Kadiri-to-death fashion

It’s not because your yaya is always with you, it’s just those damn pleated pants.

I know, I get that all the time, too.

I have always had a love-hate relationship with fashion. And it wasn’t me who was doing all the hating. I think it started back during my high school dance when my mom said it would be the height of "hot" (or "in" or "dope" or "okay, s’aright" or whatever passes for "cool" nowadays) if I not only left my short-sleeved green paisley shirt unbuttoned to reveal my bright red shirt underneath but also to fold my undershirt sleeves into the short sleeves (this was my first and almost last brush with what the fashion-forward call "layering"). Apparently, I was also too ahead of my time because I was laughed off as a Bagets: The Movie reject by kadiri-to-death women whose bangles doubled as arm weights and who had used enough spray net in their hair to puncture a new hole in the ozone layer.

I think the trouble with men and fashion began when we were born as human beings and not as peacocks. Among humans, females decorate themselves in colorful clothing, jewelry, face-paint and torture devices called high heels to attract men. Meanwhile, men only dress up to show off their status or to frighten off enemies or to hide those strangely disturbing man-boobs. However, for most mammals, and especially the suggestively-named peacock, it’s the male that dresses up to impress the less colorful females. According to The Red Queen Sex and the Evolution of Human Nature, English naturalist Charles Darwin suggested that the peacocks with the more gaudy, colorful and ornamental tails were the ones who got themselves preened (oooooh) by female peahens. Unfortunately, as we moved up the evolutionary ladder, I think males may have gotten the concept of gaudiness all wrong. Observing how one of my nightclub-frequenting titos dressed in my youth, I thought being a male adult meant that I had to preserve my hair under layers of pomade, don a sando underneath any collared shirt, wear a pair of suspenders, sport zip-up ankle-high boots and, by law, carry a clutch bag. However, I am still unsure up to this day if this tito attracted women, although he did frighten away little children (I still have a phobia of him).

Since I once contemplated using a clutch bag in my adult life, I no longer trust my own fashion (non)sense. So I have recruited the assistance of my own Fab Five (or, in Pinoy speak, is pronounced Pab Payb) who are just as effective as Thai generals in mounting coups against gaudiness in men’s fashion. Culled from the hive intelligence of Mela de Luna, style editor of Manual magazine, Patrick Ty, fashion editor of Mega magazine, Peewee Reyes, fashion editor of Mega magazine, Juana Manahan, assistant editor of Lifestyle Asia, and Beverly Dalton, fashion editor of Girlfriend magazine, these are the fashion %^#$-ups that most Pinoy men are bound to make and the solutions to their lack of a fashion gene. In the event that any of these editors spy you in public venues still garbed in any of these atrocities after reading this column, they will gladly take an argyle-patterned nightstick (or whatever nightstick is in fashion for this season) and gladly beat some fashion sense into you.

The new color of blecch, a.k.a. Monochromatic Dressing. There are some men whose entire fashion sense is inspired by one color of nature, like moldy tree bark brown, dull grey stone or polluted blue sky, and by only that color. As one of the fashion editors so succinctly hyperventilated, "Khaki pants, a cream-colored shirt and brown shoes!?? What the hell are you thinking!? Enough said." (After which she passed out.) Apparently, there is a little-known circle in hell, a circle below Liberace and a circle above those reserved for tsismis columnists, where monochromatic dresses are exiled. Once exiled to this circle of hell, the exposed skin of monochromatic dressers will be painted over with the same color of their clothes and they will be made to serve as living wallpaper in the devil’s living room.

Solution: If you do not relish the idea of becoming wallpaper, the Pab Payb answer is brutally simple: Sit on a color wheel and spin on it. Hopefully, you will find a complementary color to your one-tone hell. But don’t spin on it too long or else you might end up with color sickness. Look at what happened to Jolina Magdangal.

Stuck in a time warp and I can’t get out, ak.a. The Horror That Is Pleated Pants. One of the fashion editors would happily take a pair of scissors and stab you in the guts with them after she shreds apart your pleated pants like genuine election returns. "Pants with pleats are way, way, waaaaay out," she emphatically declared. "Unless you were born in the Fifties and you haven’t shopped in over a decade. Besides giving men a pair of "hips" (child-bearing hips to be exact), it gives a curvy silhouette – very unattractive and outdated." These are the type of pants that men should avoid wearing when in prison – unless they are politicians (sometimes they should know what it’s like to be screwed over). "Kumbaga parang pang-lolo," she concluded. But for pleated pants loyalists, there is still a bright side: those matronas you see in church will start giving you a second look. However, she lamented that there are still a lot of clothing stores which carry pleated pants. She is currently gathering a group of fashion activists who will join her in torching these establishments to the ground.

Solution: Unless men plan to conceive in the near future, the Pab Payb recommends buying a pair of flat-front pants – they will not only make you look slimmer but "ultra-chic" and fashionable as well. For additional pogi points, the Pab Payb recommends slim pants that are slightly tapered, especially in combination with a slim suit. But for those who have an emotional attachment to their pleated pants, they can always be donated to a good cause. I hear that they can use the pleats to suck up the remaining oil spill in Guimaras.

Stick it up my head, a.k.a. Too Damn Much Hair Gel. Although there are many benefits to the generous application of hair gel, which include saving money on those brown sticky paper traps to capture houseflies, hair gel has been abused as much as a 14-year-old with his first nudie magazine. "The abuse of gels in Pinoy men’s hair has gone haywire ever since Beckham perfected the faux-hawk," ranted one fashion editor. "Unfortunately, guys just overdo the gel and mold their hair into Sonic the Hedgehog-esque ‘dos that look like they are about to impale any approaching female." But hey, I know some guys who wouldn’t mind looking like Sonic the Hedgehog if it meant that they could hit on women who dressed like Sailormoon.

Solution: Even if hair gel makes your head more aerodynamic, it isn’t worth the mounting cost of medical bills for all the women you’ve impaled. According to the Pab Payb, females achieve the same hold with a more natural effect by not combing their hair right after they come out of the shower. Instead, apply the gel while the hair is damp and run your fingers through your hair (or if you want it to sound more "chic" – tousle your hair). "This makes more for touchable, kissable hair," the experts claimed. And for some men who spend their late nights fantasizing about Sailormoon, a kiss on the hair from a real woman is more than good enough.

They say that fashion sense is subjective. That is true – you have every right to drown your hair in gel and wear a monochromatic outfit with pleated pants while being subjected to a beating by our Pab Payb who are adept at the use of their stiletto heels. But even if you insist on your clutch bag-wielding, zip-up ankle boot-wearing addiction, I am sure that you will still meet willing and conscious members of the opposite sex. There are still some eligible female peahens out there.

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Next week: Part 2 of our Fashion From Hell series – "The Devil Wears a Cellphone on his belt." For comments or suggestions of male fashion trends that should be buried like impeachment complaints, please email ledesma.rj@gmail.com or visit www.rjledesma.com.