The return of the wunderkind
November 25, 2005 | 12:00am
"I wanted to set it in a basketball court," says Puey Quiñones of his coming fashion show, a process six months in the making. The designer, who styled last year’s Bench Understatement show, has been aflurry with preparations for the show. "Unfortunately," Puey says, "there was a problem with the venue so we had to change it."
A basketball court may seem like an unusual setting for a fashion show, compared to the more upscale choices of other designers, but that’s precisely his point. "I wanted to do a contradistinct show," he explains, "not the kind where the models just walk down a ramp." Along with collaborators Michael Salientes, Mega magazine’s creative director who’s moonlighting as the show’s stylist, and Melvin Mojica, the famed fashion director, the threesome were hoping to create a mood that was at once surreal and abstracted, an homage to avant-garde designers who opt for unconventional mise en scene.
Puey’s design diktat, one that constantly strives for the unusual, the exaggerated and the theatrical, isn’t one that pauses to check for commercial viability. His more vocal advocates would call that his talent, while his detractors would call it his fatal flaw. The verdict may change from person to person, but Puey’s ceaseless commitment to a vision unaffected by public perception has shaped his distinct sense of style, marking him as an indubitable visionaire undaunted by the possibility of tripping on his laurels.
Over the phone from his Ed Calma-designed penthouse apartment, sick with the flu, he whispers in voice so soft it’s practically inaudible that his latest project has left him exhausted and stressed to the point of incoherence. "I’m so weak, I can barely get out of bed," he says. Though he is suffering, he continues with the interview, pausing for a few minutes between questions to gather his thoughts and, perhaps, to quell the rising feeling of nausea. Though the flu has been making the rounds for the past couple of weeks, Puey is particularly prone to the illness due to his relentless work schedule. As the debut of his latest collection looms closer each day, the pressure mounts – and with it the stress and aggravation all designers feel when the details are still being ironed out. "We’ve been working nonstop on the show, getting the clothes ready and everything else perfect," he says.
His latest collection, called Swell, combines fashion with performance art. "Since we wanted to do something different," he states, "I thought we could layer the clothes over the model." As each model walks down the ramp, she will return with a new set of clothes layered carefully over the last outfit. This process will repeat itself until all the models are swathed in the entire collection. Reminiscent of the ‘99 Viktor & Rolf fashion show, which had the designers of the same name dress model Maggie Rizer with one outfit on top of another on a revolving platform, the show manages to meld the art of dressing with an ineffable flair for theater. Japanese-inspired, a running theme in all his collections, the pieces center on volume and shape – how a simple (read: different) approach to silhouette can change an entire look.
This native of Samar, born to a policeman father and schoolteacher mother, grew up a normal kid, unaware that bigger, fashion-minded things were lying in wait. "I was your typical kid," he says, "with my shorts and T-shirts. I had no fashion sense." But as he got older, he began to feel a sense of disquiet – of knowing that there was something more for him to do. His world would soon expand when he turned 19.
"Dennis Lustico, who I admired from the very beginning, was my kababayan. As soon as I saw what he could do, I knew that that was what I wanted to do." A partner of Puey’s tita in the garment business, Dennis soon became his mentor. "I asked my tita if I could go to Manila and help with the business." Pretty soon, he packed his bags, skipped college and headed for the bright lights in the big city.
Training under designer Dennis Lustico allowed him to feel his way through the business of design and learn the ropes in an industry constantly caught up in the next big thing. Under Dennis’ steady tutelage, Puey began to grow into the designer he would soon become.
"Dennis has very good taste," he declares, "with colors, materials and music. I learned so much…" he trails off. "Especially the discipline and hard work that goes into it. I got that from him." It was three years of absorption, of understanding the nuances of texture and color, of knowing which pattern worked with what, of mixing shapes and cuts that allowed him to grasp the very basics of his calling.
Though Dennis’ design acumen left its mark on Puey, he makes sure that his creations are a far cry from his mentor’s. "I don’t want to copy him," he says adamantly. "I’ve always made it a point to find my own style." It says something about their relationship that Puey’s references to Dennis seem almost reverent. "Dennis’ clothes are very feminine, very beautiful," he says wistfully. "Mine is the opposite."
His signature, loosely-wrapped garments, austere layers and a zen-like appreciation for structure, is instantly noticeable. Each year’s collection marks a point in his career arc. Large voluminous skirts, wooly gargantuan ball accents and a fondness for gray characterized the first collection that garnered him accolades and a YStyle cover. It was only last year that people were talking about the ethereal shots of Ria Bolivar, wearing Puey’s clothes on the cover, surrounded by a sea of floating eggs, cast in a crepuscular glow.
For this shoot, he reunites with photographer Juan Caguicla, a member of the HG production team which created his bizarrely-successful cover. The fashions featured here only share a theme (Japanese) with his coming collection. "I always dreamed of designing travel wear," he remarks, "and the kimonos are perfect for traveling. They’re ideal because they don’t wrinkle easily and are comfortable to wear." Wanting to experiment with the shape of kimonos, he wanted to see how he could change the basic silhouette." The result? Dramatic volume and exaggerated silhouettes. (He doesn’t veer much from his signature touches.)
Made of Koryo silk, he created large lapels with overhanging sleeves. The pretty prints on the kimono gown, "reminiscent of Gianni Versace’s prints but more subtle," says Puey, inspired him to combine textures and graphics he normally wouldn’t consider. For those who find his designs far too abstract (read: unwearable), Puey fashioned a snug sweater in a textured gray fabric, an urban Japanese homage to streetwear, and a men’s coat in camouflage green-gray that combined utilitarian chic with a dapper, almost polished effect, the hems accented with a snappy running stitch.
It seems crossing the line between progressive haute couture and commercial fashion is just one of Puey’s many tricks. It’s not surprising that Puey’s star has risen. From a small-town boy to a much-buzzed-about designer, he’s got a lot to be happy for: an adoring following, a flourishing business and an apartment to die for. If only all stories ended this well. Although in Puey’s case, it’s only just beginning.
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