Carried away: What luxury bags really mean in Manila
When I walked into the event, it was not just the gleam of exotic leathers or the soft glint of hardware that struck me. It was the people. Women who have clearly been part of this world for years, showing up in support of one another, dressed in ways that revealed just how many paths had led them to the same love of fashion, art, and the finer details of life.
The bags they carried told stories, too, from muted classics to wild, jewel-toned rarities. Together, it was more about community, about people who care deeply about beauty and craft.
The stories they carry
Rare Collective, the host of the evening, has built its name by offering some of the most coveted bags, watches, and jewelry in Manila. But this evening, the real focus was on the women who wore them and the meaning these pieces held.
Lala Gotao carried a metallic Hermès Constance 18 with quiet pride. “I bought this many years ago,” she says, noting how the store stopped producing the finish for a long stretch before recently bringing it back.
For her, collecting is both joy and legacy. “I see them as something I can pass on to my daughter, like a part of me that will be carried forward.” Her collection spans from Hermès to Chanel to Valextra, but her choices are never about chasing trends. They are about enduring design and the subtle pleasure of colors she can wear for decades.
Lynette Aliasas Guzman carried a Constance 24 in black crocodile, a piece she described as a natural extension of herself. “I am fond of [the] good things in life. I like nice bags and nice clothes. So, I’d say it is more [for] self-expression. The investment part is just a bonus,” she explains.
She bought the bag 10 years ago, at a price she could hardly imagine today. “It still looks good now,” she adds, proof that some things, when made with craft, hold up far longer than trends ever do.
For Melanie Tan, intention drives everything. She paired her outfit that night with a Kelly Cut in black box leather, a bag she calls her Holy Grail. “The Kelly Cut is not something I see often, and when I bring it to events, it still stands out.” For her, bags are less about brands and more about authenticity. “I want people to still see me when I step out, so it has to fit who I am.”
Aubrey Miles, carrying a mauve Sylvestre Constance 18, brought a sense of history to the evening. She has been collecting for over two decades and remembers meeting Dennis Robles, Rare Collective’s founder, through a buy-and-sell ad in the newspaper. “He sold me my first Dior out of the trunk of his car,” she laughs.
Since then, she has trusted him with her most important purchases. Like many collectors, she has her regrets, too. “I regret selling my 35-size Birkin before the pandemic,” she admits. “Now I am starting again with smaller sizes. They feel more girly, and that is me.”
These stories, told with warmth and candor, revealed something deeper. For the women in that room, the bags were not trophies or financial chess moves. They were reflections of taste, personality, and moments in time.
Luxury beyond indulgence
Robles, who has guided collectors for over 20 years, explains that taste in Manila has shifted. “When I was starting to get into the Birkin and Kelly game, buyers were mostly into big bags and colorful ones,” he explains. “Now, clients prefer smaller, neutral-toned pieces in lighter leathers. Even wallets have shrunk. People only need cardholders to fit [in] their mini bags.”
For him, luxury is not about indulgence but discernment. “True luxury means you don’t have to sacrifice quality of life in order to afford one. If you are aspiring to own something, budget for it. Save until the bag you want is within reach,” Robles advises.
He adds, “It takes research to know which pieces are real investments and which are simply trends.”
The most striking, however, was his reminder of the emotional weight these objects can carry. He told me about a client who once resold a bag to cover her mother’s hospital bills, only to repurchase the same model years later as a gift to herself. “That moment was deeply moving. It showed how these objects can mark milestones and come full circle.”
A love letter to myself
As someone in my 20s, I see myself in a very different stage of the story. I own one luxury bag, but I often borrow from my mother’s collection, grateful for her generosity while I save up for my own.
At the event, I learned that luxury is not a race. Bags, as Robles reminded me, are never just extras. They are cultural signals, essays on identity, and little chapters of who we are and who we are becoming.
So maybe the meaning of luxury is simpler than we make it. A bag can be an investment, a love letter to yourself, or just something that makes you smile on your way out the door. There is beauty in saving for one, in carrying it daily, in passing it down, or even in admitting regret over the one that got away. And one day, I hope to walk into a room with a collection built on my own hard work.
But for now, I am happy with what I have. And if anyone feels like handing me one or two pieces, I will not object. I am more than willing to send my address.
