Addicted to The Wrinkle Rack

I started reading a very exciting book about the cost of "fast fashion", a topic that's very close to my heart, since as a child my mother made almost all our clothing, and my whole matriarchal family line, including my sister and myself, sews to varying degrees. My sister can make basic clothing, quilt, and knit (and crochet, too, I think) while I can mend almost anything and sew very simple things, and my mother can tailor a 3 piece suit.

I actually have a tattoo of an old- fashioned sewing machine on my arm, in the crook of my elbow, and it's a comment on craftsmanship and a dying art that most people have to stare long and hard to figure out what it is. (There it is below- I took the image from a book I found in the Buff State Stacks and had tattooed on me by my inanamorta, a tattoo artist).

The book "Overdressed", which is worth a read, even if it lingers a little too long on factory conditions in various developing countries (something I know a little too much about, seeing as I live there already), goes over different aspects of fast fashion- touching on how it came to be, and ultimately, what is the cost.

I'd like to discuss the state of the Philippines when it comes to cheap, trashy, poorly made clothing. First of all, it's almost ground zero for that type of clothing (China is the real Ground Zero). You may have noticed, those of you who shop and read clothing labels, that much of your inexpensive clothing is Made in the Philippines. Secondly, ever wonder what happens to the clothing you gave away after it leaves the local Salvatore Armani? People, it ends up over here. (More about that later).

Here's the deal:

There is a thriving "seconds" market here, on many levels.

Level 01: Stores:
The first level of "seconds": the inexpensive fast fashion stores like Zara, TopShop, etc. These places take very high fashion cues like digital prints, Native American influenced prints, color blocking, etc, and make quick, cheaply made copies of them and sell them from between 20- 100$. It pains me intensely to see a crappily made, cheaply fabricated dress being sold for 100$ when I know I can have a custom made, custom fit dress that no one else will have, that will last much longer for, like 20$ (I have my own tailor-- more about that later, too). Most of these things will do in a pinch, and there are some cute "finds" there- I have a striped tee shirt that's cut away at the sides so that it flatters my shape much more than a square shape, that I picked up for 20$. But the material it's made from is NOT breathable, so it must be worn only in air conditioned spaces.

Level 02: The Baratillijo:
The second level of "seconds" is the open air clothing sellers that sell blatant fake copies of well known brands, the most popular being Burberry, (PUKE!), LV, Gucci, Coach, Abercrombie (really, Asia?), Melissa shoes (the saddest part is that the original Melissa shoes, disgusting plastic jelly shoes for adults, which are extremely popular over here, are only 80-100$), Hollister (again, really Asia?), Aeropostale, American Eagle, LAMB and this bag, (by Longchamps, which retails for 200-1000$ for the real thing)

 which is one of those mystery products that looks like a million dollars in the original and like SHIT in a copy. This item especially gets my goat, for some reason. Fake Chanel bag? Fine. Fake Stephen Sprouse LV Speedy? Go on with your bad self. But this bag, which is so basic and so utilitarian to begin with, and not that flash, to buy a copy of this bag, instead of perfectly serviceable unique tote from a local brand for the same money? Ugh. It just screams "I'm a sheep! I want to look like I have money but I have no taste or original thought! Whee!"

But back to level 2. These copy items are available in downscale malls, open air stalls, and on the street, being sold by roving vendors.

Level 03: Ukay- Ukay: 
These are your thrift stores, where your shitty merchandise from Zara and level 02 vendors goes to die. Occasionally you can find a real treasure (I have found many, but I have an eye developed from years of shopping at thrift stores and a knowledge base of what quality merchandise looks and feels like from my momma). It's unclear how many people shop there, or what they buy, but stores are usually pretty bumpin' when I go there.

Here's a short list of what I've found at Ukay-Ukays:
Chinese "coolie jackets"-- chinoisiere print silk quilted winter jackets with frog closures--one for my niece in yellow and one for me in shocking pink, for about 50P each.

A weekender bag made of real leather, very well made and sturdy, last owned by an American Express executive (the business card was in the luggage tag), for 450P or about 10$.
Several cool, asymetrical shirts for about 5$ each.
A few cute jackets-- brocade and such, for about 5-6$.

The main issue with Ukay-Ukay stuff here is that people really wear their stuff to death and if something is donated and it's in good shape, there's a good reason. It's called pit stink (or in the family vernacular, it's been "pitted out"). This is when a garment doesn't have stains, but it has a permanent funk that you can only notice when you start wearing an item and your body heat activates the pit stink. I've had to let go of a few poly blend sweaters for this reason, to my chagrin.

Level 04: The discount stores/ supermarkets:
This is the cheapest shit that you can buy. There's a place called Pure Gold (or as I call it "Pure Crap"), that sells, like, outlet level super cheap crap that falls apart after one wash. It's usually the kind of thing you wear when you have the flu--- tee shirts, baggy sweats, cheap socks, etc.

Why? 
Aside from the fast fashion stores, whose raison d'etre is extensively covered in this book (http://www.amazon.com/Overdressed-Shockingly-High-Cheap-Fashion/dp/1591844614/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1348896537&sr=1-1&keywords=overdressed), most of these things exist for a tangle of interrelated reasons:

1) the Americanisation of the Philippines (and all of Asia). This has also been covered extensively by many people more qualified to do so than me, but as one example, there is a huge quantity of beautiful, unusual, and inexpensive local batiks that I buy and have made into simple dresses. Who else does this? Grandmothers. Only. I've often come across a very elderly lady wearing the same fabric as me, made into a loose housedress/ mummu and been like "Awwww, man!" Wearing local stuff means "I'm poor / out of it / some kind of revolutionary nut".

2) The price points. Everyone (virtually everyone) wants to have a pretty extensive wardrobe, and the only way to do that on the salaries over here is to buy at the discounters or the open air market. Also, once you get into this way of living, it's really, really hard to get out. I found this out the hard way with shoes. I have literally purchased over 100 pairs of shoes since I got here, and I've had to resole or otherwise repair almost all of them (or throw them away or donate them) after about 3 months.I have only a few pairs I haven't had to: leather motocross boots I got from the Ukay Ukay, and a pair of Hush Puppies that cost 40$ and KILL my feet if I don't wear heel bumpers with them)

 If you want cute shoes (and who doesn't?) you have to settle for Payless-quality (ironically, Payless is actually more expensive than most of the shoe stores here) shoes that fall apart within a few months. Made of  cheap, thin cotton or blended "mystery meat" material, with glued on soles made of cellulose or very cheap rubber, with very low quality fastenings/ stitching. But you still need shoes, and they wear out really quickly from walking on the horrible roads/ being sweated in by bare feet (wearing socks is torture over here) so spending a lot of money of shoes is not a good choice for most people. Enter the gerbil wheel of cheap shoes.

3) Culture/ fitting in: Almost everyone wears the same thing here: skintight jeans, converse sneakers or fabric loafers/ espedrills, and a tee shirt or polyester blouse. Period. Sometimes you get a flimsy little dress and boots or plastic flats. For professionals, it's poly blend pants and a silky top, or a "church dress"- usually a cotton dress that one would wear to a summer cocktail party. If you want to be some kind of asshole (like I do), you can wear that Japanese asymmetrical tunic with your handmade cotton eyelet bloomers and your repaired, resoled Banana Republic leather flats. You can do that, or you can have friends/ a BF. Your choice.

4) Disposability: If you stain or rip a 3000P item, it's extremely painful. 300P, not so much. Most people here take public transportation or walk, and it's stain-situation- alley over here, so expensive, delicate, well made clothes just won't stand up to walking 45 blocks with a baby and groceries in your arms. It's just not practical.

What there is not:

Good quality, reasonably priced items. There's the Gap and Banana, but for those that want a more funky look at the same quality and price point, you're SOL. There is one option, which is the dress department at SM department store (they sell mid price dresses from 25-100$, and they're not half bad, but they're going to look shabby and dated after about a year), but I have had a HELL of a time finding clothes over here. I have an ongoing album project on FB called "The fashion project", in which I try to photograph everything that I buy over here. I would say 75% or more of those items are now gone (donated to my cleaning lady or the local Ukay Ukay), as they became virtually unwearable after only a few months- became pitted out (I live in the tropics, after all!), became pilly, became limp and shoddy looking, came undone in one way or another, or just lost their luster. The few items I have held on to are dresses, most of which were over 1000P  (generally the threshold for quality over here). I have purchased a few things out of desperation, only to give them away after taking a good hard look at myself in the item- it just doesn't fit right or flatter me, or there is really no occasion on which to wear it.

What I do (usually):
Have it made. By a tailor.
The irony of this is that all through my childhood and into my early teens (when my parents got divorced my mom had to give up sewing, as she working and going back to school and didn't have the time anymore) my mom made beautiful, perfectly tailored, totally unique items that we helped her design. I have wonderful memories of going to the fabric store to pick fabric and then spending a long time going through the pattern books, which are huge, phone book size books with pictures of the patterns you can buy. My mom made things like skirts with button holes for the matching top to button into so it stayed crisp and neat, entire wardrobes of mix and match cotton separates with appliques, and Halloween costumes, as well as very elaborate costumes for various events-- a few that stand out are the 1700's Revolutionary era dresses *including petticoats* outfits she made FROM SCRATCH for my sister. These were museum- quality garments that we've loaned out to several institutions and they still look as good as the day they were made.

However, when you're a kid, having handmade clothes is a bit of a trial, as all you want is United Colors of Benetton, Guess, and Hypercolor items, so you can look just like everyone else. Often in my 20's, as I grew older and began to appreciate vintage clothes and handmade, couture items, I would joke "I would kill for my personal tailor today. Too bad it was mostly wasted on me as a kid!" (We would get fitted by my mom and *always* bitch and moan about it. Today the only time most people are fitted for anything is for their wedding gown- for me, this was a monthly event, something that usually only the "1%" of society have ever experienced, a privilege that, like most things in youth, seems like a chore at the time--- "Oh, mom, do we have to take the Rolls again? It's so gaudy!")

What I do is take an item that fits well (usually a dress or Gap basic, like a simple bubble skirt with pockets), buy fabric and notions (if I want special notions like cute buttons or a colored zipper) and take it to my tailor (via my cleaning lady- yeah, I'm a high roller. I've actually never met my own tailor, the cleaning lady does it all for me.) to copy line for line. If it needs alterations, as in the case of a vintage slip I had copied in 2 different breezy Hawaiian prints, I'll ask for a higher neckline or a lower hemline (using diagrams in a note). This costs about 20$ a pop for the labor and about 10-15$ for the fabric and notions. It takes about 1-2 weeks.

I've had dresses, skirts, jackets and pajama pants copied. A few items have "flopped" mostly due to the wrong fabric choices, but overall, it's been very successful, and a great way to extend the life of a favorite item that is getting worn out (you can alternate it with your copy or replace it with your copy, as I did with a favorite linen dress that had seen better days). I had fabric given to me as a gift from an Indian colleague (I asked for fabric as a souvenir from his homeland when he asked me what I wanted) and the result was a hit- the sari fabric made into a cute little button front day dress, is adorable and flattering.

Below is an item I had copied and then added my own contrasting buttons to by hand (they used regular clear plastic buttons). Never in a million years would you see something this "The Sartorialist" in the stores.

The best thing I ever had made was a pair of eyelet bloomers that I use under dresses that are just a bit too short or under tunics as a pair of casual little shorts. I used a cheap cotton skirt as the raw material (I frequently remake items this way) and had my tailor copy a pair of lingerie bloomers (an item you can buy in the department store here, and ladies, if you haven't tried bloomers under your looser dresses and skirts, you MUST, it's a lifesaver.). Bingo! something custom made for me that no one else will have, that looks great.

I also had the below made- a little copy of a Gap skirt in toile de joie (with switched out buttons in contrasting paisley by me).

I would encourage all my 3 of readers in the US to source your clothes through thrift stores, local boutiques, or have them made (if you can source a crafty friend or put the time in yourself, those of you who live in Brooklyn should have no problem finding someone!), as you'll find that these clothes just look and feel so much better than Target's paper thin cute tee- du- jour.

Happy hunting!

Davao Days II

Three Davao stories:

In which I finally get the elusive Travel Channel experience that seemed to come so easily for other people, yet not for me.

Monday night I was killing time waiting for an acceptable hour to toddle to the Marco Polo lounge, which was recommended to me by my coworker, Trip. (Yes, that sentence sounds like something from P.G. Wodehouse. Welcome to cognitive dissonance 101). So I naturally availed myself of the 100 channels to be had on the local premium cable lineup, including "Fashion TV", which exclusively shows runway shows and "events", during which you can hardly make out the players for all the strobe lights/ razzi flashes. Good stuff.

We already know based on my previous entry that I wound up watching Mystic Pizza, which was terrific. At first I was channel hopping between it and other stuff, and then it kind of sucked me in until finally I was fully involved and mentally running down the list of who I would recommend this to.

So just ride with me on this next part, because it's a bit woo woo, but I swear that movie somehow put me in a different frame of mind- like all was right with the world. I was also wearing a new dress that I had just purchased earlier that day, so I was set to have a good night. Usually when I'm dressed up, it's a bust, but this was a delightful exception to the rule.

I set off on foot to the Marco Polo, which is the tallest building in town, and visible from everywhere except my hotel and the 3 blocks between it and me, so I had to ask and kind of kick around trying to find it (actually, I have a pretty good track record for finding things based on where I "think" they should be- I have rarely been truly lost, even in countries with no street signs and no grid layout. I'm not sure where this hunting dog pointer nose comes from but generally I can just "feel" that the temple we want will be over the next rise, and usually I'm right-- of course I've consulted a map beforehand, I'm no fool!) until I stumbled on this rad place called Pasalubong Center (Souvenir Center), I dipped in and I found the coolest, cutest thing ever!

After a few moments of me getting hot under the collar as people fawned all over me to try to get me to spend 5$ on their generic crap, I saw a mannequin wearing blowsy shorts and a little halter top made out of flour sacks. Sign me up!! I literally bought out almost the whole stock of this "clothing" line ( I guess you could call it that). It consisted mostly of tote bags of various sizes, but it also included a little evening purse, a mob cap, oven mitts, slippers, apron, (I got the apron for my coworker, Ace, who explained to me that for men from Pampagna---which he is--- not being able to cook well is "like having a small dick"---yes, he used those exact words-- "People will be like "awwww, man, that's too bad", he went on to say. So an apron is the perfect gift for him. Since he really can cook.)

For some reason, even though I consider clothing items too personal and even more so since Ace is technically my boss and the type of person who can make "an advantage" out of even the most innocent gesture, so far all my gifts to him have been clothing- my desire to give the awesome gift far outweighs my fear of making a faux paux.

These items were about 1-2 dollars each and I bought about 8 of them. The staff was ecstatic. I was thrilled. For once me and the local sales people were getting what they wanted- no one was being cheated or settling for less or angry, or feeling ripped off. After we tallied the amount and put all the small bags in a larger bag,
one of the girls asked me to pose for a picture, and for some reason in that moment I just said ok, and I was not uncomfortable at all. People, this is major.

Allow me to explain: I have several travel themed channels on my TV lineup and in ALL of them, the plucky star bounces around in a dubiously lighted (and probably no- potty- having) locale, drinking fermented yak milk beer and laughing with joy when groups of little ruffian kids chase him or her down the street screaming. I mean, what an act to follow. For me, nothings worse than this type of forced cheer when interacting with people who sort of hate your guts for reasons that are buried in 1000 years of colonialism, or whatever.

But even Trip, who is about 5 times as cranky as me, manages to dredge up a chummy rapport with taxi drivers and the like, agreeably nodding and going along with all but the most egregious statements, can do it. For me, this was a major thorn in my side- what was wrong with me? Who did I think I was, Queen Elizabeth (not for nothing is boyfriend's most frequent nickname for me "Queen"---even the ROYALTY OF INDIA calls me by "Queen")? I felt like I was learning something really unpleasant about myself, due to my lack of what we might call "the human touch". But for some reason, there is the hot, stuffy, down- home bazaar it lighted on my shoulder for no clear reason, just a gift from beyond- happiness, relaxation, lack of self-consciousness, a lightness of spirit that allowed me to just take a picture with  a shopgirl and not think twice.

In which a strange coincidence occurs and makes for good chika (gossip). 

In the class I was teaching, there was an older woman, probably in her late 30's (which is older for the industry, most people are already grandparents at that age over here), who is kind of....odd. She's the kind of person who is just *waiting* for the moment to start a fight, the type of person who is shown on COPS berating the suspect with a cigarette dangling from her fingers. You know the type. Lawn chair psychologist.

Anyhoo, two HR reps came to say hello to our entire class as a whole and open the floor to any general questions, and to introduce themselves. Well! This woman, who's name shall be Denise for this article, barks out  to the female member, "Yeah, stop texting my husband. There's such a thing as interoffice email. It's called rude."

 The room was just frozen with tension, and the HR gal feebly said "I don't want to discuss this here". "I DO!" bellowed Denise. The teachers and myself were giving each other "how bad is this about to get" looks. "I'm not going to talk about this" the HR rep added in a whisper, as Denise reiterated "Just stop texting him, just stop." 

Well, we went to break after that and then, I swear to god, 20 minutes after this, Denise gets a call on her cell. She rushes out and has a loud conversation outside and then on her way back in, says in a stagey tone "Okay, if you can't handle it, I'll just call the Embassy". (Sigh.) Turns out her HOUSE WAS ROBBED. For the 3rd time. And Denise isn't "tolerating" this anymore. This translated to going to gather up her kids and going to a hotel (not sure how the Embassy figured in this, but you know these type of people like to appeal to "the authorities" as a means of threat they will never carry out). Once again, the teachers and me turn to each other, kind of speechless. "Maybe HR did it." I cracked, and we had a long attack of the church giggles after that. Wow, what a bizarre incident.

In which I meet an Englishman poolside.

On Thursday I met an older, rather rumply Englishman at the Marco Polo pool, after having casually noted "I never get the same bartender" to him while we waited for our drinks. Well, this was all the encouragement he needed. Starved for conversation (as so many ex pats are) he ambled over and stood behind the chaise lounge next to me and we chatted it up for about 30 minutes to an hour. I was more than willing to have him sit down and for the conversation to lapse into companionable silence, as I was there mostly to read and get some sun, but he kept it going through various gambits- "Sooooo, uh, how long have you been here? What cities have you been to?" Etc. He was friendly enough, and a decent conversationalist, one who was thankfully NOT trying to defend prostitution or it's kissing cousin, marriage for money, but neither was he anyone I would date or even really befriend in a serious way. Typical one off "chance meeting".

Well, after about an hour, and 2 drinks, he wound it up and started making noises about wanting to see me again (inquiring about my travel plans, etc) and then suddenly turned into Prince Charles. "This was very....very nice. Very nice indeed. Yes, very....very lovely. So nice. Well, if you do....if you do happen to come this way....very nice, very nice. If you're here, you're here, and if we meet again, well, you know,, and it's just nice to meet people who, you know, just for....a bit of fun, or....just very nice, very nice."

I'm not 100% sure, but I think I just got asked for a no- strings- attached roll in the hay by a stranger. But I'll never know, since I before I could investigate further he slipped off, still muttering about how nice it was to have met.


Thus ends the Davao stories.

Dispatch sa Dabaw

Back from Davao.

The company sent me to our remote site for one work week to debut the design I made for the chat queue- this is too cool, people. Not only did I get to design something from scratch ("We're in uncharted territory here", my immediate supervisor confessed), but I also got to be the one to teach everyone how to use it. It's not quite the top to bottom sealed up design of Apple, but it's as close as it gets in corporate Philippines- I got to control almost aspect of the design and execution. I created a product no one has ever seen or used before and is now being requested by some of our biggest clients and is being pitched by our project managers to pull in new business for the company.

Let that just sink in for a moment, I'll be here, having an iced coffee.

Since I've come here to Manila, I've been able to do my dream job of working with clients and trainers to design training materials from the top down and from the bottom up, so to speak- I also have the freedom to complete gut and redesign the "Foundations" or "Induction" program that we have at my company where new comers learn basic communications and language/ customer service skills.

Reading the Steve Jobs biography (the 10 pounder white one) sort of crystallized my way of thinking and designing, helping me understand not only my own father (my roots) but myself- why I get so intensely emotional about design, why I pushed August so hard to make things a certain way, why I am able to sell my vision to others so fearlessly (It's called "The Reality Distortion Field", or "If you sell it they'll build it, or allow you build it"), why my ideas are so clear and so new, so weird to others, why I have so little patience, why Excel makes intuitive sense to me (I may be the only person in my American peer group who understands how to make Excel formulas and build charts from them, without attacks of nerves), how I think and feel about some things, and why I have such a divisive persona--- some people seem to really, really dislike me upon first contact and others seem to sort of mentally fall down and fall in love that never goes away, all without me "doing anything".

Come to think of it, my siblings are like this too, I don't know where we got this, but if I had to guess it would be the cosmic blending of two extraordinary personalities- the intense visionary side and cold brilliance of my father combined with the zany, pinwheel sparky, scatty warmth of my mom- all three of us have this, with my brother being the warmest and the most down to earth, my sister being the most intense, and myself being the coldest and most remote, and all of us absolutely convinced we're doing the right thing and pulling up the whole room with us.


Anyway, back  to the story!!

Sunday I hopped on a flight to Davao, which is located 2 hours by plane away from Manila, in the farthest south island (well, the largest farthest south, not one of those pinpoints), in Mindanao (see above).

I checked into the hotel and trundled up to the pool, which was going to be closed (ARG!) for the rest of my trip, so I had to get my quality pool time early. After getting settled in and putting on sun lotion, I sauntered up to the pool bar, where the largest land dog I've ever seen was chained up, just out of site. This thing was like a combination of a St. Bernard and a dinosaur. It was just coolin', gettin' some sun and pantin' in the shade. I jumped out of my skin and the dog was like "Hey man, don't hate. Just cause I'm big don't mean I'm a monster!" 

After a few hours with one eye on Mount Apo over there in the corner, I toddled off with the sun setting behind my back, off to bed.

The next day I woke up early (work started at 7 AM over here), and off to the work site. The town literature says that Davao is the second largest city in the Philippines, but to me it was a sleepy little hamlet, barely populated. After the insane congestion of Manila, this place was like the world after a zombie apocalypse---eerily quiet. It was a nice change of pace. I went to the same place for lunch every day, taught my classes and got to know the staff out there, used my borrowed desk and took a few pictures, and every day at 3 when work got out I either went to the mall to browse around or off to the Marco Polo lounge poolside at the Marco Polo hotel- the nicest place in town.

I'll have to fill you in on all of the details later, because for some reason I just can't break out of the expansive philosophical mood I'm in long enough to focus on the details of the trip, but suffice to say it was really relaxing, like an unexpected vacation. And! I saw the movie Mystic Pizza, which if you haven't watched yet, watch *immediately*. If you loved Moonstruck or L.A.Story (and if you don't, I DON'T KNOW YOU!), and you like the slightly daffy sweetness of 1980's love stories, the hazy innocence that shines through the oddball lightness that suffuses the film, dipping the whole movie in milk and honey, this movie is for you. And if you've ever wondered if Vincent D'Onofrio was ever handsome (answer: yes, in an Italian beefcake, hunk of love way). Do yourself a favor. Netflix this sh*t today.