What were they thinking?

If we were to take our cue from the opening of Philippine Fashion Week, a night rife with designers crashing and burning on a runway bleeding with embellishments and shiny, bargain-basement fabrics, then the wardrobe of Manila’s designer-doting society would consist of a mishmash of badly-executed ball gowns done in colors that recall the flavors of cheap ice cream containers, disproportionately embellished dresses apparently inspired by a bad Dallas rerun and tropical gear that can’t be worn anywhere near the equatorial region.

The official show began with Adrian Rios’ collection, an odd assortment of bikini tops and shorts covered up by long-sleeved men’s shirts masquerading as skirts and bizarre half pants (in one outfit a sleeve covered up a leg while the rest of the piece dangled haphazardly over the model’s other limb). The concept was difficult to divine. Was he attempting to glean something from the shape-shifting designs of Japanese greats or merely playing around with form? Whatever the reason (and perhaps the designer has a better explanation not immediately available to the viewing public and this writer) it was a lackluster start to a series of shows that have become increasingly out of touch with the world and wearable fashion.

This inability to meld the fashionable with the commercial made the majority of the first night’s show less than spectacular. Summer wear, or resort-themed collections, peppered the runway – a sharp idea considering that the majority of Filipinos are clothed in practical, sensible, made-for-the-weather pieces for most of their lives. Unfortunately peculiar styling made many unwearable. A banana belt – yes, you read it, those plastic bananas found on your grandmother’s dining table were strung on a line and then looped over the waist – on an Edgar San Diego mini dress was a bit too literal. Clearly, the man was channeling his tropical roots to an extreme when some banana-print fabric would have sufficed.

Lito Perez’s all-white line, a selection of cropped pants with vests and clam diggers with gauzy shirts for men and pleated sleeveless shift dresses for women, were made costumey by abbreviated raffia hula skirts (a reflection of his background in costume design). The show became progressively ridiculous with Nholie Pilapil’s ode to Old Hollywood: an attention-getting pair of yellow pants in sheer fabric over – what else – same colored underpants, the hem edged in feathers that easily channeled a maharajah’s mistress at seduction and Big Bird.

Rholand Roxas chose to show a lot of skin. He made a pair of men’s pants unnecessary by slitting the already sheer fabric on each leg up to the crotch. Johnny Abad settled for a bull’s eye, setting a well-placed spot of aqua fabric on a brief pair of trunks in a pretty shade of purple.

Excess-Ecorize

Dresses were plentiful, a good sign for women in search of more dressy pieces for day and night. Embellishments were many and superfluous, a bad sign for women in need of dresses that won’t end up in a "don’t" section in some fashion magazine.

Joel Escober sent out a rotisserie of ball gowns in practically the same cut. The only difference? A misguided color scheme that someone next to me referred to as "ube, pandan and mango," as the models shuffled down the runway, and a placement of glittering discs that did nothing for the dresses. But perhaps it was Escober’s construction that failed him the most. Underneath the catwalk’s merciless lights, the skirts looked lumpy – as though pillows or some other equally uneven material were stuffed underneath to create fullness.

Gener Gozum’s attempt to combine gay culture with touches of animal husbandry (how else could anyone explain the sparkly cowboy hats and overabundant animal prints?) seemed almost cutesy somehow – like seven-year-old Madonna wannabes playing dress-up.

The rest of the collections suffered from bizarre designs or shoddy workmanship (many dresses were ill-fitting or bunched up in the least-flattering spots). Some were just too much. (Yes, Delby Bragais, I’m talking to you. You can design a dress without a craft shop attached to it).

Oskar Peralta’s first dress, a confection of tulle made to form a tower of pink tiers and colorful blooms, received thunderous applause. When the designer made his bow, Pitoy Moreno, who was seated on the front row, clapped even louder. Perhaps a playful aesthetic, even one that pays homage to the rather hackneyed overly-publicized Gwen Stefani image, isn’t always a bad thing.

Though the duds were many, there were a few who did fairly well. Ronaldo Arnaldo’s dresses passed muster on wearability. Bumbee Ramos’ distinctly Filipiniana ensembles will probably find an audience with a penchant for indigenous materials.

The following days, the shows improved and there were some collections that stood out – for good reason. Protacio Empaces’ schoolboy looks were charming and his menswear wearable and contemporary. Take it apart and the pieces work with any stylish ready-to-wear label on the market. Some of his ensembles for women, though one Chloe reference seemed heavy-handed, looked good. Touches of Filipiniana – a men’s vest with a cutout native scene, jackets emblazoned with the Philippine flag on the pocket and dresses that culled references from native locales – made his collection memorable.

Then the Young Designer’s Guild displayed their collections the next day and gave the somewhat dispirited industry some much-needed hope. Perhaps the old guard – of those that presented their collections on opening night– could learn a thing or two from bright young talents like Joey Samson.

All in all, the first show was a mixed bag – some presentations were tasteful and contemporary, while others, well, went bananas.

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