THERE’S no doubt about it.
I love dressing up.
Even as a poor young boy, I did dress up.
No, not in the trans kind of way.
Although I was mostly an androgynous dresser, too.
***
Sadly, there weren’t phones with camera in those days.
And cameras using films weren’t really readily available to poor people 30 or 20 years ago.
So what few photos of my dressing up are available are those of my award receiving ceremonies.
Mostly the Palancas.
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Although my clothes at the Palanca Awards were pretty artsy and stunning, they were still a little conservative.
After all, the Palanca is rather a traditional Filipino event.
I don’t think a transgender really dressed like a trans at the Palanca before last year.
(Or, it could happen that no trans has ever won before 2022!)
I should know.
I have been attending the Palanca yearly since 2006.
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For myself, I really pushed it at the Palanca last year.
I invested on a designer dress.
And it was, if I say so myself, a winner.
That dress can go to my museum.
It stands there along with my pink suit, and my 8-kilogram Swarovski-beaded suit. Haha.
Let’s see if somebody could beat my attire in the next three years.
***
Two years ago, I didn’t really care about clothes.
Except on red carpet events, when I really pull all the stops.
My thing was: I got real talent; I didn’t have to impress people with what I wear.
So, of course, at red carpets, you meet other genuinely talented people.
Now, if I still want to stand out, I may need to wear something outlandish because I am not blessed with the most gorgeous face like Brad Pitt or Ashton Kutcher.
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Of course, I noticed that people of lesser talents, of lesser money, are wearing these ugly expensive clothes.
Can I wear something beautiful that doesn’t break my bank?
Thus, the fashionista in me was born.
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What does it take to be a fashionista?
Well, for one, thick skin.
You can’t be a true fashionista if you can’t handle comments.
I mean, if you are wearing something different, expect to be criticized and insulted.
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I mean, you cannot be a true fashionista if you haven’t gone through seasons of lamé or periods of velveteen.
I remember being called out for my shimmering clothes in hot and humid Iloilo.
Oh, to be called out for my “Holy Week attire” (after the clothes of the dressed statues of saints in paraded floats).
Surviving that really built my confidence.
***
See, I’m still here.
Wearing as much, or as little, as I like.
As for my critics and detractors, well, where are they now?
Have they made a name for themselves as a provocateur?
As a fashionista?
As an artist?
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In the end, I’m able to tie the loose ends.
I’m able to understand that all that spirit to wear something unique in my youth is the real creative spirit that shaped me to be uniquely beautiful.
To be embarrassingly confident.
And such confidence is very important for survival in a world of fakes and fakers.
***
I’m not sure that my fashionista sense and understanding of my creative impulses will work with everybody.
But it is mental health fitness for me
I am not insecure even if I wear the most tattered of clothes.
I am even quite proud of my finds from an ukay-ukay or thrift store.
I don’t have to chase after expensive brands.
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Ultimately, I am my own brand.
I wear my own brand.
I can wear anything I want, anywhere I go.
If a mall won’t admit me in my costume, I just go to the next mall.
And even if all the malls will ban me, I’ll find a small store, or I’ll go to the public market.
I mean, didn’t I do a haute couture fashion shoot at the Dumangas Public Market just for fun?
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I mean, that’s how crazy I can be.
And boy, it is so much fun!
Because I can afford my crazy./PN
