By Jessica Ye (Jessica Yap)
In many Vietnamese cities, scrap collectors move slowly through the streets on bicycles loaded with towering piles of salvaged metal, broken appliances and wires. The stacks often rise far above the rider’s head, shifting slightly with every turn.
What appears chaotic at first glance is usually a careful balancing act.
For Vietnamese designer Célianne Nhat Lam, those moving piles of scrap became the starting point for IAM, a collection where industrial remnants reappear as garments. Rusted fragments, oxidised textures and metal components sit alongside denim, canvas and velvet, creating pieces that feel both fragile and deliberate.
Rather than treating waste as a problem to disguise, Lam approaches it as a material with history.
When we spoke with her, the conversation quickly returned to the same idea: the life that objects carry long after they have been discarded.
When does “waste” become material?
For Lam, the decision is rarely about perfection.
“When I look at a fragment of metal or an abandoned industrial object, I’m not asking whether it is flawless. I’m asking whether it still has energy inside it.”
Of course, turning scrap into something wearable requires practical considerations. The materials must be stable enough to sit alongside textiles and safe enough to be worn against the body. Metals are cleaned, sealed and sometimes reshaped before entering the studio.
But Lam is careful not to erase the traces of their past.
Rust stains, scratches and distortions remain visible. To her, those marks are not flaws but records of time.
“In my work, ‘waste’ is simply a material that has been overlooked. My role as a designer is to reveal the beauty that already exists within it.”
Creating imperfection without destroying the garment
The surfaces in IAM often appear weathered, as though they have existed long before becoming clothing. Achieving that effect without compromising the garment requires careful control.
“Imperfection is a language in my work,” Lam explains. “The garments should feel as if they have lived a life.”
Rust-dyeing is used to stain fabrics with irregular patterns, but the process is carefully managed so the textile remains intact.
“It becomes a memory of oxidation rather than actual deterioration,” she says.
Alongside these techniques, Lam experiments with 3D printing, producing fragments that resemble pieces of industrial debris while remaining light enough to move with the body.
The tension she aims for is deliberate: garments that look accidental, even fragile, but are structurally sound.
Designing for humid climates
Metal and oxidation behave very differently in tropical environments. Humidity, in particular, can quickly damage untreated materials.
Lam has therefore begun experimenting with protective coatings and hybrid construction techniques to ensure the garments remain wearable in places like Singapore.
“Industrial elements are treated so they keep their character while resisting further corrosion,” she explains.
These components are then paired with fabrics that hold their shape in humid conditions, including denim, canvas, velvet and synthetic leather.
Looking ahead, she is also interested in recycled polymers and engineered textiles, which could offer new structural possibilities while remaining aligned with her interest in transformation and reuse.
The influence of Vietnam’s scrap bicycles
The silhouettes of IAM trace back to the scrap collectors themselves.
“In Vietnam, scrap collectors are most often seen riding bicycles rather than pushing carts,” Lam says. “These bicycles are usually overloaded with fragments of metal and discarded objects stacked in unpredictable ways.”
The image fascinated her.
“The bicycle almost becomes a skeletal structure carrying a chaotic mass of objects.”
That observation became a design principle. Strong seam lines act as structural supports within the garments, while layered panels create the impression of accumulated materials. Metal components appear suspended across the body, echoing the stacked fragments seen on the bicycles.
“In many ways, the garments echo those bicycles,” she says. “Fragile but resilient moving architectures carrying fragments of the city.”
Scaling craft without losing intimacy
Although the collection draws on industrial materials, the making process remains deeply hands-on.
“The metal details in my work are very personal,” Lam says. “They are assembled slowly, almost like building a small sculpture on fabric.”
As her brand grows, she does not intend to replace that process with full automation. Instead, she is developing a hybrid approach. The base garments can be produced with precision through tailoring, while the metal elements remain hand-applied.
She is also experimenting with modular components — small metal pieces prepared in advance and then assembled in different configurations.
This approach keeps the process flexible while ensuring that no two garments are exactly alike.
Looking beyond the scrap yard
For Lam, IAM is only the beginning.
Her curiosity now turns to the everyday structures of Vietnamese street life: shoulder-pole vendors balancing goods, temporary roadside markets that appear and vanish in hours, bicycles stacked high with salvaged metal.
“These systems create a fascinating form of temporary architecture,” Lam says. “It’s not just about what they carry, but how they carry it — the balance, the improvisation, the resilience.”
She wants her future collections to echo that spirit. “Garments should move through the city like these structures do,” she adds. “Each piece carries fragments of life, work, and rhythm from the streets — a story that begins in discarded materials and continues on the body.”
In IAM, the streets are never far away. Every seam, every rust-dyed mark, and every hand-applied metal fragment holds the pulse of Vietnam, proving that even what seems forgotten can be extraordinary.
