The Filipino Woman in Vienna and Her Dress Sense
There is a group of Filipino retirees from the Vienna International Center (VIC) called VIC Filipino Retirees, whose members get together from time to time to catch up on how things are going since retirement. It’s always a joyous occasion, each time with no specific agenda. Lots of laughter, especially when sharing juicy tidbits. Marites hour is always fun. For non-Filipino speakers, Marites is a typical Filipino name but has become slang for gossipers (Mare, anong latest?). Admit it, everybody loves Marites.
During our recent meeting, one member said that, while sorting out items she had taken home from work upon retirement, she found a print of a lengthy commentary I may have written some time ago. My name was missing, but she took a photo and saved it on her phone, hoping to show it to me one day—to verify.
I could not thank her enough. I wrote it many years ago, before I retired, but I lost my copy, which I had intended to include in a book of essays I plan to publish one day.
The VIC Club Filipino, a credited Filipino organization in the Vienna International Center, published and distributed my article to its members. It rocked the boat, prompting the woman in beige in my story to call an emergency meeting with the then-VIC Club Board Members. It was cheap journalism, she said, demeaning to the Filipino women in Vienna. What she did not disclose to the Board was that she had prompted me to write the commentary. Fortunately, I got a copy of her letter to the Board (I still have it), where she recommended that the Embassy of the Philippines in Vienna consider me persona-non-grata. Hello?
“How do you like my dress?” she asked me when we met at a Philippine Independence Day Ball at the Vienna Marriott Hotel. In a beige business suit, she wore a broad smile and a coquettish air, fishing for a favorable appraisal. .
“Very nice, sweetheart, I like it,” was my enthusiastic reply, and then I dropped the bomb. “OK, for a business meeting. Aren’t you quite late for the meeting, I should have said.) She chuckled to disguise the embarrassment.
Attending a Ball in Vienna with friends who definitely know what to wear for what occasion
“How would you define a Ball?” I asked her lady companion, appropriately dressed for the occasion — an understated, long black gown, yet elegant, sans all the frills typical of the clothes women wear during the National Dress Competition portion of the Miss Universe Beauty Pageant. “Buenas Noches, Soy Carmen Diaz Moran, ECUADOOOR!”
I went on babbling, not masking my contempt, to which she just smiled as if wanting to say, “Hmp, ikaw naman!” (When lost for words, say this; it always works.)
Some people would spend a fortune to look good, especially on formal occasions like a Ball. Never mind if it’s the Fire Brigade Ball because no matter what you say, a Ball is a Ball–there will always be a dress code. You owe it to yourself and the other women (and men) who try to dress appropriately for the occasion. A Ball is always a time for evening gowns, black ties, or national dress, although you may not want to represent the Mountain Province of the Philippines the whole night wearing a G-string unless there is a contest for best costume.
Search me, but why is it difficult for Filipino women, and yet again, men in Vienna (or in other parts of the world where there are Filipinos, to have a sense of “what not to wear” when attending social functions like the Independence Day Ball? Filipino women have a reputation for their excellent sense of style, but many need help deciding what to wear for different occasions. How often have I promised myself not to attend Filipino social events that require a dress code, simply because I get frustrated when I see some guests in jeans, lumberjack shirts, halter tops, and loafers, even though the invite explicitly says black tie for men and evening gown for women? Is that hard to comprehend? I cannot recall how often I said to myself, “never-ever again.” Promises are made to be broken, though, so don’t get surprised when you bump into me at the next Filipino-Ball-whatever.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you, so please don’t raise your permanent thin-line eyebrows (Note: tattoed; micro-blading has yet to exist then) to high heavens next time you see me at a Ball sizing you up because you, with your agonizingly short and plump extremities, dare wear a long synthetic evening gown that reeks of Baclaran, with slits that–were it not for your bulging waistline–could reach your armpits, causing men to flash a naughty grin, and women the frown that says Dios ko, maawa ka. Then, the puzzling question of “Meron kaya sa loob, or wala?” comes up. No offense meant to the dress or the Baclaran vendors. The dress is perfect; you are the problem. You don’t care, you say, but why be cruel to the others?
For heaven’s sake, get a dress that will enhance whatever beauty nature has provided you, never mind if nature has not been fair. Don’t do Eva Longoria (Eva who?) because if you don’t know, I am telling you now. Mediocrity is a deadly sin. Let’s be honest. La Longoria is as unique as you can be. Get a mirror! Or you’ll get one from me come Christmas. I have to place the order now; it is cheaper by the dozen.
“Pasensyahan mo na, mga Pinoy lang naman ang nandyan,” she said. I was stunned, unbelieving she said that. Does it mean Filipinos do not deserve a pleasant treat because they are just that–Filipinos (lang naman)? A lesser person for whom everything is gleichgültig (indifferent)? E kung hubaran kaya kita?
I beg your pardon; a Filipino, like everybody else, has a sense of sight and smell. He is also entitled to sugar, spice, and everything nice. You may not realize that Filipinos are very good at flashing that toothy smile even when they are hurting big time. Behind that smile and conspiring wink that seems to assure you that everything’s OK is the scalpel that dissects every inch of your body and soul; not a thread of your offending designer dress is spared. And that is seconds after you walk away. So be careful with what you wear next time you attend a Ball.
My good friend, who went shopping with me earlier that day for an evening gown, was just the perfect poster girl for elegance at the Ball until I saw her shoes —Calvin Klein, with the CK monogram printed all over them. “How often must I remind you that you don’t wear shoes like those with a Ball dress?” I reprimanded her. “They’re designer shoes, alright, but wearing them tonight is a mortal sin!” I chose those shoes for her, and she liked them. For the office, I said, they go with your fabulous office dress. (Since when does one wear fabulous dresses in the office? Please, don’t!)
“Di bale na, mahaba naman dress ko,” was her justification for her crime. It was like saying “Pinoy lang naman ang nandyan.” See my point?
Of course, there is no official fashion police at parties — I am self-designated (anyone up for a nomination? VIC Club Filipino, hello?). I wish that Filipino Ball Organizers would respect their rules (about dress code). Don’t look the other way when someone appears in white cotton jeans. I don’t care if Versace designed them. Keep the rule when the invite says long dress, as in the case of last weekend’s celebration — national dress. Send the person away. Be stern about it. Your guest would hate you forever, but having done that, you would feel good and yell, “YES! with emotion, with a clenched fist.
It is about time that guests at the Pinoy-organized formal celebrations show some compassion toward others. How? By learning the essence of dress sense.
Or better, take the lead of the IAEA (International Atomic Energy Agency) Ball Committee, selling bow ties at the gates to the men coming to the IAEA Ball without. To the ladies in business suits, sell them evening gowns. The proceeds you can donate to your favorite charity. Not a bad idea, eh?
Now we’re talking sense here. Forget everything I said about dress sense. You may come to the Ball in your white jeans and halter tops for all I care. Get a dress sense at the reception and help that poor child back home. You might even get a Presidential award from the country. And then you have a problem again — what to wear for the occasion?