My first rendezvous with black and white came about the same time I first laid eyes on impeccably tailored clothes.
It was around the mid-’90s–local fashion was defined by a few designers and an even smaller number of glossies (just two, I think). My mom loved dropping by the department store of the then-new SM Megamall, me in tow, during those lazy summer days. I was totally uninterested in fashion. I honestly dreaded those aisles (waiting for mom to finish trying clothes on made it worse). My pubescent mind could not comprehend why, really, women enjoyed shopping for clothes…
Until I comprehended Cesar Gaupo.
My mom referred to him more as a tailor than couturier. He had a section near JM Goulbourn’s. Tucked in an inner, dimly lit part of the floor that separated the casual ready-to-wears from the formal selections, Gaupo’s crisp, tapered pieces connected with me. His silhouettes were sharp yet sexy. They seemed like the antidote to the feminine and oftentimes too-casual garb I was so used to. Gaupo’s pieces spoke of power in mostly two colors: black and white. I was smitten.
Around the same year, I attended my first fashion show. It was at the Manila Hotel–my family had gotten free tickets. I suppose I’d begun to understand this whole new world, because I felt a newfound giddiness for this special, intimate affair. My mom, I knew she loved Gaupo, too. As she gestured to his streamlined, neutral-hued pieces walking down the ramp, I found myself nodding in awe and approval.
I remember what I wore to my brother’s grade school graduation, a couple of years later. It was an outfit I proudly picked out for myself–a Rhett Eala number from his DUE ready-to-wear line at Rustan’s. I paired a white, collared top with a long, black cotton skirt that fell just above my ankles (yes, it was that long). Despite the sweltering heat of the gymnasium, I knew it was worth it.
It was then I finally understood the thrill of shopping for the perfect outfit. In my naivete, I felt like a million bucks.
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