Photo: Marit Elise Solbakken / www.nordnorge.com
A country's tradition belongs to the memory of its people. Italy, my native land, cradle of civilization, carries a past shaped by kingdoms and cultures that left their mark in stone and paint — open-air mausoleums, sculptures, frescoes, churches, palaces, and even the streets beneath our feet. History surrounds us, often speaking without needing explanation, layered over centuries and woven into everyday life.
Norway’s story is different. As a nation, it’s relatively young, and waves of invading cultures haven’t shaped its land. That absence of external influence has made the Norwegian connection to tradition feel deeper and more deliberate. Moments of remembrance—national holidays, historical anniversaries—hold weight. Even the difficulty some feel in letting go of old, unused objects reflects a cultural instinct: a desire to preserve not just things but the memory they carry.
Norway’s past is tied to the rawness of nature, to hunting, the sea, and the long voyages of the Vikings. Later came the centuries under Swedish and Danish rule, and eventually, the turning point: independence in the early 20th century, a moment that cemented national identity and the defense of its memory.
In both cases, collective memory finds different ways to express itself — but everywhere, the human need to belong and to remember runs deep. It’s within this space that traditional dress takes on a central role: not merely as an ornament of the past, but as a living testament to culture itself.
In an age where identity is scattered between global imagery and consumer logic, traditional dress reemerges as tangible memory — a silent language that speaks of roots and belonging. Far from being a decorative relic of the past, it is a living testimony of culture, a symbol that transcends time.
The Norwegian bunad is a powerful example. It is not merely a folkloric costume but a deeply meaningful form of expression. Every regional variation — every embroidery, metal detail, or headpiece — tells a local story, a genealogy, a shared landscape. Wearing it, especially on occasions like May 17th, is an act of recognition and affirmation. It says: “I belong to this community, to this memory.”
Photo: Shigeru Ohki / www.nordnorge.com
In contrast to contemporary fashion, fleeting and ever-changing, the traditional costume asserts itself as something lasting, something to be passed down. It doesn’t follow time — it safeguards it. It is like a living reliquary, a form that protects and makes visible a cultural continuity in a world often marked by fragmentation.
The body becomes a narrative surface — a space where a collective story is written. Every symbol, every color is not just decoration but part of a language that binds the individual to the community. The bunad, for instance, is also an act of resistance: a quiet protest against conformity, a rejection of the anonymity imposed by global culture. It is not only personal identity, but the visible trace of an invisible inheritance.
Photo: Wolfmann / Wikipedia bit.ly/3YqEOHy
Today, in the paradox of an increasingly digital society, the need for the concrete, the ritual, and the meaningful grows. Young Norwegians are rediscovering this, just as ceremonial garments are being reclaimed elsewhere. Not out of nostalgia, but as a way to reconnect with meaning, with a timeless beauty, with gestures that renew deep bonds.
Every traditional costume — from the bunad to the kimono, the sari to the sahariana — is a bridge between the visible and the invisible. It speaks through the body but holds a collective soul. It is gesture and prayer, memory and vision. In a world that wants us as spectators and consumers, these garments remind us that we are part of stories — living threads in a greater landscape.
Photo: David Kinsella / www.nordnorge.com
The bunad has seen moments of great visibility in Norway’s recent history. After independence from Sweden in 1905, after liberation in 1945, and during the Lillehammer Winter Olympics in 1994, when the world watched Norwegian couples parade in traditional dress through the snow. Three very different moments, one clear message: “This is who we are.” During events like these, it is not just clothing — it is a declaration of pride and belonging.
In the folkehøgskoler, students learned to sew their bunad — not just as part of the curriculum, but as an act of identity-building. The garment became a symbol of a tradition that spanned both urban and rural homes, uniting youth from every region in shared pride.
There was a time when wearing it meant exposing yourself. It wasn’t always welcomed, and wearers were sometimes mocked or even attacked. During the years between the two world wars, Noregs Ungdomslag — the Norwegian Youth Association — continued to expand, drawing more and more people into the mission of promoting Norwegian culture. At the same time, socialist and communist movements were also gaining ground, and even within these groups, the bunad found a place.
It was not a garment confined to one ideology — it resonated across the political spectrum, becoming a symbol flexible enough to carry varied meanings.
Photo: Paul Stang / www.vestlandfylke.no/arkiv
During World War II, the bunad, along with other national symbols, was co-opted by the occupying Nazi regime. The imagery of the Viking era, folk literature, the Norwegian language, and the traditional dress were all harnessed in a calculated effort to re-educate the population and justify the new order. What once served as a symbol of cultural pride was repurposed as a tool of propaganda — an attempt to bend heritage into compliance.
After the war, it became the symbol of a free Norway, especially celebrated on May 17th — a ritual of independence and hope.
Photo: Benyamin Farnam / https://no.wikipedia.org/wiki/17._mai_%28grunnlovsdag%29#/media/Fil:17_mai_2018.jpg
Crafting it takes time, precision, and dedication. It’s not a mass-produced product, but the result of a craft tradition passed down through generations. Every act — embroidering, stitching, weaving belts and ribbons — tells a story. In 1998, this craftsmanship was formally recognized as a profession: bunadtilvirker, the bunad artisans. Yet as time passes and industrialization grows, traditional production is at risk. Many manufacturers have outsourced parts of the process to other countries, lowering costs but straying from the roots. Still, some artisans continue to uphold the tradition, believing that every bunad should be born from skilled hands, not from an assembly line.
Other Scandinavian countries also have traditional costumes — like folkdräkt in Sweden, folkedragt in Denmark, and þjóðbúningur in Iceland — but in Norway, the bunad has taken on a unique significance. It has become not only a national symbol, but a part of daily life and collective identity.
Norway, perhaps more than other countries, has had to fight to establish itself as an independent nation. That’s why the bunad became a symbol of a deep and rooted identity. Every May 17th, when millions of Norwegians wear it to celebrate the Constitution, the entire country seems to see itself reflected in one great story — sewn together, stitch by stitch.
Photo: Arne Sklett Larsen / www.nordnorge.com
This is even more true now, because on December 5, 2024, the tradition of bunad use in Norway was officially inscribed on UNESCO’s Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. This recognition highlights its value as a cultural symbol and as a living tradition that connects generations.
The inscription was announced during the 19th session of the International Convention for the Safeguarding of Intangible Heritage, held in Paraguay, where the bunad took center stage, celebrated by representatives from around the world.
Photo: Solveig Strand / www.bunadogfolkedrakt.no
The nomination process was the result of seven years of collaboration among key Norwegian cultural institutions. These organizations worked together to collect information, host public meetings, and raise awareness of the bunad's cultural significance. The effort included educational activities aimed at children and young adults, intending to preserve and strengthen its tradition.
UNESCO’s recognition doesn’t just celebrate the bunad as heritage — it also underscores the urgent need to preserve the traditional skills required to make it. As society evolves and globalization accelerates, there’s a risk that these practices will be forgotten. Its inclusion on the UNESCO list serves as a reminder of the importance of keeping such traditions alive and passing them on to future generations.