Can you imagine Lady Gaga in a terno?

First, it started off with the shortened skirt. The modernization and survival of the terno meant it had to be relevant to younger generations who might remember, without much fondness, Filipiniana as those fusty and stiff gowns their mothers or grandmothers wore to weddings. The nubile Hervé-bots of today would not be caught styleblogged in anything unsexy, and Filipiniana was the antithesis of sexy. But the rise of fashionalism and Pinoy Pride led to an urban renewal of the terno among young designers and clientele alike, who took many liberties with the national dress’ interpretation. And why not? It was refreshing to see prim butterfly sleeves contrasted with a micro mini, or the piña fabric used in novel ways. In 2009, the iconic shape of the dress was all that remained in Joey Samson’s memorable cage terno, which disemboweled the outfit of all its froufiness and instead presented its skeleton.

The terno evolution came to a head at the recent Metrowear 100 fashion show, whose theme this year was “Filipiniana” in honor, partly, of Rizal’s 150th. Gathering 100 designers grouped together by council or city in one show is an ambitious, if not slightly foolhardy undertaking, as designers were bound to some confusion regarding the brief, while others perhaps were simply not versed in what Filipiniana is supposed to be. Or maybe they were, and deliberately chose to deconstruct as they saw fit.

As someone without strong sentimental ties to Filipiniana, I rather enjoyed the parade of the bizarre, from the space-age armor of Enrico Carado, the urban warrior of Louis Claparols and the gilded exuberance of the buy-in-Dubai designers, as much as I respected the more traditional variations, like Jun Escario’s classically restrained wedding gown and Salvador Malto’s lacy confection which brought back the pañuelo. There were several WTFs, ghastly things that just completely missed the boat, Filipiniana or otherwise, but on the whole, there was a sense of creativity and exploration, of pushing the boundaries of what can be defined as modern Filipiniana (as I tweeted during the show, it seems to be anything with some sort of puffy sleeve.)

There were strong disagreements, however. Veteran designer Christian Espiritu posted on Facebook a rather scathing critique on the small faction of Metrowear 100 designers whom he thought were ignorantly destroying an important part of our national identity by baldly exposing bare flesh or creating over-the-top costume dramas with only the slightest hint of the terno. The one-sleeved terno in particular was derided. Knowing where Espiritu comes from, it’s also easy to sympathize with his position. The terno is a dress elevated in our culture, refined, noble and proud, with rich history and symbolism. In traditional fashion schools, a student would have to go through rigorous training in butterfly-sleeve making or he or she wouldn’t pass the course. To use “Lady Gaga” and “terno” so nonchalantly in the same sentence is indeed sacrilegious to those who have grown up with a deep understanding of the artistry of the terno.

Call it the ahistoricity of our times, where all cultural references are available to plunder and play with, much like the Lady Gaga biblical biker video that attempts to be controversial but succeeds only in meaninglessness. The terno itself is an evolution (our ancestors might have called it a bastardization) of the baro’t saya, which streamlined the camisa and skirt by connecting them in one piece and doing away with the tapis and panuelo. Several decades later, what’s losing a sleeve or two?