Weaving Air – Muslin

Age: 25

Date Collected: 04/30/2026

Context:

My informant is a good friend of mine who immigrated from Bangladesh for his college education. He was telling me about the story of a legendary fabric from his hometown, Dhaka, Bangladesh. He told me when we were hanging out outside of the USC Fisher Museum of Art.

Text:

Me: Okay. So you were telling me a little bit about back home in Dhaka, that’s where the muslin fabric comes from. Right?

EJ: Yeah, thats where its from. There used to be like this whole area kind of like the Arts District in LA like a municipality where they would make this cotton fabric. It’s unique because it was so thin, they called the skill “weaving air” because it was so light and thin, and that’s like one of the things that we’re very proud of culturally. They used to be able to weave it so tight the thread counts were really high. You could fold it up into a matchbox.

Me: You told me earlier that they don’t make it the same anymore right? Can you talk a little more about that.

EJ: Yeah for sure.. I don’t know the whole story, but I just know that it originates from Bangladesh. Dhaka is exactly where it comes from. Dhaka used to be like a hub of culture and and money and then in about sometime in like whenever, the the English colonized it. They took the fabric for their royalty. The royalty and wealthy used to wear this in Bangladesh. The English took it and brought it back home and they cut off the hands of the weavers who would make this fabric.

Me: Jesus. Why do you think they’d do that?

EJ: I think they just didn’t want people who were wearing the same things as their royalty.

Me: Yeah, that sounds like the English hahaha. So there’s no more muslin makers in Dhaka.

EJ: No, not like that. The old ways were lost. After loosing their hands, they couldn’t make any anymore, so they retired and the art was lost.

Me: But, is it extinct?

EJ: No, there’s new places that make them still by hand. But it can’t fit into a matchbox and isn’t the same. They can’t do the same techniques.

Me: Do you have any in your family, or have you seen it before?

EJ: No, I don’t think we have any. But, I’ve been to weddings and they have it there.

Me: That sounds like a terrible thing to accidentally misplace. Oh also earlier you were also showing me that Instagram reel that was kind of showing appreciation for Bangladeshi culture, right? Like how it’s reflected in modern life and also in the future.

EJ: Yeah, yeah, that reel was kind of just talking about how the muslin was used on the first airplane that the Wright brothers flew, and also on the Artemis II, which is really cool.

Me: How do you feel about seeing part of your culture being used by other people? Is it like something that makes you happy or a little upset?

EJ: You know, it’s really cool to see Bangladeshi culture being represented, especially on huge moments in like this.

Me: Yeah, I can imagine there’s a lot of pride in that, cause I mean, this is essentially the future of humanity, and your culture is playing a huge role in that. Man might not have been able to fly or land on the moon if it weren’t for those weavers and your culture’s history.

EJ: Exactly.

Analysis:

I did a quick search to see what is true, and what might be more folklore from the story. From what I could tell, Dhaka is genuinely one of the most impressive textiles ever made. The Wright brothers did not use any Dhaka Muslin; they used an “Americanized” version that was derived from the impressive tradition. The muslin used on the Wright brothers’ plane was taken to the Moon by Neil Armstrong and later to Mars by the Ingenuity rover.

What might be more folkish is that the Wright brothers did not actually use Dhaka’s muslin. Also, the hand-cutting story is not historically verified, but that doesn’t mean it never happened. What is true is the major damage done to the Bangladeshi people as a result of the English colonists.

The history of muslin reflects the beauty and majesty of old Bangladesh. As my friend mentioned, it thrived culturally and economically. Then the English East India Company came and colonized the country. In the process, many fine folk arts were lost. The story of the cutting of hands might be true, but whether it is literal or not, the imagery is symbolic for what the English colonization of Bangladesh did to the Bengali people. The cutting of their hands represents the stripping of culture, practices, and traditions. The legend of cutting hands doesn’t have to be historically accurate to be insightful and meaningful. It is a way to deal with the loss of identity as well. Hands are essential for making a living; they hold our fingerprints and identity. When the English “cut off” their hands, they were cutting off the ability to live and continue as they had before.

My friend had pride in saying that you could fold a full muslin outfit into a matchbox size. The image is impressive and impossible, showing the value of the golden pre- colonial era. The pride in calling it “woven air” seems to stand in for the old ways as a whole. Traditions were lost; they weren’t all perfect, but they were irreplaceable and, most importantly, they were Bangladesh’s. The fact that no one has ever been able to accurately replicate the hand-woven artistry of Dhaka’s weavers once again communicates that something irreplaceable was lost when Bangladesh was colonized.

It’s an interesting choice in story to tell me. I had been asking him for examples of Bangladeshi culture, foods, festivals, stories, jokes, sayings, and more. From all of them, he told me this one, which is quite interesting. When he first told me, he made sure to mention the impact he learned from the Instagram reel. That THIS is his culture and it had an undeniable impact on human history. He didn’t have to explain what the muslin meant culturally, and I didn’t necessarily even need to understand. The story communicates Bangladeshi pride in a way that anyone can understand and appreciate.

Looking at the full arc is quite interesting too. We saw a folk art that was a people’s pride that got stolen by outsiders and used to dress their royalty. The creators were no longer able to make it, and the tradition seemed lost. But centuries later, it was brought into the limelight as part of humanity’s journey into space. The story reframes the tragedy and pain into a story of how Bangladesh made something that monumentally changed human history forever.

Bobotie – South African Dish

Age: 52

Collected 4/18/2026

Context:

My mom immigrated from South Africa to California as a child, growing up she was raised mostly as any other American child in the area would have been. But, to help and her siblings connect with their culture and history, her parents would occasionally cook them all bobotie, a traditional south African meat dish that is kind of like a meatloaf.

Text:

My mom explained, that once every two weeks, her parents would cook her and her siblings foods from South Africa. This wasn’t anything special, “just a nice family dinner to give us a taste of home.” One of the most memorable dishes for her growing up was Bobotie. The recipe originates in the lower Cape, but her family was north-east of Johannesburg, quite a ways from the historical origins. The recipe, as she explained, was fairly common in South Africa; they used a printed poster brought with them when they immigrated, which listed the ingredients and instructions. She says, “that poster is probably still somewhere in their family house.” But, back when her parents were cooking (this was 30-40 years ago) things like curry powder and chutney weren’t available at your local grocery store. So, her parents had to substitute other ingredients. For example, one that she remembered was substituting apricot jam for the chutney. Her family also commonly used raisins, bananas and other fruits to add to the sweet profile of the dish. To her this was normal, but back then, fruits and meat weren’t a common combination in American cuisines. She wasn’t embarrassed though, as she told me “it does remind you that you’re different, but that’s just a thing our family.” For her and her family, it was a way to connect with their roots and pass on some of that identity to my mom and her siblings who grew up primarily in America.

One funny memory my mom mentioned is that her family would sometimes serve the Bobotie to her friends when they stayed over. To most kids, this was a really strange (never-before-seen food). So, to mess with them, my mom and her parents would tell the kids they’re eating elephant stew, which surprisingly worked. Most of the friends she remembered trying it thought it was tasty and quite exotic.

She never really got to try the original until much later in life when visiting her “home town” in South Africa, but by that point, the California Bobotie was the norm. So, when she tried the real thing, she was kinda disappointed. Funny enough, “it didn’t taste nostalgic or like home because it was different.” She can’t remember whether her parents told her that they were substituting ingredients or not, but it didn’t matter. Because to her, the substitutions were the dish.

Analysis:

Before I go into my analysis, I should note my perspective. I grew up with similar cultural exposure. Especially from my mom’s side of the family and my cousins. So, to me some of these things were normal. I wasn’t eating weird foods, but also, I wasn’t raised with as much influence as she was. So to me, these things are somewhat normal, but also somewhat foreign.

One thing from this story that interests me is how the substitutions were forced by a necessity. The ingredients just didn’t exist in common grocery stores, so her family had to create their own “spin” on the dish, which I’m sure wasn’t uniquely their substitution. After a quick Google search, it looks like substituting the chutney is a fairly common thing to do. So many other families in similar situations might have made similar adaptations or substitutions when bringing the food here. My Oupa and Ouma weren’t degrading the dish or making it any less, they were adapting it to their environment so that that culture might continue to exist in their children.

As mentioned, my mom grew up mostly like any other American child. But small things like this are examples of how her parents allowed her to grow up in a new environment while maintaining that cultural identity and connection. And to that effect it worked. She doesn’t remember much else of what they did that was South African, maybe because whatever they did was just “normal” to her growing up that was all she saw. But, seeing and tasting a different food definitely resonated with her.

It’s also so funny that they all leaned into the weird or exotic food aspect. That really sounds in character for my Ouma to mess with someone like that. They didn’t hide the food when friends came over, instead they made it seem exotic by using the unfamiliarity of it. Also, it kind of flipped the roles. Typically, I would have pictured my mom to be embarrassed or nervous for her friends judging the food, but the joke reverses that idea, allowing my family to hold the power in the situation. They’re in on the joke, the other kid, not so much.

But, by far the most interesting piece to me is how my mom mentions that the California Bobotie was just Bobotie. To her, the substitution and “odd” recipe is what she grew up with, so trying the “real thing” felt weird. This shows that there is no one way to do something; instead, it’s in the cultural context and shared meaning that makes it the “right way” or normal. It’s all about perception and experience. The authenticity and connection to the food come from repeated experiences, not just the origin. This highlights the loose boundaries that can make it difficult to categorize or “own” folklore.

This raises a serious question we’ve asked in class. What makes folklore genuine? Well, my mom’s experience would suggest that authenticity is not about adherence, but about shared value and experience. To her, the California Bobotie was more authentic and genuine than any traditional Bobotie could ever be.

Folded Paper Football

Age: 20

Collection Date: 04/09/2026

Context:

During an in- class activity, my informant showed me how to fold a standard piece of paper into a football that he used to play small desk games with friends as a child. He said said that he learned this in elementary or early middle school and often created these footballs while bored in class. It was a fun way to stay busy and play with friends when class allowed it.

Text:

My informant repeatedly folded a standard 8×10 piece of printer paper, ensuring tight, straight folds with no unnecessary creases. The shape is formed by folding triangles into one another, making the final product dense and sturdy. My informant used an older YouTube video for assistance to remind him of some of the steps. He demonstrated the folding process and explained key details, such as the aforementioned tight folds, minimal creases, and common mistakes people make when folding them.

The final result is the Paper football pictured above, which can be used to play a fun game with a friend. Each takes a turn: one holds their fingers in the shape of a goalpost, the other positions the football in a punting position by holding the top corner and pushing down so it stands vertically. The “kicker” then flicks the football, propelling it forward into the goal. The player who gets five goals first wins.

Analysis:

It is interesting that he called it a football. I had never heard it called a paper football before, but when he showed me the process, I immediately knew what he was talking about, which I called a “paper triangle.” It’s funny, because I also learned how to make those from friends back in elementary school. These kinds of foldables often appear when we’re supposed to be learning, paying attention, or otherwise doing something else. Due to their location, students had to be somewhat sneaky when creating or playing with them, keeping them hidden from the teachers.

It is also a perfect representation of school children’s folk art. It is an item made informally from mass-produced materials, that’s taught from student to student, or unofficially online, and holds no monetary value. However, it does hold sentimental and nostalgic memories for the children and communities who grew up with these.

It is also interesting how he used some assistance from a random YouTube video. This reminds us that folklore continues to thrive online. There wasn’t one specific “right” video. Although the end product is roughly the same, each creator has a slightly different way of folding the paper or presenting the instructions, giving the process variety. Even though the digital tutorial exists, he still showed me in person how to make it, and the details (described earlier) he added were quite interesting and different than what the video did or could have mentioned.

Big Larry the Uber Driver

Age: 22

Date Collected: 4/16/2026

Context:

My friend is a senior at Cal Poly San Luis Obispo. She is in a sorority up there, and we have known each other for about seven years now. Once, when I was up there visiting, she had told me about a legendary Uber driver that everyone in SLO tries to get when traveling to the bars. I asked her about it later over the phone.

Text:

In SLO, there’s one Uber driver, “Big Larry”, who became very popular with the students. My friend explained that he rose in popularity mainly because he was really funny, and his car had colorful lights, great speakers, and a karaoke for passengers to use. He is instantly recognizable with his huge cowboy hat, sunglasses at night in his “funny-looking minivan.” My friend said that “if you get an Uber with Big Larry, you have to take a pic.” Big Larry also makes and posts compilations of the riders with their consent on Instagram and TikTok. He’s “promoting his side hustle,” personal driving service. He does a great job branding his rides, and it has become a ritual for passengers to take a selfie with him. He also posts crazy AI videos of himself doing wild things to get people excited for big events like the Fourth of July, Spring break, and St. Patrick’s Day.

Big Larry typically works weekends, from what my friend explained, and typically around that time and location, drives around kids going or coming from parties. But he does drive during the day and on weekdays too. She believe that “riding in Big Larry’s Uber will guarantee a legendary night out.” They’ll take pics with him and post them on their Instagrams. My friend explained that some of her friends said they had very memorable nights out after riding in his Uber. Also, in her sorority, when someone is out having too good a time, they’re on “Big Larry’s wild ride.” The story gets passed around by students to the point where almost everyone who went to SLO knows Big Larry, and knows how lucky they are when his name pops up on the app.

But not everyone loves the legendary character Big Larry. My friend got to ride with him once, she said that the ride was kind of awkward. They hopped in and asked, “Are you big Larry? He was like yes, want a picture.” They didn’t really want one, because the vibes were off, but took one regardless because it’s what everyone else has done. That said, my friend said that she wouldn’t give him legend status; in fact, he’s kind of a creep-o in her mind based on the encounter and his demeanor. But I guess they do say, never meet your heroes.

Analysis:

From my understanding, Big Larry is something of a local legendary figure in SLO. He is something like a patron Saint of the nightlife and social scene in SLO. He is an omen of luck, and students are happy to see him as their rider. Students learn about his character from friends in casual conversation or on their Instagram. This reflects the traditional word of mouth and more recent digital spread of folklore. But Big Larry represents a new wave of folklore. What was interesting to me was how Big Larry uses Instagram and AI to further bolster his reputation and public image. For example, a recent St. Patrick’s Day post shows an AI video of Larry carrying a pot of gold, calling himself “The Big Shamrock”, and giving gifts to everybody. Big Larry is very much an active participant in forming his own legendary reputation in the neighborhood.

The legend functions as a way to unite the social scene in SLO. Friends can bond over their experiences with Big Larry, or just laugh about how silly his persona is. Either way, it helps people bond and creates a unique community of students who have a distinctly SLO identity. We have strange and unique Uber drivers in LA, and we had some when I went to Santa Barbara, but nothing like Big Larry. It also gives students a way to control the unexpected. They can’t pick their Uber driver, nor can they decide how fun their night out will be. But getting Big Larry is an omen that helps alleviate those anxieties and doubts. When they see him, they know they’ll have a great time, so just relax and enjoy.

Some might believe that the man really is magical, and you should buckle up for a great night when you take his wild ride. But my friend is more of a realist; she doesn’t think anyone else can make or break your night out. That doesn’t make the character any less of a legend, though. People generally remember the hits and forget the misses. Everyone who had the awkward encounter still says their out-of-control drunk friends are on “Big Larry’s Wild Ride.” So the legend still does mean something to them. But, in that context, the legend is kind of flipped and used ironically. We learned that legends aren’t always what the grand stories make them out to be. My friend’s awkward encounter essentially counters the legend; she didn’t have an especially amazing night out. The encounter was awkward, mundane, and altogether just didn’t feel right. But, I would say that her encounter humanized him. In reality, Larry was just a tired guy on a weekend driving students. Larry can curate his online persona, but he can’t mediate every real- world interaction he has. At some point, his persona outgrew his ability to maintain it. In reality, he’s just another guy. Legendary stories don’t focus on these more mundane aspects because people sensationalize them. We often want to believe in larger-than-life figures because it makes the world feel that much more special. When we encounter one of those legendary figures, we might take something from it. In this instance, we might leave our anxieties about the night behind.

“St. Fratties Day” Celebration – Cal Poly San Louis Obispo

Age: 22

Date Collected 4/16/2026

Context:

My informant is a close friend of mine attending Cal Poly San Louis Obispo. She is a graduating senior and an active member in a sorority. She told me about Cal Poly SLO’s most recognizable holiday, “St. Fratties Day.” When I went to college in Santa Barbara, I knew all about St. Fratties day, but I never got the opportunity to go.

Text:

“Every year on March 17th, we wake up at 3:17, get dressed in our “greenest” outfits, take a green Jello shot, and hit the block parties.” That’s been the tradition long before my friend first enrolled at Cal Poly SLO, but it seems the traditions are changing.

To my informant, this is a uniquely SLO festival that’s shared with students all over California; students come from neighboring schools to attend, similar to UCSB’s Deltopia to celebrate. Typically, students indulge in “Irish like drinks – Guinness, Irish Whiskey, Baileys, Green colored mixed drinks and of course green Jello shots,” “anything that seems remotely Irish is there.” More recently, my informant explained that students come dressed in custom green t-shirts painted with white paint and patched. Like four leaf clovers or messages like “kiss me, I’m Irish” or “I love Irish goodbyes.” About two years ago, students made their own green “borgs” decorated with on- theme messages funny quotes or Irish themed puns.

The holiday has been largely student- run, consisting of massive block parties where certain streets of the town are packed full of students celebrating. House parties, local band performances and pre-games litter the surrounding neighborhoods as students prepare to gather on Hathaway street at 5am. Most students hear about the event through word of mouth, as it is quite popular; if not through friends, they see posts on social media discussing house parties or cover charges for bands. But it seems the tradition is about to change significantly.

Last year, the school started its own concert music festival on campus to divert attention from the neighborhood street parties. My informant told me that this is largely due to the resulting property damage, noise and underage drinking that occurs. In the 2025 celebration, roofs caved in and fences were toppled over by the mass of people.

My informant explained that while in the middle of the crowd she “literally thought I might die.” But, thats part of the fun. Regardless, she explained, the surrounding neighborhood, police, and other officials have placed pressure on the school to make St. Fratties less damaging for the community. So, as a result the school offered a music festival free of entry that has big names performing. My informant explained that the school and community’s goal is to make the block parties illegal and push students towards more “responsible and respectful” celebrations. Additionally, next year, the school is going to switch to semesters, so St. Fratties weekend will fall under their Spring break. My informant believes that “this is their [school and officials] path to totally killing it.”

This last March (2026) the streets were barricaded, with cops on horses preventing students from moving around. So, this exciting student tradition might not exist for much longer, which is sad for my informant and future generations of SLO students. This is a huge event for the students at SLO. They look forward to it, and it is a way for them to communicate their identity as SLO students and show off their campus and student life to friends from out of town. To them, this isn’t just a big party, its part of their life. The event takes a lot of energy from the students as well. Setting up, planning, coordinating their individual contributions and plans. It also takes place on “dead week,” or the week before their finals for the quarter. So, there is a significant cost for dedicated students to fully commit or even attend the event.


My informant explained that after the initial rush, around seven or eight in the morning, she and her friends go back to their house and sleep in the sun by the pool. They rest, get some work done then go out again later that night to the bars in town, which have green decorations, themed drinks and the bands performing. This is where the student population joins the rest of the community, because both students and adults are all out celebrating at the bars.

Analysis:

This event shows a lot about student identity and how events and festivals become a core part of students’ on-campus life. The community comes together to celebrate, meet one another, and enjoy being around one another. It’s an event where groups that otherwise might not interact can mingle and find common ground. It is a way to let go and be free of the difficulties of school for a moment. To release your tension before the push from finals. But also, in a way, a means to challenge the system. Students defy their obligations to study for finals to take part in this event. This is by definition the carnivalesque. An act that defies the “dominant” or regular system of the academic calendar by providing a day to suspend those roles as students. It is especially poignant because it takes place at the highest stakes moment of the quarter, right before finals week.

It also has ritualistic elements, like waking up at 3:17 am (3:17 = March 17th) and drinking Jello shots. This crates a shared “starting point” that all students can enter this event. Brutal as it may be in the moment, it is a fond memory of my informant and shows that students are committed to this event because there’s a “barrier to enter.” These are things that students wouldn’t normally do, waking up that early or drink the Jello shots. But under the context of the event, these things have meaning created by the culture and traditions passed on by older students.

It has been sad to hear about how the school and institutions are in effect “killing” the event. Switching to the semester system means everyone will likely be free from school and away on break. The holiday needs a place, that place and community are removed for the period of St. Fratties. There are risks for the event- students getting hurt, property damage, and noise, to name a few. But, I don’t think killing the event totally is a fair or beneficial solution. The event has become part of SLO’s identity, and students look forward to it every year. Even though they are offering a festival, my informant explained it was poorly run and wasn’t as fun or unique as the block parties. We learned this is called fakelore. An institutional ripoff trying to build on the authenticity of the people’s culture. My friend explained that it felt forced rather than natural. As an outsider, I’m upset by this. It’s like getting a YouTube video interrupted by a corny corporate ad that’s trying too hard to fit in. It also eliminated the house parties, random interactions, and smaller local student bands. When the day becomes just a performance, the students aren’t active participants; they become more like an audience. This institutional replica of the event highlights how the culture and specifics of the event are sanitized by larger corporations to create a mass-produced event. There are thousands of music festivals every year, but only one St. Fratties day.