Vogue Faces Visayas with Cream Silk: 10 Stories of Becoming, Told Through Hair

In partnership with Cream Silk, this edition of Vogue Faces brings together 10 talents whose hair reflects stories of identity and personal evolution.

It all started with a moodboard. Or, at least, that’s how it was for 22-year-old Gail Noel. Saved as the lock screen on her phone, the Cebu-born creative keeps a collage of images that maps out everything she hopes to accomplish this year. Modeling sits among them. “I’ve basically done everything [on] the moodboard. It’s only been half of the year,” she says, her smile widens as she zooms in on each photo.

In June, Vogue Faces arrives in Cebu for the first time, opening its search for Visayas-based talent in partnership with Cream Silk, asking applicants one question: How has your hair evolved with you?

More than 400 individuals make their way to NUSTAR Resort Cebu for the casting call. Some board early morning ferries from Bohol. Others travel from neighboring islands and provinces by land, in the hope of being seen. Throughout the day, they move from registration to height measurements, portrait sessions with photographer Karl King Aguña, a Cream Silk runway challenge, and interviews with Vogue Philippines editors. By day’s end, after hours of deliberation, ten names remain.

The day after, those individuals gather once more. Across the room, beauty and wellness editor Joyce Oreña and media channels editor Anz Hizon make final adjustments while lighting is prepared. Between takes, conversations drift naturally toward the same subject that brought them there in the first place: hair, not simply how it looks, but what it remembers.

Hair as self-expression

Noel continues to list the things she does. On top of modeling, film making, creative direction (depends on the day, she says), “creative” is the label she settles on because, to her, trying things matter more than fitting neatly into one title. Hair follows the same philosophy. The 22-year-old Cebu creative has worn nearly every color imaginable, cycling through pink, blonde, and even a buzz cut. Growing up in a conservative school, she rarely had the freedom to experiment. That only changed during the pandemic. “There’s no deadline for doing what you want to do,” she says. Hair simply became another place to start.

Inside the makeshift studio of the Narra function room, similar stories begin to emerge. Bella Cezar has only been in Cebu for a week when she receives the news. Her mother tells her it must be fate. After years of attending schools where short hair was mandatory, growing it long becomes one of the first ways she affirms herself as a trans woman. Even today, the way she styles it reflects how she feels. Blowouts and curls signal days she feels productive and ready to step outside; leaving it untouched usually means staying in. She says, “Hair is important for me because it is where I can express my femininity and be myself.” 

Fashion design student Iza Gonzales dreamed of modeling long before she ever stepped onto a casting floor. Growing up in Lapu-Lapu, however, bullying about her body and skin color often made that dream feel distant. Joining Vogue Faces became a decision to stop waiting for permission. “I’m not as shy as I used to be,” Gonzales says. Experimenting with mullets, cropped cuts, and now longer hair mirrors that growing confidence. “Mas daghan ko’g ma-create sa akong hair.” (I can create so many more looks with my hair.)

Sebastien Yu has always been particular about his hair, admitting that bad haircuts once reduced him to tears. This past year, however, he simply stopped cutting it. What began as a practical decision became something deeper: learning to surrender control over things he could not change. Hiking through Cebu’s mountains became another way of finding that perspective. “A haircut is a subtle way of self-expression,” he says. “It says a lot about you.”

Hair as acceptance

Hair once became a place to disappear for Nicole Fortuna. Growing up in a small seaside town in England, she was visibly different in her class and often hid behind it “like a blanket.” Later came balayage, an attempt, she admits with a laugh, to fit in. She eventually stopped dyeing her hair altogether, letting it fall naturally again. Returning to Bohol, she says, also meant returning to herself. As I grew older, I grew more confident as a person,” she says.

Irene Salutan remembers that the bangs were never her choice. They were suggested by her grandmother and mother after years of bullying over the scar on her right eye. Hair became a shield long before it became style. Even during the shoot, she admits she still feels vulnerable, choosing to appear without contact lenses for the first time. “Something that has been hidden before can be uncovered now,” she says. Salutan says that visibility matters more than comfort, especially if it allows someone else living with a disability to feel seen.

Growing up in Kuwait and later moving to Cebu, Vee Pacursa often felt restricted, rarely finding spaces where she could fully be herself. That changed after discovering Cebu’s creative community, where people celebrated the very features she once tried to hide. As a child, she painstakingly braided and brushed out her curls each day, wishing they were straight. The turning point comes unexpectedly with strangers complimenting the curls she once tried to hide. “I’m really happy now that I get to show it in its full thing,” says Pacursa. 

Creativity has always been central to how Lucia Eastwood Krah understands herself. Coming from a family of artists and filmmakers, the 20-year-old spends part of her time helping archive a century’s worth of family designs and even interning for creative director Rita Nazareno. Learning to care for her natural curls follows a similar process. What once felt unfamiliar gradually becomes part of her confidence. “It took me a while to fully embrace it,” she says. “One day, I finally did.”

Hair as transformation

Cheri Sapalleda has never been precious about hair. A wolf cut accidentally became a pixie. Blonde eventually returned to black for pageantry. Her mother teased her after one particularly memorable “Dora” haircut. She laughs through every story the same way she approaches change itself. “It’s fine. It’s gonna grow anyway,” Sapalleda says. Living with social anxiety has made courage feel like a series of small decisions, and experimenting with her appearance has become one of them.

For Monieka Reoma, confidence becomes something that can be shared. Curious at first, she donated her hair on her 18th birthday. Two years later, she found herself leading the same Locks of Love initiative, helping collect donations that would be turned into wigs for people experiencing medical hair loss. “A part of you is a part of somebody else now,” she reflects. Over time, she realizes hair could restore not only appearance but hope. “It’s not just self-expression. It’s a way for me to create meaningful impact.”

Asked how their hair has evolved with them, these ten selected talents answer with memories of confidence, identity, resilience, and generosity. Together, they reveal that hair rarely tells a story about appearance alone. According to the haircare brand, its Repair Booster Treatments are designed to support hair through intense damage, making them a companion to the changes and transformations that come with experimenting with one’s hair. For them, as each talent moves through different phases of becoming, their hair gets to evolve with them, too.

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