Remember when everyone talked about fashion?
Filipino designers and pattern-makers are truly world-class… the future of Filipino fashion isn’t just bright, but ready to compete.
At the opening of a restaurant, a fellow lifestyle writer confessed something that immediately resonated: “It’s exhausting covering food these days.” But she wasn’t complaining. Every week brings another opening worth attending, another chef collaboration, another thoughtfully designed dining room, a pastry pop-up, or a bar takeover.
Since the arrival of the Michelin Guide in the Philippines, that energy has only intensified. Diners follow chefs with genuine devotion, and conversations extend far beyond the menu to encompass the architect behind the interiors, the ceramicist who crafted the plates, the florist, the coffee roaster, and the resident DJ.
Fashion used to draw in anyone and everyone
Listening to her, that electric atmosphere felt instantly familiar. Philippine fashion once generated that exact level of anticipation. Designers were household names, collections sparked active debate, fashion week calendars dictated schedules, and the latest issues of fashion magazines served as official cultural records.
You didn’t need to be an insider to care. The ecosystem had a way of pulling people in from completely unrelated worlds. In the early 2010s, while working in the petroleum industry—despite growing up with subtle background ties like a mother who modeled in the 1970s—fashion remained entirely off my radar.
That changed through my childhood friend, architect-turned-designer Maan Gregorius, who invited me to visit the Fashion Institute of the Philippines (FIP) in Makati to check out the environment.
Around that same time, I met shoe designer Maco Custodio at Rockwell when he dropped off a pair of his now-famous clunky platform shoes for Gregorius. Hanging out in those spaces and seeing Custodio’s footwear firsthand revealed a vibrant, interconnected creative web.
Designing garments or accessories ultimately wasn’t my calling, but those encounters made one thing clear: Fashion was a serious, captivating discipline capable of drawing in total outsiders.
Exciting times from exciting designers
The excitement of that period was fueled by designers who each defined a specific desire. Brides built their wedding timelines around Veluz Reyes’ availability. Brian Tenorio proved luxury men’s footwear carried the artistry of couture; you’re not a proper CEO if you don’t own at least two pairs of Tenorios.
Ino Caluza of Victor Jeans made everyone dream of custom denim that fit like a glove. Boom Sason set the standard for sultry swimwear and eveningwear in this awfully prude country. Karen Ferrer, Joey Samson, Ivar Aseron, and Puey Quiñones pushed structural tailoring, minimalism, and dramatic drape to their limits.
That lineage continues today through talents like Renz Reyes and Jaggy Glariño, whose intricate textile work and theatrical volumes keep the medium evolving. Stylists, editors, photographers, and artisans formed a tight-knit community—actively wearing and championing each other’s vision. Fashion, like dining today, was a shared cultural conversation.
A new shift for fashion
Inside FIP’s classrooms today, director Iross Santos-Cramer views the next iteration of this shift. When FIP opened its Makati branch in 2010, the typical student was a working professional taking a second degree. Today’s demographic spans 10-year-olds learning dressmaking and construction to 65-year-olds executing long-deferred dreams and ambitions.
The technical and commercial priorities of these students have transformed completely. Today’s designers focus heavily on ready-to-wear, complex fabric manipulation, and fashion photography. High-output, tangible execution drives their engagement. Classroom discussions move rapidly beyond traditional construction mechanics to examine styling, art directing campaign shoots, and digital marketing strategies.
Modern students aim to build a comprehensive brand identity directly from the design table.
This immediate access to global audiences brings distinct structural challenges. Social media provides instant exposure, but it has also pivoted design toward content-creation aesthetics. “I feel that the construction and technical part has lost its relevance to some designers who are mainly focused on what’s good through the lens,” Santos-Cramer observes.
Longevity and foundational skill over buzz
Rapid trend cycles, algorithmic aesthetics, and fast fashion further pressure young designers to favor speed over craftsmanship.
But to build lasting relevance, Santos-Cramer pushes students to anchor their work in technical mastery, structural innovation, and regional cultural heritage. She emphasizes that designers who develop a recognizable voice do so by “doing the work for the depth of the design itself, rather than just chasing approval or validation ‘for the gram.’”
That emphasis on longevity and foundational skill is what allows a career to endure beyond initial buzz. It’s why, today, Gregorius runs Here’s To The Kids—a slow-fashion children’s atelier built on bespoke creation and teaching parents and kids fabric appreciation and patience.
Here’s To The Kids involves children directly in selecting textiles for their pieces. Custodio has even expanded his practice into design education as a faculty member at SoFA Design Institute, alongside materials research, specialized training in Korea, and international platforms like London’s International Fashion Showcase.
For Santos-Cramer, this depth of craft paired with new-world ambition is key: “What gives me the greatest optimism about Filipino fashion is the sheer resourcefulness, distinct storytelling, and global ambition of our new generation of students,” she says.
“Filipino designers and pattern-makers are truly world-class… the future of Filipino fashion isn’t just bright, but ready to compete.”
Beyond the metro: A borderless creative map
The broad ecosystem of fashion has not collapsed; it has decentralized. The conversation has migrated from grand Manila runway halls and traditional print spreads into independent design ateliers in Cebu, artisan workshops in Iloilo, weaving communities in Abra, and digital storefronts run out of remote island provinces.
Enabled by accessible technology, e-commerce infrastructure, and global social platforms, creators in far-flung towns no longer need metro gatekeepers to participate directly in the international fashion conversation.
Philippine fashion is still generating excitement—it is simply operating across a vast, borderless map on a whole new set of rules.
