From Barbie dolls in Ismailia to the catwalks of Paris: Reham El-Adawi traces a fascinating story of Suez Canal haute couture On his last few visits to Cairo -- Abdel-Haq Mohamed, otherwise known simply as Abdu, 24, has been making the pilgrimage from his hometown of Ismailia every Sunday for years -- the up-and-coming fashion designer managed to establish connections with the French community at last. Armed with limitless ambition and a nifty haircut, Abdu had been carrying his trademark black suitcase full of sketches, fabric samples and photos of his latest designs unrelentingly to the capital, determined to place himself on the map of the local, if not the international fashion scene. Low thanawiya amma grades had prevented him from enrolling at the Faculty of Fine Arts -- his heart's desire -- and he obtained a degree in law instead. Yet the influence of his upbringing in a small clothes factory -- his mother's -- remained with him: the sight of Lily, the mother, cutting swatches of material and testing them against each other, sewing together dresses or suits, working from drawings. "As far back as I can remember," Abdu recalls, "I've loved drawing. I would copy the patterns of dresses I saw in shop windows. Then I began to make my own paper models. I'd buy Barbie dolls and tailor their clothes, completing the whole process by myself." He learned to saw at an early age, absorbing an atmosphere thick with fashion catalogues and the implements of clothes making. All things considered, and notwithstanding the dictates of patriarchy, Abdu seemed destined for fashion. Nor was Lily reluctant to let him pursue this course, conventions of machismo aside: "As early as three years old he would rearrange the flowers in the vases in a very artistic manner. To encourage him I started buying flowers regularly. At fourth grade he started to play with fabric and I let him do what he wanted to. I never told him off for spending time tailoring instead of studying. It's because I felt he was talented, and I thought this deserved all the support and encouragement I could give." Even when they started fighting, years later, their disagreements had little to do with his choice of career path: "These days we always fight because I make comments about his wild [fashion] ideas -- which he promptly ignores, doing his own thing..." After his mother, Bernadette Naudy, the wife of the manager of the French electricity company in Ismailia, was the most important formative influence in Abdu's life: "She saw me working in my small atelier, attached to the factory -- and she really liked my designs. So she asked me to make some for her... Convinced of my talent, she encouraged me to practise greater precision -- my cutting and sewing became more accurate and as, she told her French friends about my work, orders started coming in..." Last March marked another milestone in the young man's career as the head of Caire Accueil, Constantina Lamarlère, hosted his first fashion show at her villa in Maadi -- an event attended by French and Lebanese as well as Egyptian socialites. The result: offers to show and sell in Paris, finally. "It was a turning point," Abdu says. "I showed 42 designs -- a summer 2005 collection -- and that gave me confidence. The French," he says wryly, "I've found to be more encouraging than Egyptians. "My role models in the world of fashion are Christian Lacroix and Jean Paul Gaultier," Abdu goes on, perhaps drawing on the aforementioned confidence, "as well as the world famous Lebanese designer Khaled El-Masri, who creates beautiful tableaux -- not clothes to be worn. I concentrate on cut and design, not fabric. I'm totally against the recent trend of using embroidered fabrics because it limits the designer's creative space." He prefers natural material -- Egyptian cotton and linen -- and in pulling a piece together, Abdu is never intimidated by "Arab" social conventions: "I set my imagination free, thoughts flowing. I never target a particular national identity. My dresses are for slim women who want to look sexy and unique. I don't design for full-figured women; my designs urge women to lose weight." Abdu refers to the khawaga complex: local designers feeling inferior to their foreign counterparts -- something that seeps through to the clientele, with the result that Egyptians are reluctant to spend on their compatriots' work: "I didn't have this problem with foreigners. They wear Christian Lacroix, but they didn't have any problems wearing dresses by an unknown designer from Ismailia." Abdu goes so far as to blame Egyptian women for the stagnant state of the local fashion scene: "They copy international fashion lines whether or not they suit their character, body, colour or age." The influence of the Gulf states, he adds, with the increasing predominance of hijab since the early 1990s, has contributed to such deterioration. Sitting at his drawing board, in Ismailia, Abdu declares that his plan is to graduate from law school and open an atelier in Maadi. For now, he must complete his winter 2006 collection, to be showcased at a fashion show organised by the French Embassy in Cairo.
