Photographed by Colin Dancel for the July/August 2025 Issue of Vogue Philippines
With a collection rooted in Filipino form, designer Koko Gonzales tests how tradition holds up, at home and elsewhere.
Every line in a Koko Gonzales sketch carries weight. The way fabric falls. How a pleat holds. When a drawing gets discarded. These are deliberate choices. Each decision is tested, adjusted, and left to settle.
In June, his work reached new ground. At Indonesia Fashion Week, Gonzales debuted a collection built in the Philippines and carried overseas. The audience has changed, though the language stays close. The invitation is to see how the same cut lands elsewhere: what shifts, what stays intact.
Precision defines the silhouettes; the references (barong hems, softened moiré, piña cocoon) signal where the work comes from. Gonzales works under LSW, the label he founded in 2015, and his clients come for formalwear that is clear in intention and measured in tone.
Where some designers use travel as a metaphor for change, Gonzales treats it more like a return: “Who am I? Am I defined by a specific aesthetic? By my use of fabric? What visual language do I speak?” These aren’t guiding ideas so much as working questions, resurfacing through material changes and subtle revisions.
“My interest in clothes started when I was in elementary school,” he says. “I remember not having anything to wear [between] grade school to high school. There’s that moment when your look starts to transition because you’re already in high school and you’re not supposed to look like a kid anymore. This was in the ’90s, and there were very few options. And to be honest, I didn’t know much about clothes or where to find them either. So maybe my love for fashion began with the simple fact that I couldn’t find clothes I liked.”
That early frustration with fit and availability set the tone for a designer who works within a structure, yet continually adjusts the frame. He chips away at what he’s already drawn. “There’s an initial sketch, then I [revise] it for the final version,” he explains. “We removed a vest, changed a pair of pants, and one design didn’t push through because we ran out of time [for this collection].”
Final decisions happen in the making. A model moves, and the garment shifts. “Clothes really do change once they’re worn by a model,” he reflects. “There was one pair of pants I didn’t like at first [for this presentation], but when the model wore them, it suddenly worked.”
Sketches are treated as artifacts. “If you [see] my sketches, they’re messy: a lot of [notes], erasures, layers,” he adds. “I even have printouts of each sketch, like postcards, sealed in plastic packaging. That’s what I always go back to.”
That instinct-driven process carries into the garments. The current assemblage features sculptural terno sleeves crafted from piña cocoon, alongside moiré softened with layers of bubble organdy and stitched detailing. Volume is handled with care, controlled by cut and proportion. Elements from the barong and kimona appear throughout, reinterpreted through sheer overlays, rounded peplums, lace piecing, and pressed pleats. A palette of soft ivory and pearl is met with coral and carmine, anchored by natural weaves, iridescent mother-of-pearl discs, and layered textures. Embellishment is spare: trailing florals in raw-edged appliqué and finishing details that carry the weight of something ceremonial.
In this offering, the process takes on a physical dimension. Gonzales had four molds carved by a carpenter to create the terno sleeves. “The sizing is still close to the original terno, but I widened the curve a little, especially at the end of the pleats. I wanted the shape to feel full, not flat.”
His references are intentional, drawn from tradition without being bound to it. “I hope the spirit of the terno is still there,” he muses. “[Although] sometimes I also think: Who are we asking [for] approval from? Who gets to say if it’s still a terno?”
Heritage enters through fabric choice and restraint. “There were some heavier [materials],” he notes, “but I tried to make them feel softer by adding a film of bubble organdy or creating [more] roundness in the structure.” His fabrics are chosen for how they sit and shift. He returns to piña cocoon, to moiré, to silks that support the form with ease. “As much as possible, [what I make should ideally] come from the Philippines, from the fabric, the terno [silhouette], barong-inspired details, and the kimona. [That’s where I start to] play with the design. It’s what I know, and where I began.”
There is no need to frame the collection as a departure; it sits within an ongoing process of learning. For Gonzales, heritage is something that deepens through observation. “While read- ing [a book on the Ayala Museum’s textile exhibit], I realized how much I still don’t know,” he says. “There’s still so much to learn and experiment with in design… so now, I just try to enjoy the process.”
Designing for Indonesia Fashion Week brought a firmer articulation of his practice. The foundation stayed steady. “I want it to feel normal,” he says, “to wear Filipiniana without it feeling like a costume, or some- thing too formal for daily life.”
Meaning in his work builds gradual- ly. Each look grows from the last–layered, revisited, and always in dialogue with what came before. Gonzales circles back to the draft, each adjustment bringing the design closer to itself.
By KARINA SWEE. Photographs by COLIN DANCEL. Photos courtesy of LSW. Stylist: Geof Gonzales. Makeup: Sam Victor. Hair: Andy Del Rosario Porquez. Runway Music: Mike Lavarez. Video Editor: Ely Caluag. Custom Fans: Monchet Diokno Olives. Custom Jewelry: Ericson Manansala. Producer: Myrrh Lao To. Production Assistant: Carlie Lajara. Shot on location at Sine Pop. Special thanks to Ibu Phoppy Dharsono, Hon. Gonaranao B. Musor, and Jollan Margaret A. Llaneza
