The Isla-Tek effect
Usually, when we hear of piña in clothing, we picture the stiff, crisp camisa of a baro’t saya or the translucent barong Tagalog, beautiful as they may be. But one look at Isla-Tek’s blends and you can see they’re textile worlds apart, more fluid and closer to soft knits. The farm-to-fabric initiative does things differently, using agricultural waste, specifically discarded pineapple leaves blended with other tropical fibers, from bamboo and cotton to banana leaves.
For years, as Filipino fashion has evolved, it has cultivated its grassroots practices, seeking to support both its weavers and the artisans. And it’s done so successfully, to the credit of individual designers, fairs like ArteFino, MaArte, and even the government.
Still, at the foundation of local fashion is the material. And with exported materials often being cheaper and more accessible, there’s an undeniable race to develop a local Filipino fashion value chain.
So where do we start?
Working the value chain backwards
“We’re working the value chain backwards,” says Cedie Vargas, one of the founders of ArteFino. “We’ve spent years getting to know the designers and the communities. And now we’re asking: Where do all these textiles come from? How is it made?”
While traveling across Southeast Asia, Vargas has observed that there are thriving textile industries everywhere. From Vietnam to Thailand, they produce beautiful fabrics at accessible prices. “So why can’t we?” she asserts. “We also realized that the textile industry here isn’t dynamic anymore. It isn’t robust. It keeps dying.”
Put simply, our local supply chain is just not there yet. But with Isla-Tek, there’s a chance we can be.
Farm to fabric
The Philippines is awash with natural fibers—from abaca, cotton, banana, and piña—many of which are used in local design practices and tend to cost a pretty penny. It’s also easy to get caught up in deeply steeped traditions, which can make progress stagnate.
“Piña is very, very expensive,” Vargas explains. “There are about thirteen steps that I know of just creating that fiber—and that’s not even weaving it yet.” But with Isla-Tek, “They’re not using piña as we know it… They’re using the waste product of other varieties of pineapple. Nobody does anything with it. We’re also looking at perhaps ways to combine bamboo or banana.”
This approach turns the discarded into a design resource. And instead of relying on a single premium fiber, Isla-Tek develops blended textiles—from soft knits to weaves with quality sheen. Both the knits and weaves are versatile, less like the piña for formalwear and more like contemporary ready-to-wear.
So far, they have worked with designers such as Filip + Inna, Maison Métisse, Carl Jan Cruz, and linens for the Henry Hotel.
Its farm-to-fabric model starts with sourcing raw materials, processing fibers, spinning yarn, weaving textiles, and then manufacturing. Besides the artisan weaving the final textile, Isla-Tek considers the farmers harvesting the leaves and extracting fibers, the technicians developing new yarn blends, as well as the weavers and the mills.
“For me, it’s really just exploring the possibilities of locally sourced, locally grown indigenous fibers,” Vargas says. “That’s the theme of this whole exercise.”
An experiment worth watching
Vargas is also careful not to present Isla-Tek as a finished solution. “This is very early in the journey with Isla-Tek,” she clarifies. Still in its early stages, Isla-Tek was founded by Kylie Misa, Cecilia Miranda Martinez and Johanna Wiese. Currently, the garments are intentionally basic in their designs, as they are focused on perfecting the process.
A couple of these designs will be launched as part of ArteFino’s 10th-edition “Dekada Collections.” Isla-Tek is the fair’s recipient of the HeArteFino initiative this year, and this HeArteFino showcase continues to support industries seeking to sustain Filipino craftsmanship—with longtime beneficiaries such as Zarah Juan, Anthill Fabric Gallery, and Project Nova.
It’s exciting to imagine a future where Filipino textiles stand a chance against “Made in China” fabric, while not limited to capsule collections or luxury design fairs. To think that you could find locally made fabrics as abundant and accessible as Bangkok or Vietnam’s bustling markets, just like how the Thais wear their Brocade skirts or the Indonesians their Batik shirts daily.
The Isla-Tek weaves, in particular, seem promising, like they could develop a visual language or pattern distinct to Filipino culture.
This is the underlying hope we’re holding on to with Isla-Tek: to work the value chain backwards and build a truly sustainable industry. Behind the frills of fashion, Isla-Tek seems set to bunker down and get the grunt work done, so that someday, these Filipino-grown fibers can become an extraordinarily ordinary, ubiquitous fabric for everyday wear.
