I have less than 10 white hairs on my head. Maybe six. I pluck them out whenever I see them, so it’s not true, that Chinese belief that white hairs will grow aplenty if you pull them out.
It’s funny when I see my old classmates – we sort of check each other out: who looks good, who looks old, who’s well-preserved and who’s gained weight.
Recently I was invited by Procter & Gamble’s Olay team to try out a new product and this skin-reading machine from Japan.
You stick your face into this lighted box thingy that looks like a space-age dollhouse.
It takes a picture that goes into a computer and reads your skin’s age.
I was a bit apprehensive about trying it, but what the hell, I did it.
It turns out I have the skin of a 29-year-old. I have almost no crow’s feet, no wrinkles, although my pores could improve, and my smile lines are looking pronounced these days.
A lot of my friends have expressed interest in having their skin age-tested. I was told that P&G plans to set up the machine at SM Watsons in Makati, so watch out for that.
The product, called Olay Total Effects, an anti-aging moisturizer with SPF, should be out on the market mid-September.
When I was younger it was all about standing out and making a statement. Now it’s about comfort and hiding problem areas.
The first trend I ever followed was in 6th grade when I dressed like Mork from Ork (Robin Williams) with the glitter tees and rainbow suspenders.
My first designer dress was purchased in Grade 7 from Cinderella and cost me a small fortune. It was Santiago de Manila.
In high school (1981-1984) I wore Azabache from SM and Birds from Hong Kong, followed by a trend called Metallic Gigolo that was also a dance craze. My brother used to call me Miles, as in Miles and the Pacesetters (kill him now). By the time I graduated I had discovered the Japanese geniuses called Comme and Yohji.
College (1985) was all about New Wave and Jean-Paul Gaultier when he was new and exciting, Thai designers like Soda and Theatre, and platform shoes bought in Quiapo.
I also discovered the tailor Christopher Nemeth on a trip to Japan.
I hid my skinny legs every day under long skirts and never wore pants.
Gee, I wish I had those legs now.
In New York (1991-1995) I did the whole streetwear/rave/Hello Kitty thing with furry hats and lights on my shoes. Xuly Bët and Margiela were my uniform.
When I came back it was the Fruitsy stage and the Japanese schoolgirl look. And so on…
So after going through all of that, things changed when I became a mother. Although my weight returned to usual, the hips were not quite the same and the thighs had filled up. After two Caesareans my waistline could no longer accommodate tight things.
I am now loving baggy clothes, which my husband cannot understand. No more cartoon characters and cute stuff for me. No more loud colors.
Recently, the platforms had to go and I switched to flats and trainers.
But now the platforms are back again, so what the hell.
Muji, the generic Japanese label, is now my uniform. Sometimes I dress like a grandma with shawl-looking things. Mary Kate Olsen is my idol.
I now wonder how my style will evolve when I get into my forties, fifties, sixties. Will I still wear my Vans? Will I wear bucket hats and baggy pants?
At a fashion event last year I spotted the chicest woman in the room. It was the author Virgina Moreno, whose work we studied in school. She wore a pearl-white, pleated satin dress with huge tortoise- shell glasses, and carried a little metal lunch box.
I thought, it must’ve been interesting growing up with a brother like Pitoy Moreno.
Sometimes I get to hang out with Gilda Cordero-Fernando, whose work we also studied in school and who is one of the coolest dressers I know. Whenever I see her she’s always wearing something special, from designers like Patty Eustaquio to Steve de Leon.
Like Gilda, I like to hang out with younger people, as well as older.
Maybe I can look as good as her when I grow up.
That is, unless my boys marry chic girls who will pass through the eye of the needle. Because in the case of this monster-in-law, the devil wears Comme des Garçons.
And if they settle for mainstream wives, I’ll always have my younger sister who loves my stuff. At 14 and 39, she and I are the same size and we share a couple of Comme des Garçons.
The first time I took her to a CDG store in Singapore she almost had a heart attack. Since everything was expensive, we decided to share the cost of a skirt, and a year later, a pair of pants.
In the meantime I’ll be turning Four-O next year and I’m not afraid.
Oprah says 30 is when you get a brain, and 40 is when you find out who you are.
And boy, am I having this huge New Wave party.