If there’s anything that has such ephemeral quality, fashion is it. Through the ages, women have been known to obsess over anything from ridiculous hats to structured shoulder pads (have you noticed, the latter is back in fashion?) and everything else that makes it to the glamorous London Fashion Week.

Comfort and simplicty were key to Chanel's wearable designs.

Last month, I finally had the chance to watch Coco avant Chanel on DVD. Starring the lovely Audrey Tatou, the film followed the legendary fashion designer Coco Channel’s journey from obscurity to fame. During the day where corsetted garments, feminine silhouettes and embellished gems were in trend, Coco Chanel went against the norm. She unleashed a line that was fuss-free and androgynous – a style Chanel eventually became famous for. She soon had a legion of followers who marvelled the simplicity of her designs. Even years after her death, the brand stays true to Chanel’s original vision and aesthetics.

If one should say, “I think, therefore I am”, would “I wear, therefore I am” stand true? Might this explain the proliferation of branded goods amongst the affluent? Women have the unfortunate tendency of passing scathing looks at their better/worser dressed female counterparts. Whether it’s envy or disgust, it’s happened too often – being judged by what you wear, that is. While I am a firm believer that you pay for what you get – who’s to say you can’t dress in style given a limited budget?

Immerse yourself in the rich world of textiles at the National Museum's Fashion Gallery.

While many might clamour for a Chanel, Hermes, Gucci and LV, let’s not forget our ethnic roots. A walk through the National Museum of Singapore’s fashion gallery gives great insight into what Singaporean women wore in the 1950s – 1970s. There were influences of retro prints, platform shoes and the (god-forbid!) flare-legged jeans. But what was most intriguing were the ethnic attires on display. From intricately embroidried kebayas, elegant cheong sams and lavish saris, it was common back then to be dressed in attire that represents your race.

As always in a museum, I would close my eyes and allow myself to be transported to a different time and place.

I pictured women playing a game of mahjong on a hot day – with perfectly coiffed hair and starched samfus, dabbing their foreheads with flowerd hankerchieves. Maciks in their baju kurongs having a good lauch over a piping cup of teh-tahrik. Dark-skinned women tenderly fingering the richly coloured silk that drapped across their bodies to form elegant saris.

While a good pencil skirt, classic white shirt and fitted denim jeans might be staple in most Singaporean women’s wardrobes today, what about our ethnic wear? Besides donning them during traditional festivals and the like – how about the other days of the year? Perhaps it’s a matter of practicality – I can testify that cheong sams aren’t the most comfortable. Or is it the matter of style and trend since the young will scoff at anything too old-fashioned? Neither will wearing ethnic threads do any more to say you’re more Chinese/Malay/Indian than you already are. Or will it?

The famed Oscar Wilde once said, “Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months.” Suppose if Chanel’s next Spring/Summer line includes cheong sam-esque designs, would we have a deeper inclination to like traditional Chinese garb? Clothes may be a mere outer-layer, a shell at best, to typify who we are. But like one of my friends who said in much zest, as long we’re aware of our cultural identity, one can still be proud of their roots while dressed in jeans.