The word yếm (yem) refers to a traditional Vietnamese undergarment worn by women for over a thousand years. Structurally, it resembles a halter top in modern Western fashion - a simple square or diamond-shaped piece of fabric, roughly 40 centimeters across, with a rounded neckline and four cloth ties: two that loop behind the neck and two that fasten around the lower back. Yet unlike its modern counterparts, yem carried both practical and cultural weight.
In the sweltering summers of northern Vietnam, women often wore just yem as their top layer, especially in the countryside, because it was breathable, easy to move in, and suited to daily labor-intensive life. During colder months, it served as an undergarment, worn discreetly beneath layers of fabric. Its dual role, as both intimate wear and outerwear, made it remarkably versatile. Despite its minimal form, it was a canvas for personal expression, femininity, and in many cases, social identity.
The earliest known mentions of the yem appear in records from the Dinh dynasty (10th century), where women performing cheo (a traditional Vietnamese opera) were described wearing garments resembling the yem. By the Ly dynasty (11th century), it had become a widely recognized garment in Thang Long (now Hanoi), worn across different social strata. For working women, the most common version was the yem co xay - a diagonally placed square of fabric with a round cut-out at the neckline, offering a simple yet functional design suited to daily labor. In contrast, noblewomen favored more elaborate designs, often featuring decorative lattice-style embroidery known as luoi qua tram.
Among the many styles and shades, the most culturally symbolic was yem dao, which is a version dyed in a delicate pink tone reminiscent of peach blossoms. This soft pink seemed to evoke youthfulness, romance, and gentle flirtation. Though the basic structure of the yem remained largely consistent across centuries, variations in fabric, color, and craftsmanship signaled a woman’s background and purpose for wearing it. In the city, particularly in festive or ceremonial settings, women would pair yem dao with flowing skirts, silk sashes, and outer garments like ao tu than (four-panel dress), allowing just a flash of color at the neckline while emphasizing elegance and refinement.
In addition, in feudal Vietnam, wearing a certain style or color of yem could be tightly woven into a code of class and decorum. According to historical sources, color could reflect a woman’s social role and standing. Daughters of mandarins, for example, were permitted to wear vivid bright red silk yem, while women from farming families and working-class backgrounds typically wore dark brown or indigo yem, dyed with natural pigments and made from coarse fabrics such as cotton or hemp. Entertainers, such as singers and dancers, were often seen in the soft peach hues, admired for their charm but sometimes viewed with suspicion for being too alluring.
Even subtle color differences could send distinct social messages: a slightly bolder pink, a silkier finish, or an embroidered front could shift public perception from modest to flirtatious.
The poetic allure of yem dao
What made the yem linger so long in Vietnam’s collective memory? Perhaps it was the way it danced on the line between concealment and revelation; a garment that covered more than it showed, yet spoke volumes with every fold and ribbon.
Just a gentle glimpse of soft pink silk at the neckline was enough to suggest refinement. The curve of the fabric followed the body’s form without hugging the body too tight, framing rather than flaunting. It revealed just enough to ignite curiosity, and concealed enough to preserve dignity. This balance of modesty and sensuality was what made the yem so uniquely captivating.
Vietnamese poets and painters preserved this allure with imagery. In the To Nu paintings of Hang Trong folk artists, young women in yem dao appear delicate, and almost dreamlike, being the symbols of urban charm and inner poise. In folk verse, the dai yem (the cloth ribbon that ties the yem) transforms from a functional strap into a metaphor for intimacy and longing:
“Ước gì sông hẹp tày gang
Bắc cầu dải yếm cho chàng sang chơi”
“If only the river were a span wide / I’d bridge it with my yem ribbon so you could cross.”
Or this verse, murmuring affection more vividly than any declaration:
“Trầu em têm tối hôm qua
Buộc trong dải yếm mở ra mời chàng”
“The betel I prepared last night / I tied in my yem ribbon and opened it to invite you”
These lines didn’t need to describe the woman in full. The image of the yem alone was enough to evoke closeness, comfort, and affection. To wear it was to move within that liminal space between grace and boldness, mystery and allure - a place where Vietnamese femininity found its most enduring expression.
The rise and return of yem dao
At a time when fashion was both communal and deeply personal, the yem was deeply woven into the rhythms of daily life and womanhood in old Thang Long. In the heart of Hanoi’s Old Quarter, at 38 Hang Dao Street, there still remains a stone plaque inscribed in classical Chinese characters with the phrase “Dong Lac yem thi”, marking the site of what was once the location of a historic market specializing in silk yem. Known as Dong Lac, this space wasn’t merely a marketplace, but a center dedicated to an entire guild of dyers and silk merchants, focused solely on crafting garments and accessories for women’s dress and beauty. The existence of such a specialized hub speaks to just how popular and essential these garments were in urban Vietnamese life.
By the 1930s, however, as French colonial influence deepened in urban Vietnam, Western fashion began to reshape daily dress. Bras and camisoles imported from Europe gradually replaced yem in practicality and popularity. By the 1950s, the yem had all but disappeared from daily life, worn only by elderly women or as part of stage costumes, and eventually fading into the folds of memory.
And yet - it never truly vanished.
In recent decades, yem has re-emerged in Vietnamese cultural festivals, where women and girls don it alongside four-panel dresses and non quai thao (flat-brimmed hats with silk chin ribbons), restoring a visual link to the past. Vietnamese designers, too, have attempted to reimagine yem in modern wardrobes - sometimes pairing it with jeans or skirts, using new materials and deeper necklines.
After all, as the poet Hoang Cam once hinted, the magic of yem was not in showing everything, but in revealing only just enough:
"Ngũ sắc chen nhau cầu lễ hội / Nuột nà cởi bỏ áo hoa khôi"
“Colors blend and whirl at the festival / Smoothly, the beauty slips off her blouse.”