Style and abel

Five designers immersed themselves in the colors and images

of the Ilocos to stretch their imagination--and the abel

Iloko--beyond the century

IN A fashion industry dependent on

imported fabrics, some designers were

asked recently to create a collection that

was indigenous in fabric and look,

particularly to the Ilocos, yet universal in

appeal.

Why the Ilocos? Lisa Araneta, wife of

Ilocos Gov. Bongbong Marcos, wanted to

promote the region not only as a tourist

destination but also as a source of local

fabrics. Heeding her challenge, Gerry

Katigbak, Rajo Laurel, Jojie Lloren, Randy

Ortiz and Michi Calica spent some time

with Ilocos weavers to take a crash

course in vernacular fabrics as well as

imbibe the unique culture and traditions

of the Ilocanos. In the process, they

sourced their inspirations not from the

usual centers of fashion such as Paris or New York, but from the

hardy but graceful images of the Ilocos.

The group showed their versatility in local fabrics, particularly

the abel Iloko. In their hands, the lowly blanket sold in markets

in the northern Philippines at dirt-cheap prices was transformed

into high fashion.

''Abel is not like jusi. It's got more texture because it can be done

in different weaves. Anything hand-woven in Ilocos can

produce fabrics in different weights,'' said Lloren.

The silhouettes ran the gamut of forms. The most dramatic

clothes resembled layers of mantles. But there were also those

constructed along skin-baring styles, suited to a small market

composed of fitness buffs.

The strongest collections came from Katigbak, Laurel and

Lloren. Katigbak's look could be saleable since it had the

necessary ingredients of high fashion: big clothes, bell sleeves,

suits, and Filipiniana.

Katigbak maintained his vision of the millennium look that is a

cornucopia of cultural influences. He said that since the

Philippines is a convergence of Eastern and Western influences,

the clothes should reflect this unique fusion. He explained he

got his ideas from the churches in Ilocos--the icons, the nuns,

women praying, men in 19th-century barong and striped pants,

and the classical columns.

Angels

Models floated in layers of lace like angels from heaven. The

capitals in the columns inspired embroidery designs. The nun's

habit was treated irreverently by being recast and paired with

micro-mini skirts and accessorized by scapulars that looked like

modern pouches.

Katigbak exaggerated the sleeves and

ballskirts of the traje de mestiza as a

reference to the massiveness of old

churches. Antique retasos such as sleeves

and kerchiefs that were mixed with the new

clothes provided the look with a touch of

whimsy.

Katigbak also presented his trademarks

such as ponchos, tassels, baroque

embroidery, Indian dhotis and jodpurs, and

makeup inspired by Mexican artist Frida

Kahlo.

What made him stand out was his penchant

for loose, formless clothes that defied

society's obsession with the narcissistic

hard body.

Rajo Laurel was drawn to the architectural

modernity of the late National Artist

Leandro Locsin, and his collection was

dominated by squares. The neutral colors

alluded to the arid soil of the Ilocos. If there were colors, they

were tobacco stains, which bordered the skirts and blouses.

Loosening the weaves and making the squares bigger softened

the kinurkurus, a stiff fabric. The fabric was made into

spaghetti-strapped gowns and cover-ups.

Since the collection was practically devoid of color, except for

the stains, Laurel sewed insertions to add more texture. Models

wrapped their heads with white bands, just like the traditional

Ilocanas. For humor, a wraparound skirt with a tight sash made

reference to the tapis and also to the native delicacy suman,

sticky rice cake usually wrapped tight in thick coconut palms.

Resort wear

Laurel showed that the abel Iloko could be made into an

evening gown or a casual outfit, but he also showed it could be

great for lazing around the pool.

For his part, Jojie Lloren showed that abel could go beyond

Filipiniana. He applied the Parisian sensibility --colle montie or

raised collar, neat sleeves and pure lines--on the local fabric. He

used seams for decorative effect, particularly the wedding dress

that had seams radiating from the solar plexus.

The ruins of Ilocandia inspired the colors--yellow, ochre and

mocha.

Lloren mixed metallic threads with the local yarns to make the

fabrics suited to formal wear. He also reinstated his trademarks

such as cascades of coco beads and bodices, adorned with

swirls of colorful cords.

Lloren's collection harked back to Issey Miyake's ethnicity in

the '80s, evident in the use of long strands of raffia and origami

folds for interesting details, and in covering the body with

layers of sheer, textured fabrics for modesty.

His wedding gown was French. It looked like a sharkskin outfit

with flaring coat sleeves.

To be sure, updating the abel Iloco is not new. In the mid-80s,

Dita Sandico-Ong, purveyed this vision of utilizing the abel and

other Ilocano fabrics for mainstream fashion, particularly for the

high-end market.

What's new is that the 1999 group made their own interpretation

with their signature styles. Instead of knocking down patterns

from pret-a-porter clothes or copying fashion magazines, they

conceptualized their collections by removing themselves from

the cosmopolitan hurly-burly and immersing themselves in the

Ilocano way of life. The common denominator of their diverse

fashion statements is Filipino fashion's embrace of the next

millennium. Ironically, fashion's future is based on the past.