, the President-elect wore neither a poncho nor a tie during his first diplomatic tour, but rather a plainish stripy jumper which quickly became iconic around the world. It was telling that the person spearheading the ascent of an indigenous political class opted for an outfit more representative of a hybrid urban class with a dual heritage—at once rural and urban. While the government still denies the existence of a mestizo identity, it has certainly found its own cultural and aesthetic expressions. From formal suits with prominent aguayo details, to imported second-hand clothing repurposed and appropriated for the local market—Bolivia has become a point of confluence for diverse fashions spanning time and territory. Rather than harmoniously meeting in new aesthetic expressions, what we are witnessing more closely resembles a series of uncontrolled explosions. Austere indigenous colour pallets combine with neon and glitter, giving way to beautifully monstrous creations. Fashion trends seem to be driven by kitsch, chaos and entropy, rather than by an elite cloister of designers and models. We have chosen to steer away from the few catwalks and established haute couture names in the country to pay more attention at fashion which originates and takes place on the streets: military tattoos, counterfeit clothing, second-hand gems from El Alto market, cholita clothes, traditional hairdressers, and even an emerging fashion brand inspired by a ‘rap-rave’ South African band. If we are to find the true expressions of what fashion means in the Bolivian context, it is needful to look at the people and movements that define the local aesthetic. It’s especially important to seek out those silent icons who are seldom seen as fashion pioneers, even among themselves.
FAKE TALES OF PLAZA SAN FRANSISCO
October 20/2013| articles

John Downes dives into Bolivia’s counterfeit clothing market

The fact that Bolivia has a word to describe anything fake or knock-off ('trucho' or 'trucha') goes some way towards explaining the prevalence and ubiquity, and even acceptance, of counterfeit clothing in the country.

The widespread tolerance surrounding the sale of counterfeit clothing is likely a result of the country's laissez-faire attitude to its production and sale. The unrestricted and abundant sale of fake, synthetic football jerseys directly outside Estadio Hernando Siles on match day is a point in case—such uncontrolled activity would be considered highly unusual in the UK.

Paul Brown of The Guardian believes, ‘The production of fake designer clothing and trainers in developing countries (such as Bolivia) has overtaken the legitimate manufacture of the same goods for multinational corporations such as Nike, Adidas, Wrangler and Levi's’.

Counterfeit clothes produced locally are actually manufactured to a reputable quality. In fact, calling them 'replicas' in the first place seems unfair. It seems more befitting to think of them as originals produced for the local market, with designer labels sewn on to boost their marketability. Indeed, during a visit to Calle Tumusla I came across a pair of unoriginal Levi's trousers whose quality was comparable to that achieved by the original designers, and for only a fraction of the price.

In Bolivia, replica logos are either downloaded from the internet, traced and reproduced in local factories, or ripped off of genuine branded clothes to later copy and mass produce. Such is the Bolivian retail sector's indifference to appeasing designer firms, that shops have even opened using the names of these brands, perhaps most notably, 'The North Face Adventure Store' on the touristy Calle Sagárnaga. Despite selling no authentic North Face products, the store originally opened in an attempt to lure in travellers seeking new backpacking goodies.

Two of the dominant trends in Bolivia's contemporary clothing market, are the increase of American and European second-hand imports, alongside the growing dominance of the Chinese and Korean manufacturers who entered the market roughly ten years ago.

Ramiro Villca predominantly sells second-hand American clothes near La Feria 16 De Julio. The clothes he receives originally get sent to Iquique in Chile and then to Oruro before they reach his home in El Alto.

Although illegal, Ramiro's type of business is fairly common in Bolivia. For retailers, importing clothes legally would mean they have to pay higher taxes. However, in the everyday hustle of a market such as El Alto’s, with narrowing profit margins due to competition, very few follow de jure procedures. At the start of his tenure, President Evo Morales tried hard to end the Bolivian trade in used, imported American clothes which he believed to be undercutting Bolivian clothing manufacturers and the livelihood of domestic producers. Ultimately the industry proved too large—and its practices too widespread—to quash.

Ramiro’s clothes, which he calls 'ropa semi-nueva', are evidently genuine as they are imported from North America. He believes that most people prefer American clothes even though they are second hand —only very few, particularly in the wealthier areas of the city, such as the affluent Zona Sur of La Paz— look for new branded goods.

Though he acknowledges that people buy the items he stocks because they are a cheaper alternative to first-hand originals, he believes these logos are important but not essential. For him, the superior quality of materials and design are his most important selling points. Ramiro also points out that his customers are more inclined to buy his clothes as they are slower to discolour and have longer-lasting stitching due to the superior standards of manufacturing procedures in the United States.

Indeed, not even 'Evo Fashion' could prevent Bolivians craving the superior fabrics of their American cousins. Between 2005 and 2006, local clothing company Punto Blanco helped begin a jumper craze in Bolivia inspired by the casual dress sense of then President-elect Evo Morales. 'Evo Fashion' was designed to appeal to young people but was only successful for a short period before normality was reinstated.

According to Ramiro, the contraband (yet original) American clothes which he sells appeal to young Bolivians who want to dress like rappers and ‘copy guys from the West’. Ramiro believes that Korean and Chinese fake clothing, which comes tagged with brands such as Adidas and Nike, resembles the real product more than the counterfeit clothes made in Bolivia.

Martha Canedo, a clothing merchant and manufacturer, also shares this sentiment. Martha embarked on a humble family enterprise with her husband 24 years ago, making clothes from one sewing machine, and selling them on Calle Tumusla and Calle Buenos Aires. She then grew her business and less than a decade later had 20 people working for her. She quickly began exporting some of her clothes to Argentina and other places. However, following the closure of a border at Yacuiba, she could no longer export goods south to Argentina, so was forced to devote herself fully to the local market.

The story is remarkable but not atypical, and exemplifies some of the shortcomings of the local clothing industry. Over the past three decades, people who work in clothes manufacturing have been migrating en masse to Argentina and Brazil. By some estimations, there are currently over 1.5 million Bolivian migrants in Argentina alone. It’s not surprising there are fewer skilled labourers left to employ in the local market.

To add insult to injury, Chinese manufacturers swamped the market just over a decade ago. As these clothes are sold at such a cheap price, it is very hard for Martha's business to compete. Martha told me that these Chinese producers manufacture to a variety of quality standards, and the quality that comes to Bolivia is the lowest because it's the cheapest. Although the Chinese clothes do not last as long as Bolivian products such as Martha's, they are cheaper due to their synthetic material. This makes it difficult for Martha to compete with the Asian producers and, faced with rapidly closing market, she may be forced to abandon her business.

Martha's understands that placing international brands on her clothes would not work, as by doing so she would be entering into competition with Chinese manufactures. Competing with the counterfeit clothes from China would be ‘ridiculous’, considering the low pricing and mass-production capabilities for which the Asian countries have become renowned. She also believes local producers should develop their own brands but, in such a competitive market, the fake clothes imported from China —combined with the stock of second-hand sellers like Ramiro— are likely to dissuade anyone attempting to create their own brand. Currently, she is thinking of closing down her company because it is struggling in the current market climate.

Martha laments the passing of the time when brands such as hers boasted such a high quality that they had nothing to envy from foreign brands. However, in 2013 there is a very different outlook; as a formerly successful manufacturer, Martha is now considering travelling to sell her clothes. She believes it is an easier and more profitable prospect than competing in the local market saturated with cheap fake imports and high-quality second-hand clothes.

While the Bolivian authorities remain seemingly indifferent in the face of the proliferation of fake clothes from abroad, the country is doing so at the expense of locally produced items which may be of a higher standard. For better or worse, what both Ramiro and Martha's stories make apparent is the Bolivian market’s insatiable appetite for foreign brands, and merchants’ willingness to supply them. Fake clothes thus play an essential role in satisfying that need, and are very much an intrinsic part of Bolivian moda.

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED
October 20/2013| articles

Can Bolivia’s biggest Second-Hand Market satisfy the current fashion demands?
Christina Grünewald combs through the flea market of El Alto, trying to find an entire outfit inspired by current Western fashion trends.

I am at one of the world’s biggest open-air flea markets and this what I have learned so far: 1. always wear a good layer of sunblock unless you later want to be mistaken for a red traffic light; 2. always pay attention to your belongings; 3. even if you are spat at, always pay attention to your belongings.

Tourists refer to this place as El Alto Market although its actual name is 'Feria 16 de Julio'. It runs on Thursdays and Sundays in La Paz’s sister city of El Alto, and it is quite simply a collector's heaven. You can find anything from vintage magazines to random cables and keys, as well as doors, barbie doll heads and second-hand clothing.

As you walk through the aisles, you get offered phones (probably stolen), various kinds of food, as well as llamas, pigs, dogs and, legend has it, once even a real life penguin. Before my first time here, I had heard that the market was 'big' but nonetheless I was overwhelmed by the actual size of it. I’d say HUMUNGOUS describes it better.

After passing the furniture section and moving past the electronics, I find myself in the area allotted to clothing. Being here for the 5th time already, I stand (again) in front of tables and tarpaulins heaped with clothing. Some pieces are wearable, others, far from it.

But what is it with the current obsession with 'vintage' shopping? In the world of fashion, being up-to-date is not enough—you have to be one step ahead. Some of us are only now slowly discovering the trends of the upcoming Autumn Season, while designers have already presented their Spring/Summer 2014 collections on the runways of the fashion capitals around the world.

Yet it is hard to be one step ahead since you are trying to find clothes that cannot yet be found in stores. Therefore, as a trendsetter, you need to have deep knowledge of how the industry works.You need to know, for example, that trends tend to reappear in cycles of 15-30 years.

Does that mean that we should keep our clothes in our closets for when expired trends become fashionable again? No. What usually happens, is that old clothes end up on flea markets and second-hand stores, where they will be bought again when the trends make a comeback.

To succeed in the world of vintage shopping, you need a good eye to spot hidden treasures and a good deal of confidence. I’m in favor of avoiding a fashion faux-pas, but then again, fashion is not about right or wrong but about self-expression. And, in the end, street-style is what inspires fashion forecasters and designers around the globe.

In Bolivia, you won’t find popular stores like H&M, Zara, Topshop or Forever 21. A nightmare, you say? No, not quite. Living here isn’t exactly living on the dark side of the moon.

To prove my point, I have accepted the challenge of finding an outfit at El Alto Market, inspired exclusively by current fashion trends. Fashion blogs and magazines are part of my daily reading routine making me familiar with the Do’s and Dont’s of fashion right now. And the latest trends that have caught my attention are the use of dark, muted colors, monochromatic styles, and the appearance of accessories such as hats and boyfriend-inspired shoes.

The Harvest

After several trips to the market I have finally purchased the following items:

The hat
It took four trips to the market before I decided to actually take on the challenge. The only thing I had bought by then was my hat. There are tons of hats available, but my head, it seems, is just too big for all of them.

Looking back at the day when I was looking for the hat, I remember myself trying on every single model in sight. This must have been very entertaining to look at; cholitas openly laughed at me for trying on hats that were too small for my head. Luckily, in the end I found one that I was able to squeeze my head into.

A pair of shoes
I know the market quite well by now, but the search is hardly easier. As I make my way through the alleys I am overwhelmed by the amount of clothes and their variety. I slowly realise that I actually have to rummage through piles of clothing to find something worth buying.

As I start worrying, a shoe catches my attention sitting at the edge of a table waiting for me. To my surprise, it fits perfectly. I become a bit anxious as the vendor struggles to find the matching shoe in his bag, but eventually he does, so I pay happily and continue my stroll.

The shirt
I begin to wonder how the clothes all ended up here—especially since I find clothes that have Goodwill-tags on them. I also realise that having a set image of an outfit in mind is preventing me from buying clothes I actually quite like. So I spontaneously pick up a black & white lumberjack shirt for only Bs 3 and decide to complete my mission on my next visit.

A pair of leggings
One week later,I find myself in a different clothing section. Here the pieces have been washed and are displayed just like in shops. I didn’t know about this part of the market and I am a bit confused when I get there. Apparently you can even find Jimmy Choos here. To me, all of this feels wrong somehow.

While looking for trousers I start talking to Pedro Paldo, 30, who owns one of those shops. Thanks to him I now know that the clothes originally come from Europe and the US, but that they arrive in La Paz via Iquique, Chile, passing through Oruro en route. He gets calls from personal contacts and decides whether he wants to buy something or not. His options are purchasing fardos, or picking and choosing among their contents. According to him, the advantage of selling at the market is that he is able to have another job on the days the market is closed.

From my previous visits, I already know that I am not a big fan of the pants selection because all the items are either denim or oversized. So, instead, I buy a pair of black leggings and decide to exit this part of the market. I prefer the sections that are more chaotic, where shopping feels like an adventure and success is dependent on luck.

A jean vest
Now that I have shoes, a hat, a shirt and my new pair of leggings, I decide that I want a denim vest to complete the outfit. The market is full of jean jackets and I remember one man who offers a large variety. I get excited about the DIY-project: at home I will just cut off the sleeves and take a pair of tweezer to distress the edges.

As I rake up his piles, I learn that the vendor used to work in a mine until he started selling clothes for a friend and then started selling his own. He travels to Iquique every two months to choose his merchandise. He buys categorized sacks of selected clothes. That is what he has been doing for the last 20 years. He earns enough money in the two days on the market to make a living. I pay for the jacket I chose and leave the market for good.

As I leave, I feel in no rush to return to the market any time soon, due to the crammed minibuses, the crowds, the heat but I am really happy that I have also managed to find an entire outfit. Nothing crazy, but pieces that I like and that I will wear.

The shoes, the hat and even the DIY jeans vest, turn a comfy and ordinary outfit into a fashionable one. I only paid 173 Bolivianos for the entire outfit (25 US Dollars). Nowhere else would I have had the opportunity of choosing an outfit from that much variety for this price.

You can find anything you desire in El Alto Market—literally anything, or as the local proverb goes, from a needle to a tractor. So it’s perhaps best to not go looking for things—as it happens, they find you.

AGUJAS, TINTA, PASIÓN
October 20/2013| articles

Finn O’Neill meets a young inventor, a tattoo artist, and some locals with body art to understand the past, present and future of ink in Bolivia.

Olmer Flores Pinedo is a 14-year-old alteño kid, trying to keep himself busy like so many others, yet he is anything but ordinary. I first met Olmer during a chance visit to El Alto market. Walking into a used clothes shop I noticed a skull tattoo on the arm of a boy who I later learned was the owner’s nephew. I approached him to learn a little bit about it and was astonished to learn that he had made it himself, with a tattoo machine that he had constructed. At lunch the next day, Olmer brought his tattoo machine to show me. He assembled it in front of me out of motor from a DVD player, a phone charger, a pen, a lighter, a needle, thread, pliers and a knife. The end product? A machine capable of producing a tattoo of high quality, arguably of better quality than some of the tattoos I had seen on the streets of La Paz.

Despite his machine only costing around 35 bolivianos to assemble, the Chinese ink which he requires to make tattoos costs around 250 bolivianos. For this reason, Olmer can’t do tattoos on other people, although he explained that his friends had asked him about the possibility in the past. He does, however, share a tattoo design on his arm with a group of his friends who are in a band together. Olmer was quick to note, though, that he was not part of a pandilla, but a music group. It is his dream to have his own tattoo parlour when he is older.

Perhaps Olmer will one day become someone like Jhony Jaramillo, a Colombian artist who works at Pepe’s Tattoo in La Paz. Jhony explained the allure of tattoos: ‘For me, it's not just marking your skin to look better or attract people's attention, it goes beyond this. As an artist I can say that it’s more a way of showing your feelings or something that's happening at some important point in your life, or something that happened to you’.

Tattoos in La Paz are common not just with rebellious local youths but even among middle-aged bus drivers. For many, tattoos are a mark of having spent time in the army, where it is customary (though not compulsory) to get ink on the hand or wrist to represent one’s squadron or regiment. One slightly reluctant bus driver whom I spoke with had gotten a tattoo at the age of 20 whilst in the army. He was dismissive of his colleagues who did not have tattoos, calling them ‘maricas’—perhaps a joke or a subtle show of strength. Ironically, the other bus drivers mocked him for having a tattoo, not necessarily because they thought of him as a ‘marica’, but hinting at the idea that having a tattoo could be a sign of immaturity. Perceptions aside, Jhony’s words rang true: the tattoo on the man’s wrist marks a moment in his life—something which he will remember all of his life.

Another man I spoke with, Israel, also had a military tattoo which clearly marked his regiment and his year of service (1999) along with four other tattoos on his arms. I met him near a garage where he was hanging around and chatting to some mates who were taunting one of the younger mechanics for his neck tattoo. Unlike the older bus drivers, Israel was more than happy to talk to us about his tattoos. He explained that military tattoos are optional, something done by the ‘big boys’ in the army as a proof of their bravado and valour. Israel said that his tattoos had been done by a tattoo-artist friend, and they cost from 30 to 100 bolivianos—much cheaper than they would have cost in Europe or the United States, where the cheapest hourly rate is around £60 (more than 600 bolivianos). The prices of Israel’s tattoos are still cheap when compared to the professional parlours in La Paz, where you can pay upwards of 200 bolivianos per tattoo. Israel told me that he wanted more tattoos and was unconcerned with how people perceived him because of them.

Certainly, there is not a vast tattoo culture in Bolivia; tattoos are not nearly as common as they are in Europe or the United States. But as tattoo art is increasingly appreciated as an art form, opinions are shifting and with them the prevalence of ink. Like elsewhere, tattoos are often merely seen as an act of rebellion by young people. But in Bolivia they’re also emblematic of a long-lasting tradition carried out by military personnel to demonstrate their time in service and their personal strength. It is likely that here, instead of being subject of ridicule and condemnation by older generations, tattoos and tattoo art might gain appreciation. As Jhony Jaramillo puts it, they are ultimately symbols that mark important moments in people’s lives, a form of expression and, above all, works of art.