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By Mihar Dias January 2026
There are moments in life when two old cocks—by which I mean senior citizens with knee issues and questionable fashion instincts—find themselves wondering how exactly they ended up in a back alley of Petaling Street, being styled like extras from a European arthouse film.
Dato' Johari, Ryan and Mihar Dias. Credit Ryan
This was one of those moments.
We were summoned by the creator of Harry Kok, a name that already demands you keep a straight face as a civic duty. He wanted us to “showcase” Harry Kok, preferably not in a gallery, not in a mall, but in the atmospheric arteries behind Petaling Street. You know the ones: where history, grease, sweat and mystery live in permanent cohabitation.
Our rendezvous point was the old Rex—crowded, loud, gloriously alive. It was hot, humid, and full of young people chomping on food with the enthusiasm of an economy that hasn’t yet discovered cholesterol. Noodles, skewers, things on sticks whose origins were best left unquestioned. The young locals were chugging drinks, going back for second helpings like the exchange rate didn’t apply to them.
I, meanwhile, found salvation in a corner blessed by an air cooler. The cool air was blowing directly at a young Taiwanese lady on a four-day KL break. She was unhappy.
“This sandwich and Coke are so expensive,” she complained.
They weren’t, actually. She clarified quickly.
“It’s the exchange rate. NT$7 to RM1.”
Ah. Currency: the great equaliser and occasional villain.
.Somewhere between the humidity and the economics lesson, the creator of Harry Kok apologised. Harry Kok himself, apparently, was still in the car. Maybe, if we were lucky, we’d be introduced later—like meeting a rock star who refuses to leave the tour bus.
“Meanwhile,” he asked politely, “would you mind putting on a Harry Kok T-shirt?”
The Taiwanese lady loved it immediately. Branding works. But she had one request: red, not black.
“Ang ang,” she said. Lucky colour.
We promised to arrange it—pending Harry’s approval, of course. Or she could just get it online. Even luck, these days, comes with e-commerce.
Then Harry’s Godfather entered the scene. With the solemnity of a baptism, he gently placed the T-shirt on my body. This was not a metaphorical moment. This was literal cotton meeting ageing flesh.
We were ready for the photoshoot.
The location? The alley. Mostly the alley. We didn’t ask why. We just complied. Stoic looks were requested—Greek stoicism, to be precise. Sunglasses on. Black shoes. Black socks. Serious faces, as if contemplating the impermanence of civilisation or the price of kopi.
Then, for no clearly explained reason, we were told to take off our pants.
Not everything in art needs explanation, I suppose.
Black socks remained. Shorts appeared. Perhaps Harry Kok likes to walk around in shorts, the way Aussies do in the boondocks. After all, didn’t the creator study there? Cultural influence is a powerful thing.
As we posed, I remembered how, years ago, these same two old koks met Harry Kok’s Godfather on a filming set for Haze-zilla—a cynical take on how open burning in Indonesia was slowly smoking our nation like an unattended satay grill. Life, it turns out, is one long sequel with recurring characters.
What exactly is Harry Kok promoting?
I won’t tell you.
I’ll let Harry Kok do that himself—in the next Instagram release.
Mihar Dias (mihardias@gmail.com) is a content creator under the Newswav Creator programme, where you get to express yourself, be a citizen journalist, and at the same time monetize your content & reach millions of users on Newswav. Log in to creator.newswav.com and become a Newswav Creator now!
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