Picture a wedding about to start, a graduation rite underway, and an award ceremony’s afterparty. Appreciative glances ripple through a sea of glamorous gowns and studded suits. Yet, all it takes is the delicate sheen of carefully seamed piña cloth for every head to turn in awe.
This is the soft power of the Filipiniana and barong. Their grace is immortalized as mainstays for formal attire, and its timelessness is cemented in the lasting efforts to keep the tradition alive, albeit in less conventional forms. These familiar ensembles, treated as national treasures, are now edging closer to the personal.
Such intricate creations cinch the best of our local tailors’ craftsmanship and their clients’ imagination, embodying the spirit of collaboration. In doing so, the silhouette of Filipino fashion strips itself from exclusive mannequins and runways and makes its way into our everyday lives.
At the helm of the seam
It’s hard to speak for others on how often they don their Filipinianas and barongs. For students, it’s during their “Buwan ng Wikang Pambansa” festivities every August; for government workers, it’s a routine uniform every Monday. But this tradition is woven from a tapestry of different influences.
Sometimes, the love for the garb starts at home. For Leann Basbas (III, AB-POM), her grandmother is her and her neighbors’ go-to seamstress. “Kilala siya sa buong barangay na parang kung may ipapatahi ka, patahi mo kay [Lola] Minerva,” the Bicolana shares endearingly. The now rising model has worn custom Filipiniana pieces stitched by her very own Lola Minerva to several high school milestones.
(The barangay knows that if you need something sewn, you go to Lola Minerva.)
Cut from the same thread, a young Franco Salvatorre used to play with his mother’s sewing machines as if they were toy cars. Today, he is a renowned local designer driven to “uplift Filipino clothing and fashion and make it to the global scene.” This is the challenge—and dream—for many Filipino fashion names today.
Designer-by-day, professor-by-night Santi Obcena considers himself part of a “transitory generation,” one that bridges tradition and innovation. For him, it’s a privilege to “hold the tradition of the old while also pushing the envelope further with newer concepts.” These modern designers get to loop the thin needle of the older generations’ precision to an age that puts a premium on customization. True enough, Obcena’s renowned Pokémon-adorned and Salvatorre’s daily gala-style barongs are signposts of a new tapestry ahead.
Untangling knots
While designers fold through the fabrics and layers of the garments they create, they are no strangers to the knots and twists along the way—challenges they have yet to untangle. One of the constraints is the decreasing number of local artisans, who, for Salvatorre, are the backbone of their industry. “Kakaunti na lang talaga nag-specialize sa mga local weavers at sa local crafters,” he shares. “[There is a] lack of training for the new generation to push through with the traditional clothing.”
(Fewer people specialize in local weaves and crafts.)
The issue is also tied to the limited number of suppliers, which hinders him from providing accessible price points. One of the primary reasons why Filipinianas and barongs remain expensive is the high cost of the fabrics required. By adjusting or innovating their designs, Salvatorre says that designers could work around this hurdle and cater to a broader clientele. This also reduces the risk of plagiarism, as others often advantageously replicate designs at a cheaper cost.
With all of these obstacles in mind, designers remain grounded in the importance and relevance of their craft—particularly by remaining true to their style and identity. As Obcena recalls, “The question of the chairperson for fashion when I applied for a grant [was], ‘Why do you want to pursue fashion?’ The answer was very simple: because I want to make sure that Filipino culture is still the center of Philippine fashion.”
Memory into modernity
The growing interest in modern Filipino garments is more than a fashion statement—it serves as a bridge between generations of Filipinos. Every stitch, pleat, bodice, and unconventional silhouette pays homage to the craft and heritage that shaped these garments, ensuring that the tradition continues to breathe in the present and future.
“I hope that we, as a collective [in] our industry, push through and continue to offer new approaches to our traditional clothing—barongs, Filipinianas—so we can move forward,” Salvatorre expresses. For him, the preservation of tradition depends on a steady flow of creative reinterpretations. Consumers can also embrace what designers are willing to share and bring to the forefront.
Obcena echoes this sentiment, seeing tradition as a flexible and adaptable foundation. “When we retire, the next generation holds the traditions of our generation and the ones [that] came before us,” he explains, believing that Filipino wear will thrive as long as it remains authentic to the generation of Filipinos it is made for, even if it means bold, unexpected reinventions.
Beyond opulent runways and high-end couture, the Filipiniana and the barong are ultimately garments that carry profound personal meaning for their wearers. For Basbas, modernizing and wearing these garments is a way to stay interwoven with her roots and the women who came before her. Her grandmother’s craft, she says, is “embedded into me… It reflects my identity as a Filipino, but more specifically, as a Bicolana.”
In the end, the current evolution of Filipino clothing is not about leaving tradition behind but allowing it to grow—hemmed with memories, tailored with creativity, and ready for the next generation to don with honor.
This article was published in The LaSallian‘s October 2025 issue. To read more, visit bit.ly/TLSOct2025.
