Restaurateur Cooks Up a Spicy Ensemble

Walk down an average street in Cambodia, and it’s unlikely you’ll see anyone dressed in any unusual way. But walk down Phnom Penh’s Street 240, and you may catch a glimpse of Sakchai Dumkumpa, a man whose appearance is nothing short of extraordinary.

In a culture where outward expressions of individuality or flamboyance are often frowned on, Sakchai’s look stands out like a tropical bird in a concrete jungle. He is a slight man with a shaven head, whose extravagant taste in women’s clothing and jewelry make for a striking contrast with his monklike visage.

Born in Thailand, 34-year-old Sakchai left Bang­kok for Phnom Penh in 1992, where he worked first as a cook in his uncle’s restaurant and then at the Samart phone company. Since the start of this year he has helped run the new Thai restaurant on Street 240.

Restaurant owner Suree Chaisuvirat, also a glamorous figure, drifts around the restaurant singing along to the latest Thai pop songs and tweaking at arrangements of plastic flowers.

Sakchai says he wanted to dress like a woman ever since he was a child. But when he was younger, he was anxious about what his mother would think. “I used to dress as a man all the time I was in front of her,” he said.

But Sakchai says he finds Phnom Penh a far more liberating environment than Bangkok, which may surprise many familiar with the Thai capital’s reputation for flamboyance and an anything-goes night life.

“I love Cambodia, because here I have the freedom to dress how I like,” he said, toying with his pink plastic child’s watch. “I felt the pressure of so­ciety to dress like a man when I lived in Bang­kok. But I don’t like doing things just because I am forced to.”

Perhaps it was just the novelty of the place, but something about Phnom Penh made Sakchai feel like putting on his glad rags.

“When I arrived, the first thing I did was put on makeup and start wearing women’s clothes, like skirts and dresses,” he said. “Everybody stared at me and laughed because they thought I was so strange and crazy.”

Sakchai does concede that attitudes to the way people present themselves are generally far more up to date in Thailand than in Cambodia. “Cam­bodians are not modern,” he said with a giggle.

The shadows of a regime in which conformity was key to survival still affect the way many Cam­bo­dians present themselves, particularly the old­er generation. But he sees times changing here, as young people—especially those living in cities—become more open to new and different styles.

Still, very few would dream of presenting themselves like Sakchai, who, on an ordinary morning prepares spring rolls and papaya salad while bedecked in lace, leather and sequins.

Standing out to the extent Sakchai does is not always easy, but he says he considers a life of flamboyance as something of a calling: “The first time people criticized my appearance, I was angry. But after I thought about it more carefully, I stopped being angry and dared to wear more makeup, because I knew I had to fulfill what was in my mind,” he explained. “If I stayed angry about it, I would go crazy.”

“When there is a party at the Thai Embassy, I put on makeup and a dress. I stand in front of the mirror and look at myself, and I love the way I look then,” he said.

One thing Phnom Penh has brought Sakchai is independence. The income he earns from his restaurant allows him to indulge in the female accouterments he could never afford before. “When I was young, I didn’t have my own money, so I couldn’t buy things like makeup,” he ex­plained. “Now I have my own income, I can buy whatever I want.”

“I buy most of my clothes second-hand from the markets in Phnom Penh. I prefer second-hand clothes because they have more style.” From Olympic to O’Russei markets, Kandal to Tuol Tumpong, Sakchai searches the city’s second-hand stalls for pieces that are out of the ordinary.

“All female jewelry and clothes are my favorite things,” he said, beaming. “I have lots of rings and earrings and other things that are popular with young women.”

The fingers of Sakchai’s right hand are heavy with costume jewelry and his nails are long, pointed and painted red, but his left hand is completely unadorned. As he crosses his hands—one feminine, one masculine—in the half-light of his restaurant one recent afternoon, his straight-forward enthusiasm dispelled any talk of more complex issues of sexuality. Sakchai does not style himself as a woman, or indeed as a man, but more as a being somewhere in between the two genders. As such, it seems he has discovered an unusual freedom.

Most mornings, Sakchai tends to the vat of noodle soup broth that stands steaming outside the restaurant while an endless stream of motorcycle drivers pass by, each dressed in slight variations on the theme of long-sleeve shirt and formal trousers. But the man working in hot pants and a tiara is the only one smiling.

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