MANILA, Philippines — An SOS-with-photo arrived from my youngest, Amy (from Washington, D.C.), “Hi dad! I need to wear this Philippine costume to work tomorrow. Do you know the name for this or what ethnic group this belongs to? Mindanao, maybe? It has matching slippers, necklace, earrings and bag. :)”
I said it could be from the Cordilleras and woven from banana fiber, tree bark, whatever, but that to make sure I would ask a friend. (I didn’t say that being predominantly blue, I suspected it was for a funeral.)
Culture scholar Ramon “Boy” Villegas promptly replied.
“It’s from the tribe that lives in the Balikbayan Handicrafts shop. (LOL!)
“Actually, it’s not close to anything. The cloth is machine-made, probably from Indonesia or Thailand, and probably brought in through Zamboanga. But the blouse should be long sleeved, single color and sheer (nipis), if it is to be authentic Southeast Asian. So the cloth is not Philippine, nor is the way it’s made.
“She might get away with it if she wears it as a patadyong with a lacy kimona top (probably meron sa SM Kultura, Tesoro or Balikbayan). And then she may describe it as a patadyong and kimona from Zamboanga.”
That’s clever, I thought, and forwarded it. Back came Amy’s reply, “Bullseye! Got it from SM Balikbayan section 10 years ago! K I’ll research Zamboanga. :)”
The next day, “Fashion show went well! … There were 20 of us (out of 180 staff) who walked to disco music. ... Several really liked my Asian/world fusion outfit. :)” (With coordinated accessories, the ensemble must have looked great.)
In truth, when an invitation specifies “Filipiniana,” people—ladies, anyway—could show up in anything. We consider it okay for as long as textile, cut, color, or general appearance is close to the traditional wear of any Luzon, Visayas or Mindanao group. We seem to be unlike other peoples, being so relaxed about our national dress. The Japanese kimono, Chinese cheongsam, Thai formal wear, Spanish Sevillana, even Hawaiian and U.S. cowboy clothes, are always to a type.
Our cultural communities’ traditional practices are strict, with design and color determined by social status—a lady from Lanao muttered that judging from their clothes, the Bayanihan dancers we were watching were fishermen and wouldn’t even be allowed inside chez Sultan, least of all to dance the royal singkil.
On the other hand, lowlanders’ costumes are constantly evolving. The long-sleeved tops, narrow skirts and tapiz of 18th and 19th century prints are unrecognizably different from a Pitoy Moreno Maria Clara or a Patis Tesoro terno. Nowadays, anything (almost) with butterfly sleeves is a terno, no matter how alarmingly close neck- and hem- lines are and no matter how see-through the material is.
For real elegance, however, you have to watch Gemma Cruz-Araneta, Nikki Coseteng, Gloria Diaz, Margie Floirendo, Bambi Harper, Loren Legarda, make an entrance. Whether in fully authentic wear or in couturier-created gown inspired by lowland Christian, Cordillera, Tausug, Manobo, T’boli, or other cultural community costume, they are the ultimate.
Comments
Post a Comment