GROWING UP OVERDRESSED

There is a fine line between style and good taste.

Any man who likes clothes think, at some point in his life, about the best suit tailors in Naples, bespoke shirts from Saville Row, New York and Hong-Kong and the best brogues and monk straps from Alden, Barker Black and Church’s.

I have always been inspired by my parents, mom being the classic convent schooled Ilongga and dad, the preppy, Jesuit educated, football playing farm boy. Both believed in decency and good manners, and in hard work – things which I have pretty much adopted growing up.


(Mom hours before her wedding with cousins Vina Corazon Lopez-Vito Ledesma and Paolo Isidro Lopez-Vito Miranda)

My mom lived in a very simple, but wonderfully stylish fashion; from her strands of pearl necklaces to statement chokers from her trips. Just like my dad, her charm, straightforwardness and elegance are qualities I have always tried to imitate.

Blame it on my mom, these days I find it inspiring to meet men who spends hours leafing through cloth bunches at the fabric store (yes, dad and I would do that at Fanbi with my mom). Honestly, it is wonderful to find all these like-minded people, as I spent my childhood being ridiculed for the way I dressed (a lot thought I was always overdressed as a kid).

For the nth time, I have always believed in keeping things simple. Wearing head to toe designer doesn’t make one stylish nor look good – it’s just plain pathetic!


(Mom wearing a maxi dress and yes, that's me! I know, I know, I look like a melted ball of cheese! haha)

We all know there are a lot of style rules, some of which are eminently sensible like not matching your tie with your pocket square but both should at least be harmonious, etc. I, myself, like wearing red socks, making me sometimes look like the pope but again, who cares!

Rules can stop people making disastrous choices, but “bejeweled shirts from Ed Hardy” should be consigned trash of sartorial bullshit.