Before sunrise, the faint sounds of rolling racks and trolleys fill loading docks and venues. Organizers roam the halls with checklists, while concessionaires stow hangers and organize their showcases, exchanging knowing looks of exhaustion and excitement for what the day may bring.
These are the unseen snippets of local bazaars. Despite their temporal nature, they have become a mainstay in everyday transactions among Filipinos in food halls, art conventions, and mall atriums. Behind the flocked tables and busy stalls are entrepreneurs who have adapted to the fast-paced and community-oriented conditions of this local economic trade.
The LaSallian highlights the country’s growing bazaar scene through stories of creativity and adaptability, paying tribute to a livelihood often wrapped under tarps.
Setting up shop
Bazaars are an ever-evolving industry. They stand in contrast to permanent retail establishments with lower barrier-to-entry and more intimate customer-seller exchanges. These are the strokes of resistance the Sanctum Luna Market art hub has rendered as a means of empowering the arts through larger markets. Since their relaunch at the nearby University Mall in Taft Ave. last 2023, they have strived to “build meaningful bridges between exhibitors, students, and the local communities,” event director Daemon Grayson proudly shares.
Such principled views from bazaar organizers make all the difference for merchants like Zzytte Boutique’s Lizzette Dorego and Raffa Boutique’s Joy Balauitan and Mona Ubiadas. Dorego, who teaches full-time, fondly recalls how a school event kickstarted her sideline as she launched her zines, stickers, and prints in her sophomore year. For sisters Balauitan and Ubiadas, their chance application at a high-end bazaar in 2009 propelled their ready-to-wear business to where it is today.
While seasonality is a lingering worry, it is also among the benefits of bazaars. Familiar and new faces navigate the recurring Sanctum Luna Market with fresh eyes. Dorego’s schedule is not all trampled either, as she manages to balance her nine-to-five and marketing for her business throughout the week. As for Balauitan and Ubiadas, who are mothers first and businesswomen second, they enjoy the flexibility the venture affords them. “We still have time to go to the market, cook, and clean for our families at home.”
Trades and their trade-offs
For traditional brick-and-mortar establishments, operating costs come in the form of rent, salaries, utilities, and other material expenses. Bazaar concessionaires, meanwhile, split resources into transportation, storage, and production. Albeit not site-bound, bazaar participation demands its own kind of rent. Varying from one market to another, tabling fees are mainly what merchants consider when deciding when and where to set up shop. “I make sure that the tabling fee is under P2,000,” Dorego states.
These non-insignificant fees establish a high bar to clear. With bazaars lasting only a few days at most, concessionaires hope to meet their profit targets within that brief window. Failing to break even is an extremely discouraging outcome that reminds them of the unpredictability of this venture. “Sometimes you even dramatically say, is this for me? Am I still [going to] continue this?” Dorego confides.
Running a bazaar also comes with its own challenges. Through a wide pool of concessionaires, organizers juggle diverse demands with their own interests. “We strive to find the right balance between what we charge and the needs of our exhibitors, ensuring that everyone feels supported and valued,” Grayson remarks, highlighting the interconnected orchestration that arranges bazaar work.
Bazaars also lay out tables with similar offerings across the venue. For Balauitan and Ubiadas, this spurs their creativity, especially in a scene as saturated as clothing. “Let’s say everyone is selling Filipinianas, that means we need to be different,” they share in Filipino.
However, such innovation comes with its own unforeseen consequences, such as exposure to copycats. Suddenly, one’s beaming pride in their products is overshadowed by the frustrating pressure to stand out in a brand new way. “There’s a saying that goes ‘imitation is the greatest form of flattery,’ but in this case, hindi. Nakakainis, nakakalungkot, hindi nakaka-flatter kasi naghihirap ka tapos gagayahin lang,” Balauitan and Ubiadas lament.
(In this case, no. It’s irritating, sad, and unflattering because we work hard just to be copied.)
From booth to belonging
Despite the hardships, participating in each market is a sense of sentimentality that stokes concessionaires’ devotion to return.
For some, it’s the expanding reach and recognition in one’s craft. “Your artwork is [going to be] spread all over [even] without you knowing, and it’s so nice to think about it that way,” Dorego remarks. For others, it is the knowledge that they have made a meaningful impact on their patrons. Balauitan and Ubiadas fondly remember returning patrons who rave about their purchases, telling them, “My gosh, Joy, Mona, favorite ko ito!”
(This is my favorite!)
Ultimately, what sets bazaars apart is not just their portability but the collective experiences they create. From direct interactions among merchants, customers, organizers, along with a rotating mix of diverse brands, bazaars transform business into connection rather than merely transactional exchanges.
“Through it all, these challenges remind us that success isn’t measured in numbers, but in the connections we foster, the creativity we showcase, and the community we continue to build,” Grayson reminds. Dorego echoes this sentiment, recalling heartwarming interactions and mutual understanding with other merchants despite being business competitors. “We’re artists supporting artists.”
Small gestures foster this camaraderie even as everyone focuses on their respective booths. From holding elevator doors to picking up fallen hangers, “There’s a sense of tulungan din talaga,” Balauitan and Ubiadas assure.
(There’s a sense of wanting to help each other.)
While the vibrant bazaar scene has its fair share of difficulties, it is precisely within these constraints that the community solidifies, creativity blossoms, and merchants flourish. These markets are an invitation to do more than make a purchase, but to also engage, support, and invest in their growth, turning fleeting booths into a lasting testament of belonging and community.
This article was published in The LaSallian‘s January 2026 issue. To read more, visit bit.ly/TLSJan2026.
