In sartorial sociology, our jeans function quite like DNA material. They tell us, and other people, something about our selves. Is it not obvious that tapered jeans are usually found on the elderly, those stuck in the ‘80s or the totally fashion unconscious, while bellbottoms suggest a morbid attachment to the '70s and its revivals? Throw a multitude of washes, colors, and crotch lengths into the mix, and you’ve got a rich and diverse jean pool to wade into.
The denim insurrection rose up, for the nth time, during the mid-'90s after a period of Wal-Mart ignominy, and it looks like this time it’s here to stay. Not only did jeans become appropriate every-wear, they were elevated as they were debased: the "designer jean" took on new life by submitting to abuse – it was distressed, pre-ripped, embellished, dyed, washed, and treated in a million and one ways. Fashion is constant violent struggle, there are victims and there are slaves. Denim, having worked its way up from tough proletarian beginnings, has claimed its throne as the ultimate fabric du siecle.
Ino Caluza, like everyone at some short point in life, confesses to being an addict. His particular poison is not butane or rugby, but Diesel. "I’ve got around two dozen pairs," he laughs. This does not include the jeans he makes and sells out of his traveling boudoir-backpack. It was the natural and healthy progression, from being an avid but passive collector, to making a move in denim game by starting his own jeans line called Viktor.
Viktor is short for Victorino, the designer himself. "I originally thought of calling it Super, Jesus Christ Wears Jeans, or Roganov." Thank Jesus he didn’t, for those have been staked by a newspaper, the couture brand Imitation of Christ and Jesus is my Homeboy, while the last sounds like a numbing hair-growth ointment. Sticking to his Russian Federation fancy, he switched a K into his name, like Rolf’s other half, now his own pseu-denim.
"I just quit my job two weeks ago," the addict reveals. He was doing graphic design for a magazine, but orders for his jeans were steadily increasing that he ditched the desk and devoted himself to denim. He started out by making pairs customized for male friends and officemates. Men’s bodies, being less complicated and unfussy, usually go for a relaxed fit. But women, who are more complicated and a bigger shopper, wanted in. Working closely with Rajo Laurel, he learned about patterns and shapes and how to flatter the butt (the holy grail of jeans), with carefully placed pockets. Sixty percent of his clients are now chicks, and understandably. It’s cheaper than grafting.
Ino found the right hole in the jeans glut – while there are many brands out there, fit and length are particular issues with Filipino shoppers. Every body’s unique, and he has noticed that a lot of people have all the wrong ideas on what shapes enhance their figures and what works around their flaws. An emergency such as this calls for a jeans technician. Ino’s critical eye for the fabrics and cut that works best on your bum is evidenced by his recurring and ever growing list of customers. "Bright colors are popular requests, since they’re not easily found in stores. Tim Yap and Borgy ordered these same red pants," he says, unraveling a freshly hewn, ketchup-bright pair. In two weeks, an exclusive Viktor for Rajo line will be available at Laurel’s shop.
Sourcing material from a mill that produces denim for export, his swatch book shows snatches of high-quality cotton twill in as many shades, degrees of thickness and values of softness to serve every pants need. He says that while last year’s trend was all about whisker stripes and strategic fades, this year the focus is on form, a throwback to old-school style. "Don’t jazz up these jeans," the tag on the pants sternly commands. On shoes matching: "A classic pair of sneakers.is highly recommended." Ino champions a particular bootleg he fashioned, a cut between the 501s, which bunches up ungainly over shoes, and the flared, which men aren’t very partial to. He stands up and demonstrates with an ankle pirouette. "See how it falls," he indicates, the casual flow of the back hemline like a waterfall slumming down rocks.
Call him an enjeaneer, a jeanealogist, or denimentally fixated, but make sure to call him at 0917 8504543.