future perfect:intense!

Designers in the western fashion circuit have embraced much of the upscale, sweet feminine feel of the previous year. This is probably the reason why they turned their backs to that trend and saw the future of clothing in S/S2007:future perfect.
When the January issue of Italian Vogue and Preview hit my doorstep, i had a jaw-dropping experience of browsing through the pages finding the radical views of foreign labels come into reality. i mean, what could be more fulfilling than seeing the future right here at home without time travelling? what could be more fabulous than seeing besides the retrospective colections of Alexander McQueen, DKNY, Girbaud, Prada (turbans of the old Parissiene days are back!) and Chanel the collections that scream "future is forever?" Tell me now or perish soon.
Hussein Chalayan, Balenciaga, Byblos, Armani, Gucci, Manish Arora, Alexander mcqueen and Proenza Schouler sent down the runways pieces that doesn't just look futuristic, but screams it. Loudly.
Gone are the days when the romanticist-slash-derelicte women from Vivienne Westwood's S/S 2006 collection walked the streets of fashionable New York, and into the light emerges a 1970's space oddysey-inspired woman wearing metallic plates sculpted to her breasts, with microchip detailing on her tights and stilettos riveted with bronze inscriptions recalling alien inscriptions.
the future indeed is soo right now. right this minute.
Balenciaga showed robotic, laboratoresque goggles on top of practically anything--from draped lame' fabric underneath silver breast plates to billowy skirts with linear details, from bright chrome and pewter-colored tights to platforms lined with chains.
Hussein Chalayan was inspired by the drastic elements of nature and microchip, hence he sent down the runways couture creations which literally has a life of its own--from tiered origami mini dresses to hats that expand once a button is pressed, creating an instant sun-screening purpose. After his downfall in the previous fashion weeks this one is definitely a comeback.
In Armani sent gigantic, 1930's hats in stark black coupled with titanium details as an opening for his pret-a-porter show in January.

An innovative use of old-world tailoring techniques coupled with futuristic vigor dominated Alexander mcqueen's pieces down the runway. even if it still recalls the feel of the romanticism in the previous year, this one's definitely a showstopper.
Frida Gianni for Gucci was inspired by the robotic figure of femininity, hence she sent down exaggerated steel plates for his opening show, and the acesories-oh! pretty, reminds me of space shuttles and plane propellers-soo now.
Manish Arora's collection is bursting with colors but is inspired basically by the colors found in a circuit board, a mixture of subliminal and upbeat colors that connive perfectly to create the frivolities of the future.
Byblos' use of buybble-like accesories accentuate the engineered cuts he did for his collection, while Proenza Schouler opted for cleaner, linear cuts with high-end, tech savvy fabrics that define the future of engineering.
All these things underline one thing: an experience of what the future really looks like.
Although we haven't seen the rest of the future, i gotta say, there's always room for one more

drugsexviolence/faithhopelove

I wonder why feature writing invites so much the journalistic ego in me. it could be because i religiously drool on the fabulous articles they print on Preview, Italian Vogue, and Jane--guess that's where i'm headed to in the future. Love the clothes, love the bags, love the reads, love the life--

(--And for chrissake Gemma Ward's cover shoot for Vogue in February smells like a cup of macchiato and Dunhill lights-delicious. and addicting.!)

oh, and by the way,I live in a repressed realm of fantasy where wearing leg warmers over a pair of Cole flipflops sound silly to some, where my Louis Vuitton speedy bag (which i got as a present) is cursed by everyone because it is overpriced (and because thousands die of hunger, no?)). i live in a third world country where tank tops and superbly underhauled denims dominate my closet instead of chinchilla coats and Lanvin cone heels. In other words, this isn't fashionville for me nor it is pleasantville to some, some call it punishment, i call it obscurity.

and so there i was (backstage, wardrobe area, for the awoo nyt 2007 sponsored by the SSG) standing like a bullfighter as i play my role as the wardrobe master. my time to shine, the cliche goes. after weeks of concept research, collection and selection, and fitting, it all comes down to this big show. and i can't wait to show the underrepresented fashionistas in the audience my thing.

(this reminds me of a backstage peek at Chanel's Cruise Collection runway show for 2008. Karl Lagerfeld screams like a little-boy-who-wished-he's-an-adult, "shoes! hair! make-up!go!go! everybody line up!")

and i wonder how people, particularly Filipinos, could take for granted all the efforts that were put into making a cohesive fashion collection for all the consumers to, of course, consume. i wonder why they keep on babbling that fashion is evil when fashion is within, amongst, and in our DNA. well, hey, good and evil is within us nay?

i definitely live in a pathetic world. and i couldn't be more pathetic. it's long overdue.

a couple of years back i got the stint to study in a London-based Italian Fashion School, well, it sounds cool alright, but apparently they only have Master programmes, and for chrissake i'm an UNDERGRADUATE with unsigned, unsealed, undelivered units all ova my face. so i decided to finish this they-call-it-lucrative degree in English Linguistics here in the province and head back to Manila to pursue a course in er, uhm, Fashion Merchandising and design. (how could the Ateneo folks push me to write about hybridism, nativism, phonology and semantics when all i wanted to do all my life is make clothes, shop, make beautiful things, shop, write beautiful, uber posse happy things, and shop??!-- i rest my case.) My last resort? nothing. push this, push that till the juice splurges outta me.

so you know what's running in my mind right now? that this flare will fuel much of what i needed to become a writer--a fashion feature writer! more! more! more!

so enough with the drug/sex/violence/faith/hope/love bashing part and i'm now ready to look under the skirts of the world's most glamorous industry-le mode. le fashion.

Songs of the heart

I just love how music can creep into every nook and cranny in the fantasy lives we have. Isn't it grand how these tunes can manage to infiltrate whatever mood we're in? These are some of the great greats i'm listening to. Right now. right this fucking minute.

I'll be at the call center

A friend of mine who has dedicated eight years of his life to working in different centers once said, “You can find me here. I’ll always be at the call center.”
It was then that I realized that my couture-worthy creations or my daily baon when I was still in the university won’t be enough to buy me a tall Starbucks mocha frappucino at least every other day or pay even half my tuition fee for a month. That is why I decided to put on my black, faux snake skin man-pumps and start making calls that would pay me seven hundred bucks daily just because like any other Pinoy kids of my age, I had the skill of imitating an accent that’s worth the chi-ching. This includes the perks of hitting it big in an industry of air-conditioned rooms, systems, processes, headsets, stilettos on carpeted floors, espresso, chain smokers, fluent American English speakers and listeners, dollars and of course—spiels.
I am in an outbound campaign for a private label credit card in a posh call center facility in Filinvest, Alabang. I work eight hours a day, five or six days a week, in a shift that’s definitely godly for nocturnal creatures like I am. This shift transforms my usual party hours of eight pm to five am into a segment that I called ‘the transcendence of what a nineteen year-old in the artistic It list should do.’ I guess I’m bittersweet.
The call center experience should never be regarded as equal to eating a large McDonald’s fries just because the former is a common thing to ponder on—and because a huge percentage of the tropa has seen and been in the call center bandwagon. One should always see things with new eyes, or as I put it, should always make calls with new mouths.
It was through this experience, where I started as a young, typical, ambitious university kid in a promdi-themed Camarines Sur scene that I realized the big world isn’t really big for a kid that thinks the way I do. It’s not big. It’s humungous, overpowering, suffocating and refreshing as well. It’s like a skin consultation that makes you realize that you do need some other thing aside from that commercialized, ambitious facial wash on your bathroom closet. I do need some other thing.
Alone I am not, for many other kids who are as ambitious as I am also sweat it out in the productions floor like I do, sugar-coating something that really shouldn’t be.
Inside the productions floor area (or simply bay) I would brush elbows with a lot of frustrations. A frustration is one of the many key elements that bring energetic, intelligent, and enviably fluent kids into one call center. Choosing the job just because one thinks it’s easy and it pays well is pathetic if not downright funny. The latter may be right, but the former isn’t. No job in this bustling earthtopia is easy when one doesn’t love it. In my case, I learned to like what I’m doing because it makes me feel comfortable knowing that there’s enough Ninoys inside my wallet to send myself to school, buy a slice of Yellow Cab or two, give my siblings some baon, made a lot of new friends, added a line of few words to my résumé, strengthened if not polished my communication skills, revitalized my skin condition (because of the ac), updated my wardrobe, and above all, I learned that to survive one doesn’t only need to fight. One needs to fight with his best foot forward so that at the end of the day one isn’t bitter over his loss because he gave the fight his best.
When I’m at the floor, I would find myself engulfed in dust in a battlefield. I will realize soon that my bitterness isn’t alone in this room. Listening to the stories of the strangers I met at the floor makes the whole production floor a circus sort of thing that showcases the miscellany that defies all reasons for demarcation.
Opposite me is a fluent, English-speaking rebellious rockstar who never made it to a big rock band competition just because he argued with his parents. Another is a frustrated ballerina who finds ballet lessons expensive, thus the job to keep her in class is this. Beside me is a recently licensed nurse who’s working hard to finance herself in case the nursing board retake take center stage. On her left is a single mother of two who used to be a full-time painter, who once tried to sell her Pollock-inspired oil paintings to buy milk for her daughter. Beside her sits a young entrepreneur who realized that selling woven handbags and clutches from Palawan, Baguio, Legazpi and Negros won’t be enough to buy enough stocks and send her to school. Opposite her is a guy who used to be a Figaro’s barista but decided that his new born son needs more than what a barista dad could give. Another is a brilliant writer who reads Coelho and Neruda while making calls, beside her is an astonishing cook who prepares his baon in a way that puts to shame the Iron Chef contenders. Another is a student journalist-turned-activist who throbs on many socio-political issues every time we see each other inside the cafeteria. Another is an ex-seminarian who spoke of theology, philosophy, and sexuality all the time while insisting that he is agnostic. Next to him is a part-time runway model who walks on stilettos more expensive than the headsets she’s wearing, and says, “They’re just giveaways! Ano ba!?”. Another is a veteran call center agent who has been shifting companies for the past five years because he told me he’s ‘tired of the job’.
The issue now isn’t being bitter to a job that one didn’t like, but being thankful because among the millions of unemployed Filipinos, one was given the chance to have a taste of what it’s like to be earning money at a very tender age, and making the most out of it.
As for me, I am a language major on my last year in the university when they offered me the job “a million Pinoys would kill for”. Hesitant I was, the reason being I had to finish my degree fast, and jump into a design school that would catapult me and my sewing machine to fame. However all of these would have to be put on hold, just like in a call, when you put on hold the cardholder to check on the account within milliseconds. I just hope I would have to put on hold my dream for just a couple of seconds, because if it takes longer, I might grow tired and weak shining in a job that’s really not my thing; even if it’s not my thing, I do need this for it makes me aware that there are indeed some things on this earth I cannot stay on doing for so long; it weakens every aspect of who I really am and where I stand my purpose on this earth; on the contrary it strengthens my views on what I am and where I’m headed to, even if it’s not the flat-screened computers with the headsets all over me in the productions floor.

Some Chic Lit! Fab and Fag!

Hey book freaks of the world,, it's summer for chrissake and throw in a ponxho, a pair of Havaiannas and start reading while getting a tan.. here are some must reads that i personally have read some years back. Talk about haute literature with a watermelon smoothie under the summer sun!

The Best Little Boy in the World, by John Reid. A moving account of one man’s experiences of growing up gay, including how his brother and parents accept him and how he learns to accept himself. More like Reflections of a Rock Lobster by Aaron Fricke, equally gripping, yet one fag can definitely relate to some of the events occurring around the best little boy in the world (pep up: the main character’s identified as BLBITW, acronym of the books title). If you wanna read this, read it with a wide mind, not only because it’s fucking gay literature, but it’s a mammoth psychological and linguistic adventure as well, literally and figuratively!
The Little Prince, by Antoine d’saint Exupery. Need I say more? It was the first full-length book I’ve read and I loved it since then. Growing up and looking at life have never been this fun if you’ve read this quaint book with a big oomph!
The Devil Wears Prada, by Lauren Weisberger. Augh! Finally! Fiction that rocked me on and off screen! This is a delightfully dishy story of Andrea Sachs, a budding journalist who got to be with one of the world’s most impossible bosses: Miranda Priestly, Runway Magazine’s senior editor and a fashion mogul. I read the book, like, six times and I saw the movie seven. It’s so fucking fabulous. Incarnates much of the nooks and crannies of the industry.
Fashion Babylon. A gripping account of what the world’s most glamorous industry (Fashion, of course) holds for a person that’s either with it, into it, or for it. A notorious tell-all, I guess. If you don’t have the book yet, have one for keepers!
Anna Karenina, by Leo Tolstoy. A story set in czarist Russia, it is of Anna, a bewildered Russian aristocrat who finds herself trapped in the hells of infidelity, demise, and treachery. As the story progresses, one would not feel hatred towards the main character, but pity. I loved how Tolstoy concocted this classic into something that would haunt its readers even after its last page.
Tuesdays with Morrie, by Mich Albom. A riveting account of the conversations between a dying professor and his former student, the book flows with utmost light and grace, but it triggers an emotional journey so strong, it made some of my friends cry, but I never did. I really don’t know why, but nevertheless it touched me; knowing that the theme “death” would be something everyone can relate to, and makes it a worthy subject for introspection.
Young, Gay and Proud, edited by Sasha Alyson. A medium-weight book giving its readers a pep up of the gay utopia: coming out right, fucking safely, books to read, about parents who are proud of their gay children, myths, a long list of some of the world’s most famous persons in history who’s either gay or lesbian, finding friendships…the long list goes on and on. A caressing refuge for anyone who’s having doubts of opening up, the book offered a lot and made the difference on how one can embrace faggotry because for Bryanboy, “you, my friend, must keep the faggotry alive.”
Pooh’s Corner, by A. A. Milne. A breezy story of friendship. I read it with my little sister, and we both loved it!
Like a Flowing River, by Paulo Coelho. I don’t have the book, but I do have a soft copy of the excerpts. Coelho again provoked a philosophical and intuitive journey through this book, and gives a haunting like that of his “Warrior of the light.”
Eighty Sixed,David Feinberg . Set in the mid 1980s, it’s a gripping story about a gay man in his twenties who finds himself in the midst of funerals and sick friends dying of the notorious AIDS. More of a warning, I never felt scared and alone my whole life!
Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister, by Geoffrey Maguire. Told from the point of view of the ‘ugly stepsister’, this Cinderella retells a classic tale with unexpected twists and a human touch.
Sex and the City, by Candace Bushnell. Another jewel in the category “from-paper-to-the-television-screen,”, I just adored the fabulous storyline, the characters (and the actresses that portrayed them), and the glamorous couture-- Monolo Blahniks everywhere! Nevertheless some critics would say that the characters were too gay to be even real. Well, well, isn’t ‘gay’ real?
Three Weeks in Paris, by Barbara Taylor Bradford. Set in one of my favorite cities, it’s about a circle of friends who drifted apart from each, both physically and emotionally, after finishing design school. They soon get together in this beautiful French city and picks up everything that was left behind, each of the character with different backgrounds and ordeals, and everything happens in three weeks.
Five Fortunes, by Beth Gutcheon. A story about five different women who found recluse in an exclusive retreat-house-sort-of-spa tucked away in the mountains. The five women would soon realize that the spa has a lot to offer them, not only the relaxation they’ve been looking forward to, but thoughts that make life worth living—and changing.
Drop, by Mat Johnson. A story about a budding advertising practitioner who finds life in the middle of his endeavor with himself, his career, and the world around him. This young writer from Philadelphia definitely set the story in a world not far from where he came from, which makes it quintessential and interesting.
The Untapped Generation, by Wilkerson. I only read several chapters of this book written in the 70s. The title refers to the youth in that era and the many issues that still shrouds their modern-day descendants like drug abuse, homosexuality, pre-marital sex, etc. Plus, the book offers counseling, which is okay, but do you think I need one?
Virtually Normal, by Simone Mitchell. A Philo-psychological introspection into homosexuality, I used this book to write a position paper in Philosophy 1 and it had been very helpful. It definitely defines “normal” in varied ways, explicitly picturing the differences between what’s virtually normal and what’s not.

Tumbleweed: Is Philippine Television truly Filipino?

The television industry in the country has come a long way since the advent of many innovations in Television Production. New and fresher ideas arrive like throngs on buses everyday. But where did these ideas spring from?
They call it Globalization, the inclusion of a multitude of nations into one “global village.” Let us not forget modernization and all other aspects related to such.
When the hands of globalization tapped the archipelago on all its points, we never stopped dancing to the beat of these newfound “glories.” It has become, as a matter of fact, the trend which the whole world cradled--having one taste, one face anywhere.
And since then, Philippine television was never the same old story we see on T.V. It has changed—a lot.
Several Philippine Television programs are somehow stereotypes of foreign shows many would have seen through Cable television. We can’t help but admire the authenticity of these foreign programs, the twists and turns of their quintessential lives, the mentality, the attitude, the verve that is ‘in’ them.

These and more of the attributes of a typical Philippine Television show will indeed illustrate that it has its foreign roots. Where is the Filipino Identity? The Filipino ingenuity and originality which we ought to demonstrate?

Blame it on Globalization, on Modernization. The Modern Filipino has now gained global insights, affecting their privilege of choice from an infinitesimal to a humungous range of options. With the dawn of Cable television and frequent visits from far-flung cultures through imported “products”, the possibilities are almost endless. We can choose between a show promoting local products and a show promoting foreign products like Gucci and Versace, we can opt not to watch “Hiram” but watch Seventh Heaven, we can choose not to see Julius Babao broadcasting live but watch the Iraqis’ ordeal through CNN and CNBC, we can go for Fashion TV than watch the Ifugaos dance on Silip Sining, and we can opt not to watch Kris Aquino brag about her love life and see who’s dating Paris Hilton. The array of preferences seems eternal.

It is our, the viewing public, taste which affects how the Television industry will structure its shows to suit the palates of the global Filipino. They are maneuvering their programs into compositions reminiscent of the ones the viewers see on international channels. With this effort, they will not lose us because we will be satisfied by local versions of the shows we see abroad. We will be excited to see who’s next to swallow a cup of slimy earthworms on Extra Extra Challenge, we will be thrilled to see the next Grand Questor, we are eager to know why Martin left Vivian in “Lovers and Paris”, and we will be enthralled by the anonymity of the next winner in “Game Ka Na Ba?”. And then, ratings go high--the Industry survives.

Centered on the shows I mentioned earlier, we may see no essence of being a Filipino. However, these do not generalize Philippine Television. I still believe that there are indeed shows promulgating the Filipino spirit like “Silip Sining” and “CCI Asia”, “Marina” and “Mulawin”, Noontime and comedy shows, among others. I see a concoction of distinct Filipino character in these shows, the fun-loving, romantic, entertaining, creative, culturally-diverse Filipino which surpasses all that is petty in this era.

Philippine Television, in its quantitative level, isn’t that globally marketable enough to compete back-to-back with its foreign counterparts.

Being global doesn’t mean losing our roots; it’s about establishing an unswerving contact between our roots and modernization.

Burberry fevah

i just got another heirloom from my couture-infested grandmother and you know what she gave me? a vintage Burberrys pouch! omg! and i already got one from my Mom, a sort of squarish one in epi leather, and i got this, like a couple a years back. Oh, i just love burberry. something feels Londony about the vertical and horizontal lines on its signature print,, i can feel its romantic curves as i cuddle it in my moisturized palms and whoa, it can definitely dress up any of my boring outfits (as if i have one!? haha). I am so into vintage labels right now. I got a green, Louis Vuitton alma bag in epi leather also, and i bought it for a couple of grans from a vintage shop. good find, huh.

well, there's more to say about these bags, i tell you. they tell history. politics. environmental issues of their time. sociological aspects of interpersonal human relations, whatever that means. if it's vintage, it tells a piece of somebody else's past. and i don't care that much, really. all i know is that i'm gonna have it in my walk-in closet, and will be an integral part of it in the years to come. It's Burberry for chrissake!

my next hunt? i'm gonna hunt for a Prada bag. i'll look inide my grandma's trasure chest, a 'baul' of some sorts, that opens the gateway to a world that's filled with opulence, elegance, and power that only she can pull off in her time!

Like what she would always say, "be thin and fabulous. everything else follows."