Esquire 12/2016 Leni Robredo by Rinzon

THE HEROES & VILLAINS OF A STRANGE YEAR

MAN AT HIS BEST December 2016 - January 2017

“In the end, good will prevail over evil.”

L EN I RO B RE DO

DEC 2016 - JAN 2017 / ESQUIRE

9 772 2 43 845 007

ISSN 2243-8459

VICE PRESIDENT OF THE PHILIPPINES

cartier.com

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TA B L E O F

HER EXCELLENCY

CONTENTS

Leni Robredo is hard at work, and we should be paying more attention to her. p. 66

ESQ&A Jim Murray, the ultimate whisky critic, doesn’t have sex while writing the Whisky Bible. (He’s serious about this.) p. 24

MaHB CARS The former editor of Top Gear Philippines dishes about the politics of automotive journalism.

MaHB SEX We know you’re intimidated by male sex toys. Here’s the thing: they don’t bite. p. 32

MaHB TV Easy, Survivor, and Westworld: three shows we can’t stop talking about. p. 36

ESQUIRE / DEC 2016 - JAN 2017

PHOTOGRAPH BY FRANCISCO GUERRERO

p. 28

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TA B L E O F

BEING HUMAN

CONTENTS

Chito Gascon, chairman of the Commission on Human Rights, continues to ﬁght for equilibrium amidst the noise. p. 83

LAST-MINUTE LUXURIES For the procrastinating gift-giver in you, here’s a shopping list. p. 38

MASTERS OF THE UNIVERSE For one night only, the laid back utopia of Hermès comes to life. p. 47

COME SEE ABOUT ME Rudy Project fuses fashion with sports. p. 50

START A RIOT How one of the most wanted streetwear brands was inspired by a pigeon.

CIRCLE THE DRAIN While you still have it—keep the hair on your head healthy by, you know, cleaning it. p. 54

ESQUIRE / DEC 2016 - JAN 2017

PHOTOGRAPH BY JOSEPH PASCUAL

p. 51

RUSTAN’S MAKATI • RUSTAN’S TOWER • ABREEZA • ALABANG TOWN CENTER • AYALA CEBU • CENTRAL SQUARE • EASTWOOD • ESTANCIA • FAIRVIEW TERRACES • GATEWAY • GLORIETTA 4 • GREENBELT 3 • KCC VERANZA • KISS & FLY TERMINAL 3 MALL OF ASIA • MEGAMALL • NEWPORT MALL • ROBINSONS GALLERIA • ROBINSONS MAGNOLIA • ROBINSONS PLACE • ROCKWELL • SHANGRI-LA PLAZA EAST WING • SM DAVAO • THE PODIUM • TRINOMA • U.P. TOWN CENTER

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TA B L E O F

ONLY THE BRAVE

CONTENTS

Muster the gall to show off patterns, brash colors, and lots of shine—we show you how. p. 110

NOTES & ESSAYS Earnest Mangulabnan Zabala and Och Gonzalez-Umlas on loss and recovery. p. 57

NAUGHTY OR NICE 2016 You be the judge. p. 75

PRETTY HATE MACHINE Is pro-Duterte blogger Mocha Uson really as bad as she seems? p. 78

BEHIND BARS A girl with tattoos who knows her way around booze—Tasha Lu is a Woman We Love.

WHAT I’VE LEARNED From the man who enlivens every Christmas season. p. 108

ESQUIRE / DEC 2016 - JAN 2017

PHOTOGRAPH BY RYAN JEROME

p. 102

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A NOTE FROM THE

...IN FIRE; S O M E S AY I N I C E IT’S VERY OFTEN FELT LIKE WAR. Everyday disagreements— disagreements that didn’t even exist last year—have taken on epic proportions, and we couch them in those terms: right and wrong, good vs. evil. We’ve all been drafted into a(n) (in)civil war to reluctantly ﬁght with family, with friends, with people who you thought were on your side. Never before have so many people been so politicized: that’s good. Never before have we been so polarized, however; and that hurts us all. The rifts are deep and abiding, because our differences have transcended politics. We may rally around our leaders, but only because they represent our deepest fears and our greatest hopes; and so, our politics, one would argue, is merely symptomatic of our own character and moral ﬁber. As our features editor Audrey Carpio writes elsewhere in this issue: “A monster was unleashed in the schism of the 2016 elections, and that monster is you and me.”

The fractures sowed by the past election (and by the government it gave birth to) have riven this country in ways that we’re still only beginning to see. Take, for example, Mocha Uson and her infamous Facebook-based “blog”: last August, its stats revealed that the blog posted higher rates of engagement than all the major news outlets save for ABSCBN. Its admins boasted that the page’s engagement and reach were higher than that of the Inquirer and Rappler combined. And yet, as of this writing, we still have our own readers asking who Mocha Uson is—an honest question, not a dismissive one; they really have never heard of her. On the other hand, we have the Commission of Human Rights and its chair, Chito Gascon. Once upon a time, our contributing writer Lisandro Claudio notes, we considered our human rights advocates as the political equivalent of moral philosophers. Now we vilify them. Human rights, a concept for which so many Filipinos have fought and died for—a dream that sustained us as a people through the darkest days of our history—is now regarded as a sickness that plagues the nation, an affectation that has no place in the country. The side that sees the CHR as the enemy has no concept either of human rights as anything but a problem. This is a time for fairness, more than ever; but it is also a time to take a stand. We here at Esquire have, over the past year, made no secret of our sentiments. We are nothing, after all, without our voice. At the same time, however, we also believe that it is possible to take a stand and to remain fair, even to people whose views are different from ours. This is why, as we look back at the people and ideas that have shaped the past year, we have included people from all parts of the political spectrum. We may not agree with or support everyone on this list, but we will always try to understand where they are coming from. That we all need to think the same and believe in the same things is a falsehood perpetrated by small minds; not only can we disagree and remain respectful—in a democracy, we must strive to do both. —KRISTINE FONACIER

T H E S E W E R E V E R Y N E A R LY O U R C O V E R S .

MAN AT HIS BEST December 2016 - January 2017

FOOD ISSUE

ESQUIRE / DEC 2016 - JAN 2017

THE YEAR’S MOST CONTROVERSIAL PEOPLE

D EC E M B E R 20 1 6

THE YEAR’S MOST CONTROVERSIAL PEOPLE PHILIPPINES

In producing this issue with our list of the people who made 2016 the tumultuous (and interesting) year that it was, we shot a number of options, including these: double covers featuring Chairman Chito Gascon of the Commission on Human Rights, and online activist Mocha Uson. The dual covers were to be our statement on the divisiveness of the current political (and cultural; and perhaps also moral) landscape. Naughty or

DEC 2016 - JAN 2017 / ESQUIRE

Nice? We wanted to ask, and we wanted to throw the question to you. But, all things happen for a reason, and our long-planned article and shoot with the vice president finally fell into place. Not only out of deference to her position as the second-highest elected official of the land, but also because we wanted to show our unequivocal support, Vice President Leni Robredo has our cover.

PHOTOGRAPH BY FRUHLEIN ECONAR

THE EDITOR

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E D I TO R- I n - C H I E f

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CONTRIBUTORS JOSEPH PASCUAL

is a storyteller disguised as a portrait photographer and sometimeswriter, whose works have been published in many of the country’s top publications. Fittingly, Joseph helped us tell two sides of a story this month when he took the portraits of CHR Commissioner Chito Gascon and Mocha Uson. WO U L D D E S C R I B E 2 0 1 6 AS : Post-truth LO O K I N G FO RWA R D TO: The end of 2016 O N H I S H O L I DAY W I S H L I ST: A time machine W I L L B E S P E N D I N G T H E H O L I DAYS : In hiding

ANTON UMALI

is the editor-in-chief of FHM.com.ph and a contributing writer for several magazines. This month, Anton takes notice of the Star Wars franchise’s effort to put strong female characters front-and-center. LO O K I N G FO RWA R D TO:

is a travel photographer and the Photo Editor of GRID Magazine. For this issue, Sonny shot our Woman We Love: Tasha Lu, a bartender and Hendricks Gin Ambassador whom, incidentally, he had been a bar-back for a few months prior. T H I N KS T H I S Y E A R H AS B E E N :

Short LO O K I N G FO RWA R D TO: Turning 30 and trying more new things behind the bar and in the kitchen. WILL BE SPENDING THE

Eating myself into a food coma and spending time with family. H O L I DAYS :

FRANCISCO GUERRERO

is an editorial and commercial photographer who has shot for Condé Nast Traveller, Monocle, and GRID Magazine. His ﬁrst forays into photography involved taking pictures of chickens in his backyard when he was 12 years old. This year, he shot Miss Universe for the cover of our August issue, and Vice President Leni Robredo for this issue. T H I N KS 2 0 1 6 H AS B E E N : Interesting B U T W I L L M I S S : PPAP O N H I S H O L I DAY W I S H L I ST: A nice jacket W I L L B E S P E N D I N G T H E H O L I DAYS : At the beach with my family and kids.

N E W Y E A R’S R E S O LU T I O N FO R 2 0 1 7: I stopped making resolutions in 2014. I’ll just try to be nicer to everyone this time.

LISANDRO CLAUDIO

is a Post-Doctoral Fellow at the Center for Southeast Asian Studies of Kyoto University, and an Assistant Professor at the Department of Political Science of Ateneo de Manila. He also authored the books Basagan ng Trip: Complaints About Filipino Culture and Politics, and Taming People’s Power: The EDSA Revolutions and Their Contradictions. For this issue, Leloy spoke with one of the administration’s most beleaguered adversaries: CHR Commissioner Chito Gascon. T H I N KS T H I S Y E A R H AS B E E N : Rending A N D W I L L M I S S : Barry Obama O N H I S H O L I DAY W I S H L I ST: A subscription to the “failing” and “biased” New York Times, and maybe another liberal rag. W I L L B E S P E N D I N G T H E H O L I DAYS : Reading an anti-Communist Russian author.

ESQUIRE / DEC 2016 - JAN 2017

O N H I S C H R I ST M AS W I S H L I ST: If anyone can get me a television with 5K resolution and a Netﬂix gift certiﬁcate, I’d be one happy couch potato. WILL BE SPENDING THE H O L I DAYS : Eating tons of food and drinking copious amounts of alcohol with my dear friends and relatives. N E W Y E A R’S R E S O LU T I O N FO R 2 0 1 7:

To quit relying on fast food for easy hunger ﬁxes and restart my yoga practice. Namaste!

ILLUSTRATIONS BY LEE CACES

SONNY THAKUR

Moving into my new apartment with my girlfriend. I’m dubbing this event in my life “Project Love Shack.” Cohabitation should be equal parts scary and fun!

AGENDA

BESPOKE BEDS If there’s such a thing as a dream bed, you’d find it at LuxeRoom. From exquisitely crafted mattresses to divans, bed linens and decors, LuxeRoom puts a lot of thought into furnishing private sanctuaries. They also partner with distinguished purveyors of style for the home: Vispring, Yves Delorme, Roberto Cavalli and Valeron, to name a few. From exquisite 800- thread count bed linens from France to wonderfully gilded hand-worked metal art pieces from the US, to bold accents inspired by iconic prints and patterns of Paris, LuxeRoom helps homemakers transform their home into an experience of artistry and relaxation. Visit LuxeRoom at Level 4 Shangri-La Plaza, Mandaluyong.

A GENTLEMAN AND A GLOBETROTTER

THE WORLD AT YOUR WRIST

To celebrate its 20th anniversary, Chopard launched the first L.U.C watch to feature dual-time function built into the movement. The L.U.C. GMT One adds an ideal finishing touch to the attire of a gentleman traveller. Its GMT function displays a second time zone and tells the time in any place and every circumstance. When traveling, the watch adjusts to local time while keeping track of home time.

Someone finally made a beautiful smart watch. Well, kind of. While not technically a smartphone surrogate, the Edifice Casio EQB-600 is equipped with Bluetooth and Casio Smartphone link technology. Using an app, the new Casio can connect to your smartphone to automatically update itself to local time and subsequent second timezones you might have set on your phone. The watch isn’t just smart; its analogue display and solid stainless steel finish gives it an elegant look that’s uncluttered, sober, and sporty all at once.

MAN AT HIS BEST D EC E M B E R 2 0 1 6 JA N UA RY 2 0 1 7

Ice bucket (P9,800) and ice claw (P3,800) from AC+632; whiskey tumbler (P1,995/4 pcs) by Habitat.

Domestic Tippler

THE MOST OVERLOOKED AND ESSENTIAL FURNITURE PIECE IS THE ONE THAT GETS YOU DRUNK.

By KARA ORTIGA Photographs by RG MEDESTOMAS

P O RT R A I T BY R E N N E L L SA LU M B R E

A HOME should have a bar—next to the Playstation (with NBA), and the vintage pinball machine you found on OLX. But you don’t have a lot of money, the wife is now giving you the stink-eye, and the idea of maintaining a mini-tavern at home doesn’t really jive with your lifestyle. So you do the next best thing: you wheel one in. C O N T I N U E D >

DEC 2016 - JAN 2017 / ESQUIRE

MAN AT HIS BEST

___ D R I N K I N G & S P A C E

A bar cart saves on space and money. Stock it with the good stuff and consider it the portable watering hole of your dreams. You begin by actually picking out a cart, ideally one whose personality reﬂects yours. We love the sleek industrial look of this Edgar trolley by Habitat (P19,800), which doesn’t take away the attention from other key pieces in the room. And then you ﬁll it up: A man who knows his whiskey knows never to keep just one. Invest on a good range to cater to different pallets. Don’t be afraid to include other liquors too, but stick to the basics. We recommend the Beefeater dry gin, and local players Don Papa rum and Vuqo vodka (distilled in the Philippines from coconuts). Then you choose your glassware: whiskey tumblers, wine glasses, and highball glasses should do, you can leave the rest in the kitchen. Keep an ice bucket on hand, too. Lastly: accessorize. It’s a bar cart, not a cabinet—so it’s meant to be a showpiece. A few coffee table books or art prints will add a visual element, maybe throw in a scented candle to set the mood. And for a splash of life, a little green didn’t hurt anybody.

WHISKEY BUSINESS

Surround yourself with good company: Jameson Irish Whiskey, Nikka Taketsuru, Glenlivet 12, and the new Chivas Regal Extra.

The Man Cave of Your Dreams

Top Shelf: yellow bowl (P345), brandy glass (P395), wine glass (P495) and blue vase (P1,295) by Habitat. Bottom Shelf: scented candle (P580) and pipe (P1,680) from AC+632; , and copper bell (P1,595) by Habitat.

ESQUIRE / DEC 2016 - JAN 2017

THE GENTLEMEN from Dexterton Corporation (who have been importing topquality building materials and furnishing products for over 50 years) unveils their new showroom in the south: 2,000 sqm of curated spaces, filled with over 100 premium brands from all over the world. From bathroom suites, to artisan tiles—a walkthrough their three-floor showroom will leave you whipping out your vision board in matter of seconds. But maybe you don’t even have to: alight to the fourth to 17th floor of the tower, and you will find 22 fully furnished residential units available for rent. They offer a mix of two and three-bedroom condo types, furnished with Dexterton’s own brands, promising only the highest quality. The

residential building pegs itself a notch above the rest, driven by the vision to create a place that didn’t scrimp on quality. While other residential buildings price their units with a managnimous markup for entry-level goods, Dexterton raises the bar for cosumers, creating a space where you really get your money’s worth. The entire bulding is made with materials that balances heat temperatures indoor; glass windows are selfcleaning (nothing some rainwater can’t fix); and lofts are styled with splendid fixtures, designed with an eclectic-modern touch. Did we mention that it stands smack in the center of Bonifacio Global City? What more could a man ask for. —KO Dexterton Showroom, Bonifacio Global City

IMAGE COURTESY OF DEXTERTON CORPORATION FEATURING INDA PROGET TO MAQ

LIVE IN LUXURY AT THIS NEW RESIDENTIAL BUILDING.

ADVERTISING FEATURE

FLIGHT TIME

The Breitling Navitimer earned its wings soaring high with men of the sky

ang out at hangars, step foot on a tarmac, or peek into a cockpit and you just might find a Breitling wrapped around the pilots’ wrist. If captains had standard aviator kits, a Breitling would sit right next to the hat and those famous sunglasses. The Breitling Navitimer is a sky borne ace that’s outfitted with famous aviation slide rule. It’s also a timezone champion that makes for a perfect flight companion. The first Navitimer was designed and released in 1942. Almost seven decades later, Breitling comes out with a limited series featuring an exclusive blue dial reminiscent of the broad skies and far horizons. If there were a color perfectly suited to the Navitimer GMT, this would be it. Breitling released 1,000 pieces of this limited edition cult model. Its blue dial with a discreet sunburst decor and tone-on-tone counters radiates a technical, elegant and timeless style. At the heart of the timepiece is a Breitling Caliber B04 ticking inside a large steel case distinguished by a high-performance chronograph combined with an extremely functional dual timezone system. Its automatic functions lets wearers adjust the main hour without losing precision. Meanwhile, the red-tipped hand shows home time in 24-hour mode to help high fliers distinguish day from night. A transparent sapphire crystal case back gives wearers a window into the movement chronometer-certified by no less than the Swiss Official Chronometer Testing Institute. The Navitimer GMT Aurora Blue features another original characteristic in the shape of a colorful rubber strap matching the dial color and adorned with an aircraft-tire tread motif. It is also available with a leather or crocodile leather strap, or a steel bracelet.

___ E S Q & A

Jim Murray

AS THE AUTHOR OF THE WORLD-RENOWNED WHISKY BIBLE , PIONEERING WHISKY CRITIC JIM MURRAY KNOWS THE DRINK LIKE NO ONE ELSE. HERE HE SPEAKS ABOUT HIS METHODS, HIS UNCOMPROMISING JOURNALISTIC HONESTY, AND THE IMPORTANCE OF CHASTITY WHILE TASTING WHISKY. INTERVIEW BY MIGUEL ESCOBAR

ESQUIRE: Tell me about how you first started appreciating whisky. JIM MURRAY: I went to my first distillery in 1975, and I tasted every single whisky that I could find. I was 17 at the time, and I was hitchhiking around Scotland, determined to get to a distillery, and I ended up getting to Talisker distillery. Even at 17, I knew that I liked whisky. But when I got there and I tasted it in the warehouse, straight from the cask, that was it. That was a new world opening up. I spent a long time between 1975 and 1991 going to every distillery, tasting every single type of whisky—not just Scotch, but Bourbon and Irish, everything I could find. And I never gave a written opinion until about 1991. So I had basically spent 16 years learning the craft, tasting and learning. It wasn’t by accident—it happened through sheer determination, because I wanted to find out as much as I could. ESQ: Now that you’re a renowned whisky authority, we’re sure you encounter a lot of people who are new to the drink. Is there a type of whisky that people should start with? JM: There’s no such thing as an entry-level whisky. You can enter any way—absolutely any way. I find it very patronizing and mildly arrogant when someone says, “Oh, you’re not up to tasting that.” I think, “What? What are you talking about?” Start any place you’d like. I can’t stand bullshit. I’m just not a great bullshit fan. ESQ : Can you attribute your distinct ability to taste whisky to anything in particular? JM: There are so many things I can’t do. Computers, I don’t understand them. I drive a Mercedes that’s got all kinds of features, but the only thing I look at is what speed I’m going at. All the other tricks, I’m not interested in; I don’t understand it, basically. However, for whatever reason, I do understand whisky. I don’t know why or how, but it could be because in my entire life, I’ve never smoked a cigarette. Not one. I’ve never even put an unlit cigarette to my lips. It’s literally a smokescreen, isn’t it, putting things on top of your taste buds? When I’m writing the bible, I have fish finger sandwiches, things that taste like nothing—the blandest food on God’s earth. I even—and I’m not quite sure how to tell you this—when I’m writing [the book], I don’t really have sex. ESQ: Does that numb your taste buds too? JM: It would if I got a cold! If I kiss a girl and I get a sore throat, from the moment I first get the cold to the moment it goes, that’s 17 days lost. So that means that [the book] will be 17 days behind schedule. I can’t do it. I could cheat and just taste anyway, but that’s not how it works. If my taste buds aren’t working right, I don’t taste that day. And that’s why my love life while writing the Bible is shit. But certainly when I finish it, I’m a happy man. CONTINUED

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P H OTO C O U RT E SY O F D R A M G O O D B O O KS

MAN AT HIS BEST

___ E S Q & A

Can you tell me about your process? How do you taste all that whisky and write the book? JM: What I do is before I start working in the morning, I will taste three different whiskies. These three different whiskies would have virtually every flavor component that I’m looking for during that day. It’s a bit like going to the gym. If I fi nd that I’m not getting something right, then I’ll leave it for half an hour, taste it again, and then I get to work—or I may not get it, so I’ll leave it another hour, do it all over again, and if it fails a third time, I won’t work that day. Something’s not right. ESQ: You seem to be incredibly dedicated to an honest review. JM: This book is written for the public. It’s not written for the industry. It does the industry no harm, as the Japanese found out when I gave the World Whisky of The Year to Yamazaki two years ago. They have made a fortune out of that, and I haven’t made a penny, because we still don’t sell [the Whisky Bible] in Japan. We haven’t got a Japanese edition. We don’t take any advertising from them—they bought a few books at a time, but not very many. They have made millions. But I don’t mind that, because I’m honest. And if we can sell enough books, then I can pay my staff and we’re okay. That’s it. But the point is that someone’s got to go out there and represent the public, which is what I try to do. So if a distillery has done well, then it’s quite right that they get the accolades, because you want to pat people on the heads and say well done. But really, this isn’t about them. It’s about all the people out there. See, if you go into a liquor store, and you ask [which whisky to buy], they’ll give you information on a particular whisky—but where are they getting that information? The companies themselves! So at least people can take the Whisky Bible with them and they’ve got an absolutely independent view. It’s as if I’m their little guide; I’m the guy sitting on their shoulder, whispering in their ear, saying, “No, stay away from that one,” or “Have a look at that one.” ESQ: Having an independent voice to listen to helps people learn about whisky. JM: It does, but also, I don’t want them to spend money on poor whisky, because whisky’s not cheap. That’s me representing the consumer, which I think has to be done. My background is as a journalist—that’s what I’ve been for 45 years. I can’t get away from that. That’s the way I think. ESQ: Well, it’s also basic honesty. JM: I hope so. And for me, it’s very annoying that one or two—should we say, rivals—say that I give awards because I get paid for them. It’s just utterly frustrating. We make nothing on it. We don’t profiteer in any way, shape, or form. For instance, a few years ago, ESQ:

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some German bloke went on the Internet and said that I probably gave it to Yamazaki because they were paying me. Well, that Japanese whisky that won was just one of 1,200 that I had tasted that year. I had no idea where it came from, I just had a team of researchers whose job it was to track down all the whiskies and get them in. So this turned up and I [tasted it] and thought, “Bloody hell, this is superstar stuff.” Then I put it to one side to taste it in a couple of days’ time, to make sure I wasn’t having a weird day with my palate. I wasn’t. This was a superstar. And then you get these people saying, “Oh, he takes money for it,” and you think… Well… You think “Fuck you,” basically. Who the hell are you? I go through all of this to make sure that I’m as honest as the day is long. But I’m not going to change—I’m just going to carry on doing it that way. These people, if that’s all they can come up with, that’s their problem. ESQ: What are the most signiﬁcant things you’ve learned from the discipline of writing about whisky?

‘If you’re just stuck with a particular thought, you learn nothing. You won’t appreciate half of anything, because you’ve already made your mind up.”

JM: About whisky: Never ever take it for granted. Always, always have an open mind, because whisky changes. Whisky is… like the stars. They move in the sky slightly, almost imperceptibly. I’ve learned to keep an eye out—not to take anything for granted. What was an absolutely fantastic whisky 15 years ago [could] today be very, very plain, very average. And I’ve recognized them as being very average because I’ve kept that open mind. I’ve not set in my mind that it’s a great distillery; it’s a great whisky. You watch it move—it may move somewhere better, but it may move somewhere [worse]. One of the great things I’ve learned is to have that open mind. That is so important. That goes for whisky, and for life. If you’re just stuck with a particular thought, you learn nothing. You won’t appreciate half of anything, because you’ve already made your mind up. And if you’ve made your mind up, what’s the point of drinking? ESQ: Can you tell us what the next big thing in whisky will be? JM: I can’t! I don’t know what’s going to win [next year]. I can’t predict what’s going to turn up on my tasting desk. I’ve got no idea! It could be anything! This year was an American rye; last year was a Canadian rye, which amazed me. It’s not a trend thing—it’s just who has got the stocks at a certain time when they’ve matured in the right way, and [are] put together in the right way. I didn’t know the Yamazaki was going to be the Yamazaki. I knew that Japanese whisky was great, because I did a book in 1997 and I was talking then about how magnificent Japanese whisky was, but people didn’t believe me. They genuinely didn’t believe me. Then they tasted this Yamazaki 13 and thought, “Fuck! This is amazing!” I was flying last year from Shanghai to Hong Kong and an American businessman was sitting to my right, and we struck up a conversation. He says, “Are you Jim Murray? You’ve cost me a lot of money. I got three bottles of Yamazaki, it cost me about $10,000.” I said, “Have I? I’m sorry,” then he says, “Don’t apologize. It’s the best whisky I’ve ever tasted.” That was such a great moment. Can you just imagine being stuck in a tasting lab for five months, where you don’t really have a fantastic life? It’s just you and the whisky. Sometimes, you think, “Why am I doing this?” Because all you’re going to do is get some cretinous German saying “He’s taking backhanders,” when you’re not. And people will actually believe this nonsense. And then you’re on a plane, and some guy tells you, “You have just changed my perception of whisky. I didn’t know it could be this good.” That’s why I do it—because it’s made a little bit of a difference in people’s enjoyment, which is what this is about. It’s just enjoying things a little bit more.

MAN AT HIS BEST

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Marketing Cars or Helping Consumers? THE FORMER EDITOR OF TOP GEAR PHILIPPINES SHEDS SOME LIGHT ON HOW MOTORING JOURNALISM WORKS (AND HOW IT DOESN’T).

By VERNON B. SARNE Art by SEAN EIDDER

AUTOMOTIVE JOURNALISM AS A DISTINCT MEDIA BEAT started rolling in the Philippines in the early ’90s, when local newspapers began publishing weekly motoring sections. Back then, the pages were mostly assigned to the advertising department— special supplements to attract print ads from a then-nascent (and returning) industry. It was everyone’s general understanding that motoring wasn’t hard news, and that all content produced under its banner was purely for commercial purposes. It was against this backdrop that I became a motoring journalist in July 1995, as editorial assistant for the country’s ﬁrst full-color, glossy car magazine. Note that I take special pride when I say “motoring journalist,” even if there are people who dismiss me and my colleagues as nothing more than paid corporate hacks, whose job supposedly involves partaking of carmakers’ PR largesse and then unconditionally praising them for said perks. I don’t blame these people. Motoring

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journalism, after all, has its roots in marketing (even before the term “marketing” became widely used). An American monthly journal called The Horseless Age came out in November 1895. The tagline for the ﬁrst issue was: “Published in the interests of the motor vehicle industry.” Think about that for a moment: The profession of writing about automobiles was actually born out of a need to promote the industry that produced them. People had been riding horse-drawn carriages all their lives; now, all of a sudden, a modern invention was offering to take them around without requiring the galloping presence of a breathing steed. It was surreal, for sure. Hence, the need to sell the newfangled idea to the public. Thankfully, it only took one volume for the publishers to realize that for the magazine to be taken seriously—for it to shed its promotional nature—it had to present things from the perspective of its readers. The tagline was thus changed the following year: “Devoted to motor interests.”

Nevertheless, the formula had been established: Car companies make motor vehicles; automotive scribes write about them. It was a symbiotic arrangement that was interesting at best and dubious at worst. For a journalist to report on an automobile with a modicum of credibility, he’d have to get his hands on an actual unit. And for him to keep getting his hands on the latest models, he’d have to have a good working relationship with the automakers. That’s where it often became complicated. And that’s where it still gets tricky, even today. How do we, as salaried journalists, laugh at a ridiculously inferior sedan in our articles without running the risk of getting banned from the manufacturer’s media list? How do we unequivocally declare a new SUV to be an outrageous gas-guzzler without having its maker withdraw its advertising support from the publication that puts food on our table? How do we reveal that a van died on us in the middle of the road without the client excluding us from its next road trip that promises a posh hotel

stay and a lavish buffet? (These questions were meant to be read with a generous dose of sarcasm, in case an overexposure to Donald Trump has robbed you of the ability to detect mockery.) Well, there’s an art to it, the mastery of which you don’t acquire just by putting up a blog or a Facebook page. You train for it. You beef up your resumé for it. But most of all, you value your byline’s worth more than anything else. Just like in any field, I suppose. Twenty years ago, the owner of my first car magazine, Automotion, called my attention to a complaint lodged by a Japanese automaker. My article was too harsh, they apparently said. My boss mentioned that an advertising pull-out had been implied. My idealistic and naive self felt violated and disrespected. Then again, I needed—no, I loved—the job. I had to cleverly find a way to communicate the truth in a manner that was palatable to car companies but still useful to readers. Also, I had to show that I was fair and that I favored no one. Once companies understood this, they eventually let me get away with many things. The art of writing an honest automotive story takes time to hone and perfect. Not many motoring journalists have managed to pick up the skill even after years of posturing. By my mental count, the number of “journalists” in the automotive beat is now easily triple the tally when I was first starting out. A new medium has emerged, and this has deluded not a few individuals to believe they can wear the badge of the trade just because they happen to know how to drive and string a few sentences together. You would think that with all the digital technology making the fast transfer of information possible, we motoring journalists must be having a walk in the park. On the contrary, it takes double the effort to get noticed now. With so many “writers” and bloggers and social-media know-it-alls, the fight for readers’ attention has never been fiercer. And that’s why we, too, must evolve. A car writer fond of rattling off technical specifications in his articles will get buried in the news feed faster than the new Corvette will smoke an econobox in a stoplight race. Why would anyone bother with an amateurish piece peppered with information culled from a brochure, when he could simply google the product literature? Today, I read motoring content produced by charlatans and freeloaders. It’s a blatant display of disregard for public trust. Actually, never mind public trust—just think of all the hard-earned money wasted on shoddy cars, all because a load of BS gets allowed to float its way into the stream of stories that flood mobile phones everywhere. As with any beat, motoring journalism is now at a crucial crossroads. On the one hand, there is no shortage of information out there. On the other hand, however, most people are left to sift through this oversupply of knowledge by themselves. In an era where even car manufacturers are caught lying with vital data, that’s certainly far from ideal. In this generation of trolls and fake news websites, it may no longer be enough for automotive writers to churn out a customary product description in order to connect with readers. They need to do reviews with conviction—with unassailable integrity—but also with shareable wit and humor. Somebody once paid me the ultimate compliment: “You’re the Conrado de Quiros of the motoring beat.” I’m not sure if even that is still enough, or if I’m just already obsolete. Another thing: Writing about cars as stand-alone objects will no longer suffice. They need to be framed within a dynamic context that encompasses many facets of life. The editorial brief, I believe, is car culture. Or cars and people. The journalist who consistently puts together entertaining, practical and bang-on car-culture stories will build a solid, quality audience that should provide a more gratifying experience than a quick spin in a Ferrari. My advice to readers? Find credible motoring journalists you can trust with a car-purchase decision. Those who do not merely shill for corporate advertisers with press releases disguised as feature articles. Those who know what they’re talking about, as opposed to those who just recite from spec sheets. Those who can empathize with you as consumers, but also inspire you as car fans. I hear the guys at Top Gear Philippines are good. Go check them out. DEC 2016 - JAN 2017 / ESQUIRE

MAN AT HIS BEST

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A special “selection 24h” edition of the Audi R8 V10 Plus that commemorates Audi’s achievements in endurance racing.

A Wise Choice

THE ALL-NEW AUDI R8 V1O PLUS IS A BEAST THAT’S JUST AS SMOOTH ON CRUISE.

By ENRICO MIGUEL SUBIDO IT’S INTERESTING to consider just how much cars have in common with each other. Enthusiasts sneer at the uninitiated who can’t tell the difference between one and another, but even they must acknowledge that sometimes, deep inside, the blueprints are the same. Consider the all-new Audi R8 V1O Plus—a magnificent machine descending from the same nameplate that Tony Stark drove in the first Iron Man. It’s no doubt a unique car, not lacking in its own character, but this new R8 has a something of a fraternal twin in the Lamborghini Huaracán. They share the same engine, transmission, drivetrain, steering system, and identical carbon fiber bits. They have the same power and torque figures, and can go to racing speeds on about the same time (give or take a few microfractions of a second). The devil, as they say, is in the details. But the devil would certainly have it: Audi’s new R8 has all the credentials to

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headline your next fantasy: a monstrous, naturally aspirated 40-valve V10 engine, 610 horses under the hood, 560Nm of torque, a beautiful exhaust note, and a body that’s as foxy as they come. Its all-wheel drive ensures that you stay planted on the ground even on the gnarliest twists; the steering and pedals are ultra-responsive and do as they’re told; and its seven-speed dual-clutch transmission revs all the way up to 8,700rpm, allowing the new R8 to go from zero to 100 in a neck-snapping 3.2 seconds. It tops out at 330km/h. It’s also ofﬁcially the fastest and most powerful production Audi of all time— nirvana on four wheels. But the best thing about the new R8 (and perhaps what sets it apart from the Huaracán) is that, even on more sedate drives, getting behind the wheel is still a spirited affair. You don’t need to send it howling down a highway to feel that you’re driving a powerful car. “It doesn’t matter how fast you

are, it doesn’t matter what gear you’re in. When you accelerate, it moves forward with this enormous energy,” says Audi Driving Experience instructor Christophe Klapper. “This car is also really smooth, it’s not always a beast. It’s not nervous, it’s elegant; you can cruise. But when necessary, it will drive you forward with great force.” By taking cues from some of Audi’s other nameplates (the A4, and A6, to be precise), the all-new R8 promises a gracefulness in its drive; a kind of suave, confident stride that keeps pace with its brawnier counterparts at high speeds, but edges them out with a smooth composure at low speeds. It certainly looks the part as well: the R8 isn’t quite as flamboyant and conspicuous as its Italian cousin, but it’s just as handsome, even a little easier on the eyes. Altogether, this new R8 is a refined choice for the driver who understands that subtlety never truly precludes power.

MAN AT HIS BEST

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Self Service

ROLL UP YOUR SLEEVES AND TAKE YOUR ERECTION TO A NEW DIRECTION.

By MOANA CUMSALOT

T H E WAV Y E G G

I must admit, I was very excited for J to try the Tenga Egg Wavy fo because of its adorable packaging. be You could easily leave it around Y your house and none would be the yo wiser. It comes in a plastic eggshaped container that looks like it came from a coin machine dispenser. Once opened, it has the texture and consistency of a mochi ball—soft, jiggly and smooth like a baby’s bottom. There is a tampon-like plug made of hard plastic to prevent the egg from collapsing onto itself. The insert also contained idiotproof instructions and a small package of water-based lube, which is a plus. When the plug is removed, and the egg is turned inside out, it has wavy ridges all around, reminiscent of mini meat curtains.

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IMAGE COURTESY OF NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBR ARY

SEX TOYS—the mere mention of them elicits nervous giggles and naughty smiles. Everyone is curious about trying one, but god forbid you get caught with one in your drawer. In reality, these toys are probably one of the safest ways to explore your sexuality. They’re fun and quirky—healthy, not creepy! But because many are seemingly geared towards women, most men neglect to take care of themselves when they’re (ahem) in between sets. In case you didn’t know guys, there are safer ways to get your rocks off aside from happy ending massages and paid sex. I’m not just talking about butt plugs, either. Why risk getting an STD when a novelty toy can do the job without your dick falling off? (FYI, it costs roughly P16,000++ P16,000+ 0++ + to get get a complete screening for all STDs— all because you didn’t want to use a al condom. Dumbass.) Lucky for you, I co had a guinea pig, and we gave some h of these toys a test run.

As I aided him while he lubed up the egg (we all need a little help from our friends!) the fi rst thing he noticed was that it was like masturbating with a soft rubber glove—not like a condom where you can feel your fi ngers, but defi nitely enough to feel your fi nger pressure. The wavy texture on the inside was okay, not amazing. He says it felt better when I was jacking him off with it so he could feel the pattern more. As a couple’s toy, it’s handy for foreplay: it has a great tip stimulation, and stretches easily. However, because of its size, it’s like putting half a dick in a pussy—a bit of a tease. It falls short when stimulation is only at the tip or at the base, not the whole penis. It also has a tendency to be a bit loose, but if you stretch it any tighter (depending on your length and girth) it might break. When pulled all the way down to the base of the shaft, it constricts the tip almost to the point of desensitizing it. J says it also feels better when there is an air pocket. The good thing about this toy is that it is easy to clean with mild soap and water. The instructions say ay that it is disposable and meant for one-time use. Butt if you are careful, it can be used several times. I would uld defi nitely recommend it for beginners.

TOYS FO R B OYS

D E E P T H R OAT C U P

The second plaything we tried out was the Tenga ga Deep Throat Cup. It has a screwtop, and a rounded ed cylindrical shape with a groove down the middle dle made of hard plastic. Upon further inspection, we realized there was a vacuum seal sticker at the top op that you remove when in use. I made the mistake of hurriedly removing the cap due to my enthusiasm, so I didn’t realize it came pre-lubed, and some of it had actually spilled onto the bed. The inside is made of a soft, smooth ﬂexible rubber, and the fact that it came pre-lubed is a plus for those who want go to town straight away. I could tell that J liked this one a lot more. It has a snug covering that didn’t loosen up. With dimensions that are 6.9 x 15.5 cm, it has pretty good coverage for the average person from tip to base, but J would have been more comfortable with another inch or so since he is larger than most. The vacuum feature is a nice touch because you can control the suction with your ﬁ ngertip, making it as tight or as loose as you want as long as you don’t remove your penis from the container. If your penis does slip out, then it queefs. This may be a problem if you have roommates. But if you’re the type of guy who likes queefs and slurping sounds for a realistic experience, then knock yourself out. It does have a tendency to get you over-stimulated when you climax. So if you are sensitive and tickly after an orgasm, you may want to pull out. This will also make your toy last longer, if you so prefer. Another nice thing about it was that it is a contained mess—that is, no lube on the hands because the lube is in the tube. Since it is made of thermoplastic elastomer, it needs a water-based lube. The groove on the cylinder makes it easier to grip so not only can you control the vacuum pressure but also you get a nice glide and twist action through the whole length of the penis. And since you don’t feel your hand, it feels more like you’re fucking something as opposed to jacking off.

Ride the waves of the Tenga Egg Wavy— made with multiple layers of large, flexible ribs for a sensational experience. (P490, shopilya.com)

Rock Baby Rock

A DISCO MUSICAL TAKES YOU BACK THROUGH TIME.

By KARA ORTIGA

This Original Deep Throat Cup mimics the sensation of that diff icult Oral maneuver. At least now you don’t have to worry if you’re gagging your lover. (P730, shopilya.com)

THIS SEASON, Ballet Philippines presents “Awitin Mo At Isasayaw Ko”—a disco musical, set to the tunes of VST & Co., known to be one of the pioneering groups of the musical genre known as the Manila Sound. Their music and dance will bring to life the fictional and forbidden love story of Teresa, a highclass kolehiyala, and Victor, a construction worker, set in the midst of the Martial Law era in the late ‘70s. Imagine traversing time as you swing to the classics: “Rock Baby Rock”, “Magsayawan”, and “Ipagpatawad Mo”, along with Bert de Leon’s “Hindi Ko Akalain”, “Ikaw ang Aking Pasko”, and “Puwede Ba?”, all woven together by libretto

Bibeth Orteza, and transformed into dance by choreographers Carissa Adea, James Laforteza, and PJ Rebullida. The show will be directed by Ballet Philippines’ artistic director Paul Alexander Morales. Taking the lead roles of Victor and Teresa are legendary dancers Nonoy Froilan and Edna Vida Froilan. Their younger selves will be portrayed by Jean Marc Cordero, Rita Angela Winder, Denise Parungao, and Garry Corpuz. “Awitin Mo At Isasayaw Ko” will run from December 2 to 11, 2016 at the CCP Main Theater.

DEC 2016 - JAN 2017 / ESQUIRE

MAN AT HIS BEST

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Pure Heroine ROGUE ONE RESHAPES THE ROLE OF WOMEN IN THE STAR WARS UNIVERSE.

By ANTON D. UMALI Art by SEAN EIDDER

IT’S RARE TO FIND A SCIENCE fiction or fantasy film that passes the Bechdel test, a barometer used to measure gender equality in fiction. The test, created by American cartoonist Alison Bechdel in 1985, has only one real requirement for a work of fiction to pass: two named female characters sharing a conversation about something other than a man. Doesn’t sound too hard, right? Now imagine science-fantasy blockbusters—a majority of which are helmed by and marketed towards geeky men with misguided gender sensibilities—taking that test. This poses more of a challenge. The Star Wars franchise is arguably the biggest and most popular space opera in history. With its lightsaber duels, lovable Wookies, and galactic warfare, George Lucas’ oeuvre influenced and shaped a generation of male moviegoers in a way that is difficult to overstate. But it must be noted that none of the movies from the original trilogy actually pass the Bechdel test, given that Princess Leia was really the only prominent female figure then. Plus, she was too caught up in her iconic “Slave Leia” bikini (a truly unfortunate nickname that encapsulates the era’s lack of gender or racial sensitivity), at the mercy of Jabba the Hutt, for her character’s potential to be fully, er, fleshed out. Before Daisy Ridley’s Rey, the scrappy scavenger of last year’s The Force Awakens, all of the franchise’s installments were fronted by men. There was Luke Skywalker, whose ascent from Tatooine farm boy to Force-wielding Jedi Master is a story arc cemented into the annals of pop culture. You’ve got Han Solo, the charming smuggler and captain of the Millennium Falcon, whose questionable morals when it came to wooing the ladies probably wouldn’t sit well with present-day feminists (try not to cringe when you watch that scene from The Empire Strikes Back where he forces a skeevy kiss on the princess). And don’t forget Anakin Skywalker, the Vader-to-be, whose less-than-stellar father-son relationship with Luke becomes the fulcrum of the original trilogy’s plot. Thanks to Star Wars, little boys had new heroes to look up to—men who were brave and adventurous and complex. They were idols who were multi-dimensional, imperfect, and interestingly written. In Rogue One: A Stars Wars Story, the canon gets its second heroine at the forefront of the action, risking life

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LEADING LADIES

LEIA ORGANA (Carrie Fisher) The rebel princess who had to constantly dodge Han’s advances.

PADME AMIDALA (Natalie Portman) The young Queen of Naboo with strong political convictions who could also shoot a blaster with ease.

and limb against the Galactic Empire. Jyn Erso (Felicity Jones) is a young woman with a murky past, recruited by the Rebel Alliance to steal the blueprints for the Death Star. She is impulsive and bold—characteristics that, in other films of a similar genre, might cause a female protagonist to implode. But in the new Star Wars movies, these traits are rewarded, developed, and magnified. Following the ultra-positive reception to The Force Awakens’ Rey, it’s clear that Disney is taking small but sure-footed steps in allowing the femaledriven narratives of this cinematic universe to take center stage. Sure, Jyn is still surrounded by men, just as Rey had Finn and Poe. But this time around, the little girls finally have more women from the galaxy far, far away to idolize—women who are brave and adventurous and complex, like the men who were afforded those character traits before them. And truth be told, there’s no need to worry about whether or not Rogue One passes the Bechdel test. Jyn will be too busy poaching the plans of the Death Star and saving the day to have conversations of any kind.

CAPTAIN PHASMA (Gwendoline Christie) Commander of an elite Stormtrooper unit and a dangerous asset for the First Order. You never see her face, but actually it’s Game of Thrones’ Brienne of Tarth under all that chromium.

MON MOTHMA (Genevieve O’Reilly) The leader of the Galactic Senate’s Loyalist faction who opposed Supreme Chancellor Palpatine’s policies during the final days of the Repulic. She is slated to play a more prominent role in Rogue One.

MAN AT HIS BEST

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Buzz Worthy

THREE TV SHOWS WE CAN’T STOP TALKING ABOUT Evan Rachel Wood is Dolores Abernathy, the first android in Westworld.

EASY The postmodern take on “romantic comedy” that arrives at a perfect time.

Orlando Bloom and Malin Ackerman play a married couple who want to try Tinder in Easy.

In the first episode of Netflix’s anthology series Easy: a married couple desperately tries to spice up their sex life with some role-playing, when the man (a stay-athome-dad) worries that his wife (who is the breadwinner) might be becoming disinterested in the marriage because of his non-gender-normative role. Interestingly—it’s a conventional relationship conflict that burdens an unconventional family structure—and this is how the show generally flows throughout the season. In another episode, a girl tries to change her personality to become more like her partner’s—but they’re both female and the relationship began with a hookup at a bar. Then there’s the happily committed husband and wife who become curious about Tinder and decide to explore a threesome—but in the end, remain very in love and very married. So it’s a show about love in sincere, passionate, steamy forms—but not in the way you’re probably used to. You can’t help but find yourself increasingly drawn to the show, even when most of the characters don’t appear in more than one episode (each episode is a standalone piece). The show shines in its emotional authenticity, and credit must be chucked to the method of Joe Swanberg (writer, director and producer of the show, who also did the film Drinking Buddies). Swanberg starts not with a script, but an essay: two or three paragraphs describing the scenario he wants to portray. And then he does the casting, getting to know the actors behind each character, and also getting them to contribute some of their personal life stories to the characters, which then

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add up to the unfolding of the show. It’s like watching improv, in which no one knows how an episode will end, only that an emotion must be elicited, captured and conveyed. What’s nice is that it melds some big names (Orlando Bloom, Dave Franco, and Emily Ratajkowksi make an appearance) with a lot of new faces, and the interaction and performances from all fronts seem too effortless to be true. The show, which many critics have looked at as a series of short ﬁlms, seems to be Swanberg’s strongest. It’s full of feelings, and you can tell that the director didn’t yell cut until a tingling ignited in his heart, and I promise, you will feel it too. – KARA ORTIGA SURVIVOR: MILLENNIAL VS. GEN X After all these years, the show is still so damn good.

Every television hit has a shelf life. A show with a fresh, unique concept will create a phenomenon of enthusiastic viewers, but the novelty eventually wears

The generation gap is the true star in the new season of Survivor.

off, and even the most devoted fans will move on to the next big thing. Television’s exception to this general rule, however, seems to be CBS’s Survivor. Now on its 33rd season, with season 34 in the works, Survivor has been dubbed television’s “miracle show,” still stealing the number one spot for ratings, beating out newer shows in their supposed prime seasons. What sets Survivor apart is that producers have let the show evolve in a way that is authentic, keeping the diehard fans invested season after season, while attracting new viewers to the franchise. Where the original premise of the show was about average Americans surviving with the bare necessities on an island, the show went on to focus more on the competition as seasons passed—on how players maneuvered through physical challenges, personal alliances, and blindsides, to win the million dollars at the end. The survival aspect of the show has taken a backseat to the strategic maneuvering of the castaways, and now it seems like the reality show has taken on the life of a sport. Fans ﬁnd themselves analyzing players and power moves, and a myriad of online platforms are dedicated to the commentary and discussion of each episode. To throw in new twists, producers meddle in social experiments, giving rise to seasons like Blood vs. Water (players compete against their loved one on the opposite tribe), Fans vs. Favorites (die-hard fans compete against wellloved returning players), and the most recent Millenials vs. Gen X (players divided by age and approach to life) is a must-see. The game has itself become so riveting that the show, unlike its competitors, does not need to oversell the contestant’s life struggles or create explosive drama between cast members. Viewers anticipate every new season and invest in the standout players like a devoted sports fan would. After 16 years and consistent innovation, the show is still gaining momentum, and at this rate, Survivor is looking like a non-perishable. – ARI DEL ROSARIO WESTWORLD Television’s most elaborate Turing Test

It would likely suffice to say “robot-cowboy-theme park” when selling Westworld to your friends, but despite how delightful that sounds, it wouldn’t quite prepare them for HBO’s big-budget 10-episode program. From the get-go, Westworld was poised to fill the void that Game of Thrones left in the interim between its sixth and seventh seasons—a larger-than-life fantasy series with gratuitous amounts of sex and violence, and a rich source material. The show is based on a 1973 movie of the same name: a sci-fi epic directed by Michael Crichton (author of Jurassic Park, Andromeda Strain, and Rising Sun, to name a few). The 2016 series does depart from the movie with its own characters and narratives, but the premise remains: a futuristic, Western-themed amusement park populated by androids and visited by wealthy humans who indulge and inflict their most primal desires until eventually having to reckon with the inevitable robot uprising. But that in itself isn’t quite enough, either, because it makes the show easy to dismiss as employing a familiar sci-fi trope—Terminator, and hell, even I, Robot have dealt with the same questions and problems. So it bears pulling back the curtains and mentioning that Westworld is written and directed by cinematic tandem and real-life couple Jonathan Nolan (Interstellar, The Dark Knight, The Prestige) and Lisa Joy (Pushing Daisies,

Burn Notice); with J.J. Abrams among the show’s executive producers. Then consider the cast: Anthony Hopkins, Ed Harris, Evan Rachel Wood, and James Marsden. It’s the most exciting, if not the overall best list of credits in television this year, and it puts its talents to good use in weaving a much more complex odyssey about artificial intelligence and the human condition. And that might just be the most appealing thing about Westworld: its utter complexity. After only the fi rst episode, it manages to envelop the audience in an air of mystery. In its attention to the minutiae of its world and characters, as well as in the sophistication of its screenwriting, the show immediately suggests that it isn’t quite so easy to figure out. Who is the Man in Black? What’s causing the robots to go haywire? Who’s pulling the strings? Then, as it progresses from one episode to the next, the show continues to unravel stories elegantly, posing even more questions while obscuring the bigger picture. By the end of its second episode, Westworld had already set the Internet ablaze with theories and heated debate about alternate timelines and secret character motivations that only expanded and contracted with every succeeding installment. It’s because of this convolution that the show draws a lot of comparison to Lost (also an Abrams creation)—both are excellent at laying out a semblance of a plot, leaving their audiences to put the pieces together themselves and ask over and over again: What the hell is really going on here? The show is certainly one of HBO’s biggest undertakings to date, so it’s good that they put it in the right hands. Like managers of the amusement park, Westworld’s showrunners are able to masterfully orchestrate set pieces in a universe of their own making to keep their guests engrossed in a heroic exploration of the human id and the nature of consciousness. But while the park managers use things like staged shootouts and a rowdy brothel to entertain their guests, the show uses narrative guile and excellent writing coupled with impeccable performances by some of the greatest actors of our time (seeing Hopkins and Harris confront each other in the same scene is truly something special), all against the uncanny spectacle of a desolate Old West in a cold, dark future. Like park guests, we are meant to lose ourselves in the show and sift through its themes and motives to seek a deeper meaning. And that, perhaps is its greatest success: not only does it set standards for TV shows and the sci-fi genre in its entirety; Westworld, like the park that it’s set in, inspires its audience to consider how well we understand ourselves and the consequences of our desires. – MIGUEL ESCOBAR

NO FEAR IN THE WEST

Westworld is deliberately littered with Shakespeare quotes. Sound smart at the family reunion by discussing them at length.

DOLORES ABERNATHY “These violent delights have violent ends.” from Romeo and Juliet

PETER ABERNATHY “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.” from The Tempest “The things I will do, what they are, yet I know not. But they will be the terrors of the earth.” from King Lear

ROBERT FORD “Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once.” from Julius Caesar

DEC 2016 - JAN 2017 / ESQUIRE

12.16

Last-Minute Luxuries

We’ve all been there. In fact, as soon as December 20-ish hits, there’s a bit of a cold panic that runs through you when you realize that you still haven’t found the right gift for the most special people in your life. Be it a token trinket or a spectacular surprise, the last installment of our 2016 holiday gift guide has got you covered.

BY PAT R I C I A BA RC E LO N

Have you been remiss this year? Is the wife dropping hints about separate lives? This one-of-a-kind Hanan necklace and Minaden earrings by Wynn Wynn Ong x Jewelmer should warm even the frostiest of shoulders. Shangri-la at The Fort

12.16

Smashing Surprises

This red Bulgari Serpenti Forever bag is the perfect accessory for the woman who, to paraphrase Dorothy Parker, sharpens her tongue after brushing her teeth in the morning. Greenbelt 4

Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s the gift that keeps on giving. Look forward to the gleam in her eyes when she opens the doors of her very own Jo Malone advent calendar townhouse to reveal gift after gift. SM Aura

For him: The Panerai Radomir 1940 10 Days GMT Automatic Oro Rosso 45MM. Need we say more? Greenbelt 5

This croc-embossed calfskin satchel by Givenchy is the perfect getaway bag for a last-minute jaunt. Greenbelt 4

The Macallan 12 years old double cask is a prize for any connosieur of fine whiskey. The defining wood is sherry-seasoned American Oakâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;resulting in flavors of citrus and light oak balanced by the expected Macallan characteristics of rich fruit and wood spice flavors. themacallan.com

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Make her Christmas merry and bright with this diamond-studded, ruby-faced Serpenti Tubogas watch by Bulgari. Greenbelt 4

12.16

Thoughtful Tokens Lola, Mama, Abuela, Nana—no matter what you call your grandmother, you’re sure to delight her with a lovely printed silk scarf from Bulgari. Greenbelt 4

A little pick-me-up package of sunshine from Murad for that stalwart assistant who works so hard to keep your schedule (and life) running smoothly. Rustan’s

Don’t know what to bring for the exchange-gift at your office Christmas party? You can’t go wrong with some soothing surprises such as the L’Occitane ve gel cream c after-shave or Neal’s Yard Wild Rose Beauty Balm. Rustan’s

A great stocking stuffer for that lovely lady in your life. Plus points if you pre-fill this WOLF jewelry case with a sparkly surprise such as these mother of pearl and diamond earrings from Bulgari. WOLF, Winder Wonders Boutique 6750; Bulgari, Greenbelt 4

Esquire Top Tip: Keep a few gift sets such as this men’s kit from Clarins in your car so you never appear empty-handed at last-minute gatherings. Rustan’s

DEC 2016 - JAN 2017 / ESQUIRE

12.16

Trendy Triﬂes

Your teenager with rock ‘n roll sensibilities is guaranteed to flip over this cobra chain wallet from Givenchy. Greenbelt 4

Cross a circle with a square and you get these ultra-hip all-gold sungasses by Ray Ban. Eye Society, Jupiter St.

A necktie should never be cons considered a mundane gift. Find a print with pizazz or a color that speaks volumes such as these happy, snappy ties from Givenchy. Greenbelt 4

The Bulgari Bzero1 bangle in pink gold and black ceramic is just the right present for anyone who loves a calssic. Greenbelt 4

These trendy, t Tyler Ramseydesign Toms will have you designed trottin around in style this trotting s Power Plant Mall holiday season.

The Luminox Special Operations Challenge 4223.SOC.SET was co-designed by retired Navy SEALs. This durable and dependable timepiece comes with an interchangeable textile strap and changing tool. luminox.com.ph

All We Want for Christmas: MIGUEL ESCOBAR Give: This Magazine Receive: Dunkin Donuts Original Blend Coffee CLIFFORD OLANDAY Give: Louis Vuitton Petite Malle iPhone case Receive: Cartier Tank Louis Cartier watch

PATRICIA BARCELON ELON Give: Casa Noble Anejo Tequila Receive: Louis Vuitton uitton Bandouliere Epi bag strap

PAUL VILLARIBA PA Give: Special Field Giv Nike Air Force 1 Nik sneakers sne Receive: SUHD 2016 Re Samsung TV Sa

AUDREY CARPIO O Give: Healthy gummy mmy bears from @honestjunk Receive: Tickets to Guns n Roses in Japan

KARA ORTIGA KA Give: Dinosaur planters Giv from @jurassicpot fro Receive: Trip to Re Iceland Ice

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KRISTINE FONACIER Give: Copper Parisian shaker set from bevtools.com Receive: Montblanc Shakespeare Pen

AGENDA

#LOVETHEOCEAN Ever wonder what you could do to save the seas? Maybe recycle plastic, eat responsibly caught fish, pick up after yourself, and watch more NatGeo? Try diving into Davidoff’s Love The Ocean campaign. Influencers, bloggers, and celebrities including Rovilson Fernandez and Victor Basa joined Coty Philippines at the Manila Yacht Club when they launched the campaign and introduced Davidoff Cool Water Ocean Extreme. The fragrance, in partnership with National Geographic’s Pristine Seas Misson, aims to survey and protect fragile marine environments around the globe.

SOMETHING UP THEIR SLEEVE Toblerone bars have a new look. For Christmas, the iconic Swiss chocolate bar wants you to design your own Toblerone sleeve. Grab a Toblerone Christmas blank pack and have fun with it. Use it to indulge your unique artistic side or to make your gifts more creative and meaningful. Artists like Solenn Heussaff, Abbey Sy, Valerie Chua, and Tokwa Peñaflorida have done it. Their Toblerone art will be available for a limited time this season. Visit www.tobleroneph.com to digitally design your own Toblerone sleeves and have them printed out at Toblerone pop-up Christmas stations.

12.2016 - 01.2017

S T Y L E

Masters of the Universe Hermès creates all-the-time, go-anywhere pieces for the nuanced lives of men. B Y C L I F F O R D O L A N D AY

IT WOULD BE WRONG TO ASK HERMÈS about fashion. The luxury house doesn’t concern itself with the flux of the seasons or the turbulence of the business. No tiptoeing around musical chairs or shifting production cycles or hunting for the newest new. Like its clients, who are part of the small circle of the extremely wealthy, it rises above all, exercising a freedom to do whatever the hell it wants. The enviable position allows it to spin garments that are seasonless and ageless and tasteful (or timeless and works for all and restrained), as if the French label works with magical hands that prevent any of its creations from crossing into the faddish and therefore common. The trick is that there are no tricks. The clothes don’t fool you with promiscuous adornments or weird cuts or proportions. Instead, they serve you well in their expression of taste, all told with precious materials, which have been crafted by hand—sometimes with just one pair of hands like how a Birkin bag is made. DEC 2016 - JAN 2017 / ESQUIRE

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Two years ago, it unleashed a crocodile-skin puffer vest upon the world. Women bow down to waiting lists for elusive Birkins, this was like a Birkin but better because the skin wraps around your own. It was glorious and must have been beyond expensive, something that only Hermès could do. It was daring, too. The biggest misconception about a luxury house as venerable as Hermès is that it must be serious and maybe even humorless, but an old house need not be stuck making boring clothes. Somewhere along its history, as it perfected the creation of bridles and harnesses, ties with hidden messages, or a jacket that glistens in the right light, the company cultivated a culture of cleverness, its signature call-out for luxury. It’s no surprise then when Hermès chooses the Tokyo International Airport as the stage for The Nature of Men, its men’s wear presentation on this side of the world, but it is still a thrill to be driven to an unknown destination and then deposited within an earshot of the thrum of Boeing 787s. The lights go off and, just to remind you of the peculiar location, the cry of an alarm signals the closing of the airport hangar’s humongous double doors. Véronique Nichanian, artistic director for Hermès men’s universe, dreamed up that croc vest (later succeeded by a sweatshirt and a hoodie), and while nothing as audacious reminds you of the reptilian look, the maison’s wit is evident in the Fall 2016 collection. It winks at you in the colors. The raspberry in a slouchy cable-knit sweater and a shirt whose collar you can button up to create a funnel neck, and the turquoise on the reverse of a leather jacket are surprising for the cold season, but may just be the tonic you need in the crazy atmosphere that engulfs the world right now. Colors translate on a photograph, but the textures—well, you have to drop by a shop to understand them. When pieces are made with a high degree of ﬁnesse, they should be seen in person, touched by hand, and worn on the body. A few years ago, you came upon an Hermès jacket whose furry wool transitioned so ﬂ uidly into slick leather. Nichanian, who has spent over two decades at the maison (she is probably the designer with the longest tenure at present), is known for playing with materials, in particular, the most beautiful leathers, adding subtle twists to inject attitude or sensuality. She once lined pockets with lambskin just to give men a surprise. That mix of textures is continued here: in a black slicker whose leather appears so crispy-thin that you imagine crumpling it in your hand like paper, or a

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baseball jacket whose prism of incandescent blues transforms its herringbone pattern into irregular stripes when moving in the light. A series of jackets is a study in tactility with smooth, matte leather juxtaposed against a shaggy-as-a-rug lining in that turquoise or a drunken red, while a mackintosh shows how to break the monotony of black with panels of softness on a sleeve and a breast, a treatment that is just the right amount of different. Working with a mandate of perfect taste does not encumber Nichanian. Having done this for so long, the designer has constructed a very specific language about the clothes of men who have it all. Consider this season’s pieces and those ahead of it and those before, and realize they are all standbys—pullovers, DBs, or trousers that may be found in your own non-one-percenter closet— but contextualized with a swerve of brilliant color, sometimes pattern, an intelligent experimentation with textiles, and that relaxed attitude that is achieved when clothes do not try so hard. The label may not be top of mind when it comes to creating a sea change in the way men dress, and that’s okay because it’s not interested in doing that. Nevertheless, Hermès is part of the conversation. Nichanian was among the first designers who took sportswear and remade them in expensive fabrics. You could say that this old house did athleisure long before it was fashionable, and it has done so with an unimpeachable construction that allows it to transcend the trend. Which just maybe the truest meaning of luxury: taking everyday clothes and transforming them into their greatest incarnations. What can be more money than lounging in a crewneck sweater that just happens to be made of babysoft cashmere? These are exceptional clothes, but they are the kind of clothes that men can wear day-to-day at work and what comes after. This season, Hermès poses the question of what makes a man, and through the jumble of pieces in the collection, you can infer that he is someone who takes on a full life characterized by energy and movement, maybe a few complications, and always an easygoing fun. You go all-in at work, charm the pants off your boss, knock back a couple of drinks with your buddies at the bar, and come home to the woman you cherish. You take the most stylish vacations whenever you can or just chill at home with your best friend, a chocolate Labrador. At least, that’s how we imagine how our beautiful lives should be. For the very rich, it’s more or less the same—except that they are dressed in all this finery. Greenbelt 3

ON A NIGHT LIKE THIS It doesn’t end at the show. As soon as Nichanian takes her bow, the hangar doors open to reveal an eco-system of pods or the Coolest Hangout Ever or a circus, depending on how you interpret the array of installations and Airstreams arranged in the hangar of the Tokyo International Airport. This is a utopia filled with the host’s signature items, from jackets to bags to shoes to ties, all things that address the manifold nature of men who live with variable moods and personalities. In this construct, everything is rendered with the spell of luxury that is at the core of the brand, so that even if you are noshing on the most amazing mysterycheese-in-a-cone (Nature of Men No. 7: Hungry), you are doing so in style. The playful character of Hermès asserts itself in a dozen stations that you must experience. Pick up your poison inside a tunnel filled with LPs that are printed with the label’s legendary designs. Wander into a gallery of paintings that are not really paintings but framed textiles, which you are encouraged to feel and rub. Suddenly, men work on a blank wall, painting shapes in the blues and berries of the presentation. Elsewhere, a model plays the role of a shoe collector, taking a break from the hubbub in a bedroom whose walls and ceilings are decorated with exquisite footwear. Earlier, the actress beside you remarks on the wonderful way the show cast models of different ages and sizes from everywhere. And now, released from their duty, packs of mannequins are mingling with the mortals, who are indulging in the wonders of the night. It is certainly a delight to see the clothes in the wild, and you spot the lucky few already wearing the texturize-rich jackets on their backs as well as the many more who have tied the colorful scarves around their necks. One guy carries the Bolide bag with a print of a screaming shark (those teeth!), and you see the possibility of lugging around such an object in real life. Everyone is living the laidback ideal that Hermès so expertly peddles. And on a night like this, you believe it.

DEC 2016 - JAN 2017 / ESQUIRE

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Come See About Me What happens when a sports company takes on the world of fashion? B Y C L I F F O R D O L A N D AY PORTRAIT BY RENNELL SALUMBRE

YOU ARE LIVING IN A GLORIOUS TIME when the codes of dressing have bled so much into one another that you don’t raise your eyebrows when confronted with trousers with an elasticized waist or a hoodie made of croc skin. “Fashion wants something comfortable, and the sports world wants something…not ugly,” afﬁrms Claudio Fantin, export manager of Rudy Project. He scrolls to a photo of a woman wearing a neon green tunic dress over faded blue elephant-leg trousers on his iPhone. Over her eyes is the coolest pair of sunglasses—a construct of yellow frame plus mirrored lens that gives off the feeling of Most Eccentric Person from Future World. Those specs? Rudy Project. “It is amazing to see them wear it,” beams Fantin. “For London Fashion Week, [Fyodor Golan] asked for our speciﬁc sunglasses for its show.” The Italian performance company turned 30 this year, and to celebrate the becoming-old milestone, decided to do something audacious by taking on the world of fashion. The move isn’t such a stretch. Rudy Project’s expertise lies in the creation of solutions for high-performance athletes like Formula One driver Jenson Button or triathlon star Andy Potts. And these super humans, notes Fantin, are also “extremely cool artists who love to appear in a certain way.” In other words, fashionable. “Try this,” says Fantin, offering the Rydon, their most iconic creation (the ones that look like they came straight out of The Matrix), which is now rendered with 18-karat white-gold mirrored lenses. He also presents the Astro Loop, a pair with a curvier frame, an extended top bar, and smoky black lenses. The two models express Rudy’s take on style in different ways: The golden Rydon feels like a sports object wearing new clothes, but the Astro Loop looks unlike anything the company has created. It’s overlarge, more wearable, and certainly the chicest frames to come out of its workshop.

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VIEWS Rudy Project founder Rudy Barbazza wears the Astro Loop, a new style that combines three decades of innovations in sports performance with the “f” word, fashion.

The coat of gold and fresh form are designed to draw attention, but the tech remains. “Never ever forget that sunglasses, besides the fact that they are super cool, are safety devices for the eyes,” says founder Rudy Barbazza in raspy Italian (translated into English by Fantin). “They protect your eyes from the UV rays of the sun, so the number one issue is: How good are the lenses?” Seven years ago, Rudy Project introduced the ImpactX lens, a revolution in the sports sunglasses market. The virtually indestructible lens eliminates distortion, which prevents dizzy spells, and features photochromatic activation, as in it changes color based on the light. There is also the grilamid chassis, an anallergenic, elastic, and “absolutely very strong” material that can survive the crushing weight of your stone bum if in case you sit on your suns. Both innovations, along with other performance and ergonomic features, have been applied to the new products. “These are all technical issues, and I don’t want you to get bored,” says Barbazza. “But behind these nice looking sunglasses is amazing technology.” If you’ve only thought of Rudy Project as cycling shields that come in out-of-this-world shapes, it’s time to see it anew. Alabang Town Center, Bonifacio High Street, Podium, SM Mall of Asia, Trinoma

UP AND AWAY Sneaker wizard Jeff Staple credits his success to “a lot of hard work, aligning-of-theplanets,” and the pigeons of New York.

Start a Riot How the pigeon launched one of the most wanted streetwear brands today

BY MIGUEL ESCOBAR

KNIVES, CROWBARS, baseball bats, at least one machete, and a few arrests among a fanatical crowd of over 100 New Yorkers: This was the scene that greeted Jeff Staple when he arrived at his lifestyle boutique, Reed Space, one fateful morning in 2005. The shouting and shoving were over his limited edition shoes, whose hype helped set the foundation for today’s fascination with sneakers. When he was commissioned by Nike to design a pair of New York-themed shoes, Staple (whose real name is Jeff Ng) decided to take inspiration from the local pigeon. He figured that the uniquely stubborn temperament of NYC pigeons represent New Yorkers themselves. He took the orange of its feet and the gray of its feathers and cast the colors on the Nike SB Dunk Low Pro, embroidering an emblem of the bird on the shoe’s heel.

In all his works, Staple is keen to reference It was simple and elegant for a skate shoe, the roots of his success. You’ll find the pigeon’s but no one could have expected the public colors and emblem in many of his designs, reception it got. Jeff himself did not fathom including ones that he recently launched in that his design, a mere combination of colors, Manila with sneaker a cheeky nod to his city’s lifestyle store, Sneak people, would rally throngs Peek. In fact, Staple to Orchard Street. “I’ll be the often comes under fire first one to admit that, when for reprising his themes we did the Pigeon Dunk, we and trademarks. But weren’t prepared for the it’s easy for him to demand we were going to Nike SB Dunk Low Pro brush it off, recalling get,” he says. “If I could tell (2005) an important piece you why it happened, I’d be of wisdom that was a billionaire right now.” handed down to him by The day after he a mentor. “I’ve learned released the shoes, The that everything I create New York Post’s front page needs to provoke read: “Hot Shoe Sparks thought,” he says. “As Ruckus.” The Pigeon Dunks a creator, people can sold on eBay for thousands either love you or hate of dollars, and people began Nike Air Max Zero you. If they have no to pay more attention to the (2016) opinion about you, burgeoning sneaker culture that’s when you’ve failed as a creative. Be in the years that followed. Staple collaborated polarizing in some way, shape, or form.” with more brands, created more shoes, and eventually, developed his own line of clothing. Sneak Peek, Shangri-La Plaza Mall

DEC 2016 - JAN 2017 / ESQUIRE

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Midnight Hour A decade of darkness with the Hublot Big Bang All Black

LET’S MAKE TIME INVISIBLE. Okay, we’re paraphrasing a bit, but ten years ago, when watches only came in the cold tone of silver (steel, white gold, or platinum—you couldn’t tell the difference) or the glint of gold, that was the crazy idea running inside the heads of the innovators at Hublot: disrupt the market by creating an all-over black watch. Lore has it that the traditionalists at the Swiss watchmaker grumbled at the thought of a timepiece that will not readily offer the time (you have to catch the light to see its hands), leading Hublot to create only 250 pieces of the Big Bang All Black. But when it debuted at Baselworld in 2006, the dark novelty attracted over 3,000 orders. Its unprecedented success led to a change in attitude about black watches. Consider how all other watchmakers now produce their own. But no other company, points out Loic Biver, general manager of Hublot in Greater China, “…[goes] as far as we do: which is totally black. They make black watches that are still readable. We don’t care.” A watch that was engineered to be different, even if it will be not easy to read, made the All Black appealing to men (it did not hurt that it was damn beautiful, too). “It changed the mentality of people who were not conscious about watches. All of a sudden they realized, ‘Watches are more than just tools to tell time,’” he says. Much like a perfectly tailored suit, it can announce to the world who you are, in this case, a stylish man who is serious about watches and has a desire to be one-of-a-kind. And let’s face it: A man who plunks down a couple of million for a ticker is not buying one to track time. Something bigger is involved. “I’m buying a watch because it brings me emotion,” says Biver. Ten years after the first Big Bang All Black was introduced, Hublot creates two iterations that celebrate the same qualities of individuality and darkness. They may even make you weep.—CO Greenbelt 5

ESQUIRE / DEC 2016 - JAN 2017

1 BIG BANG UNICO ALL BLACK SAPPHIRE The sapphire is the draw. The see-through stone is notoriously difficult to process (only a diamond can cut it), but Hublot figured out how to manipulate the material to create the first all-black sapphire watch. The automatic watch runs on Hublot’s Unico movement, which is another feat: “It’s like an upside-down movement,” describes Biver. Know how you always see the movement at the back of a watch? Hublot rearranged everything in order to bring that beautiful machinery to the fore. 2 BIG BANG ALL BLACK MECA-10 “The Meca is amazing in terms of movement. If you are a collector, then you go for this, because a self-winding watch with a 10-day power reserve does not exist elsewhere,” he says. Also, it is nostalgic as it is based on the Meccano, a more sophisticated Lego-like toy that kids play with in Europe. Whereas standard movements are built on a disc, the Meca is made with three bridges that look like the childhood toy. 3 BIG BANG ALL BLACK 2006 The watch that started it all. “It’s impossible to acquire the original,” says Biver, who has never heard of anyone selling his All Black. A man who has this will most likely pass it on to his son. (Just get the new ones.)

12.2016 - 01.2017

GROOMING

Circle the Drain To k e e p h a i r o n y o u r n o g g i n , clean it. B Y C L I F F O R D O L A N D AY A R T B Y WA R R E N E S P E J O

2016

GROOMI NG UPGRADE 9/10

H A I R I S A TO U C H Y SU B J ECT FO R M E N . Today, you have a lot of it, crowning your face like petals on a bloom. Tomorrow, they disappear, retreating from a ﬁght like a coward. Each follicle is ﬁckle like a baby or a lady (or a baby lady?), and the best way to encourage it to stay on your noggin is to keep your head clean. Clear away dirt from your scalp and give back nutrients to your hair with a hardworking shampoo. Here are a few.

ACCA KAPPA WHITE MOSS SHAMPOO AND SHOWER GEL Aside from washing your locks (and body), enchant the ladies with a woodland smell that mimics “the freshness of an Italian spring.” Rustan’s Makati

LUSH NEW SHAMPOO BAR Washing your hair with something solid feels more purposeful, as if you’re erasing your worries with each rub. Which is what you’re actually doing when all the stuff in this bar work to stimulate the scalp. Rustan’s Makati

ESQUIRE / DEC 2016 - JAN 2017

PALMER’S OLIVE OIL FORMULA SHAMPOO The thing your wife uses to prepare oven-poached halibut also gives vigor, shine, and smoothness to wavy hair. Glorietta 4

THE BODY SHOP GINGER ANTI-DANDRUFF SHAMPOO Quell the itch of a flaky scalp with a mix of Ethiopian honey and ginger, birch bark, and white willow bark extracts. Greenbelt 5

PHYTOLIUM STRENGTHENING TREATMENT SHAMPOO Return to your roots: To address thinning, this formula fortifies the bulb while restoring hair’s strength. Rustan’s Makati

ON THE LIST Actor Gerard Butler admits to the sin of buying gifts on Christmas Eve. When that happens, your best bet is a classic scent.

Old Reliable

The perfect gift is right under your nose.

BY MIGUEL ESCOBAR

OF COURSE you’d like to be imaginative with your gift-giving this Christmas, but because you’ve become so preoccupied with ﬁnding something charming or offbeat, you inadvertently dismiss the best and most obvious option: a classic fragrance. “I have both received and given fragrances as Christmas gifts,” says actor and Boss Bottled ambassador Gerard Butler. “I think it’s the ideal gift. It’s personal and the person will think of you whenever they wear the new scent.” Created in 1998 by perfumer Annick Ménardo, who has also created fragrances for Givenchy, Kenzo, and Saint Laurent, Boss Bottled is the olfactory equivalent of a freshly baked apple pie topped with vanilla ice cream, prepared and enjoyed in a quaint woodland cabin after a hard day of chopping wood. It’s a masculine fragrance, but also one that is reﬁned and elegant in its complexity—strong, but also sweet and rustic and pleasant. Recently, Boss also introduced Boss Bottled Intense, which accentuates the same scents with woodier notes and a hint of orange blossom. “I love a traditional Christmas surrounded by family,” continues Butler. “It is a tradition for the whole clan to get together and celebrate the holidays in Scotland.” The actor, who always spends the season at home, looks forward to the energy that surrounds the gathering of kin. They decorate the tree, go for walks in the highlands, and feast on a lot of food. It’s a familiar ideal that represents the way many of us would like to spend the season. It’s also an excellent testament to the value of the quintessential.

Rustan’s, Landmark, and Robinson’s department stores

T W IC E I S N IC E THE BEST WAY TO APPLY A SCENT IS IN LAYERS. Slap on the lotion version of your cologne, say the Basil & Neroli from Jo Malone London, before applying a dash or two of the actual stuff. This is easy and soothing (if you can convince the wife to apply the lotion for you). Also, it’s effective. At day’s end, you’ll find yourself wondering where that sensual smell is coming from, and then realize that the floral bouquet, which feels more like a field of grass warmed by the sun, is you. You might wear the cologne by itself, but it just won’t feel the same: not as potent nor long lasting. So do both.—CO Greenbelt 5

DEC 2016 - JAN 2017 / ESQUIRE

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esquir e | DeC 2016 - JA N 2017

NOTE s & E s sAYs ON L OSS AND R E C OV E RY

E A R N E ST M A NG U L A B NA N Z ABALA

OC H G ONZ A L E Zâ&#x20AC;&#x201C; U M L AS

E D iT E D BY

SARGE LACUESTA

N O T E s & E s s AY s

Leaving BaBy earnest ManguLaBnan ZaBaLa My father hugged his wife, sandwiching their oblivious baby girl. I see him letting go of a sob that emanated from the pit of his stomach. He would miss this small ball of joy that had been his constant source of happiness ever since he heard the news that they were expecting.

i hAve AlwAys imAgiNeD it to be a unanimous decision: that moment when my activist parents decided to “give away” their baby daughter for safekeeping. i imagine their shared glances as soon as they heard Martial Law declared on the radio; they immediately knew what to do, as if the past year of rather idyllic life—her teaching at the local public high school, him tinkering around the house while looking over the newborn baby—was more of a respite from the struggle they had come to embrace head on. All it took was one look. My mother hugged my nine-month old self; i see her gazing longingly at my sweet innocent face. So many questions must have crossed her mind: When will i see her again? Will she remember us when the time comes? What if we don’t make it? Who will teach her how to blow her first birthday candle? Had i known that i would grow up without seeing them ever again, i would have willed myself to consciousness and defied the logic of biology. i would have memorized her face, captured the lullaby he always sang to me at night and find a way to imprint her on my skin. Had i known my family would end up waiting for that welcome knock that never came, i would have done so much more. Alas, what can a baby do except coo when quieted and cry when hungry and tired. it must have been decided long ago—this inevitability. Maybe as soon as she found out she was pregnant. Maybe they fooled themselves for a while that it wouldn’t come to this—their young family torn asunder. But they knew. They knew in their hearts what went on in the country.

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They had listened and helped organize their neighbors against those who sought to remove them from their land and livelihood. They knew as student activists themselves what was asked of them. After all, that was how they met and fell in love with each other—at a university march protesting the mounting injustices of Mr. Marcos. What Martial Law giveth, Martial Law taketh away, i often say. This i know to be the truth: my mother toyed with the idea of bringing me with them in hiding. But Tatay put his foot down. it would not be safe for the baby. it would not be safe for their underground group. it took them a day to gather their meager belongings. The rest that couldn’t be packed for the baby or that they themselves could not carry were left behind to be divided among family. From Bataan, it was a clandestine trip to Tarlac, Tarlac, where a favorite half-sister of his lived. They chose the time well, around dinnertime to avoid the stares of neighbors who always seemed to lurk nearby. i know as a mother myself that my mother’s heart broke into tiny pieces when she finally handed me over. And that she probably wondered when she would be whole again. Maybe she wished briefly for a country that would let her stay and be a mother to her child. But she knew that her country needed her, needed them. That it was up to them to make sure that children like me would grow up in a just society. My father hugged his wife, sandwiching their oblivious baby girl. i see him letting go of a sob that emanated from the pit of his stomach. He would miss this small ball of joy that had been his constant source of happiness ever since he heard the news that they were expecting. All of 23 years old, he mustered all the courage he had learned from his father to bid her daughter goodbye. i know that they never looked back, afraid that they would change their minds and stay. And while each step away from me seemed heavier than the last, they tentatively smiled at each other. They had hope in their hearts. One day they would see me again: maybe in two years, maybe in ten. They would be victorious. For my sake, they would prevail. Earnest Mangulabnan Zabala is an essayist.

N O T E s & E s s AY s

DEC 2016 - JAN 2017 / ESQUIRE

N O T E s & E s s AY s

Lip reading Och gOnZaLeZ-uMLas My husband does his best, speaking only when absolutely necessary, remembering to put my hand on his lips to read them, or his fingers on my chest as he spells out his message. It is absurdly romantic, a little luminous strawberry peeking out from a cold, forlorn landscape of dead gray crops.

1. i like eavesdropping. i like settling down on big plushy seats in cozy cafes, with my Americano poised in one hand and a bagel in the other to fool people that i’m there for the food. Today i have zeroed in on a couple across me by the far end of the cafe, some nine meters away. They are seated beside each other, the girl traversing the space between them with a plaintive hand clutching the guy’s wrist. Her face is stretched out in a question mark, her eyebrows going up, down, together, as she tries to wheedle the guy into conversation. i look at their lips, soundless from a distance but close enough for me to read. i watch the guy put his fingertips together, staring at them intently, shallow breaths punctuated with occasional deep sighs.i think, “Uh oh, she’s not going to like this...” The guy takes a final deep breath and says, “i need some space.” i start to roll my eyes. How terribly cliché. i catch myself mid-roll and look down quickly, remembering what an old friend had once said about eavesdropping – if you must eavesdrop, do it politely. As if there is such a thing. i turn my head away from the girl’s slowly crumpling face and gaze out the window beside me instead, at the parking lot with the rowdy street children littered across it like bobbing rocks in a gray ocean. i see them bickering with each other, fighting over the coins the motorists hand out. i read foul words pouring out of their mouths, thinking how mismatched they are with those young lips. The words look like putrid gray industrial waste spewing out the door of a sunshiny yellow building into an unsuspecting river. Shouldn’t they be saying things like “hula hoop,” “mahuli taya,” “bato bato pik”? Words that evoke the joys of childhood, when life has not hammered and forged us yet into misshapen blobs of steel? 2. i remember the first time i felt broken. The warning signs had started showing at third grade—subtle, but there. i came home from school one day, wondering why i seemed to be the only one in class who had to turn around and crane her neck to see our teacher as she walked around the room dictating our spelling words. Everybody

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else’s head was bent over, writing down the words without looking up. it frustrated me to make mistakes in spelling—oh, how i loved spelling! How i loved words! it was a big thorn in my eightyear-old side to misspell delicious, savory words just because i couldn’t see Mrs. Chua’s mouth. i wondered, too, why my classmates would snicker when i’d stand up for recitation. Only later would i find out that it wasn’t my name that was called. Mrs. Chua was actually calling for my classmate Jose, whose name looks like Roselle on the lips of someone three wooden desk-rows away. i would stand and Mrs. Chua would tell me to sit back down. She’d call Jose, and up again i’d pop. And sit back down. She’d call again....Lather, rinse, repeat. i imagine i looked rather like an overeager jackin-the-box that couldn’t wait for its owner to finish winding it up. i whined about this to my mother. i saw her features crease in disquiet, then smoothen out in a poker face. She didn’t say anything. i thought, well, maybe there’s nothing wrong then. Maybe it’s fine. if she’s not worried about it, then why should i be? And so the years, and along with them, innumerable spelling lists, passed. The bright side of it, though, was that Jose moved to a different school in the fifth grade, and took his misleading doppelganger of a name with him. 3. i was inside a white padded booth that smelled of molds and termites. The audiologist put on huge black headphones over my newly-adolescent ears and placed in my hand a black cone-shaped instrument with a red button on top of it. She instructed me to press the button every time i heard a sound. i grasped the cone with sweaty palms, my thumb quivering above the red dot, determined not to fail, determined to get the better of it. i imagined i was on The Price is Right, and if i pressed as fast as i couid, i’d win a prize. i listened to the cascade of words washing over me, and repeated what i thought they were. it was excruciating, humiliating. i knew i was not stupid, but why could i not catch the words? How could i hear them, but not know what they were? These words were strangers to me. i, who dearly loved crossword puzzles and word finders? How could i not recognize my beloveds, my comfort blankets? Books were my friends, a fort i had built and hid in while my cousins fussed over their little palayok cooking sets. No, it was simply unacceptable. The red button sat regally on top of the cone, mocking me, daring me to press when i knew i couldn’t.

N O T E s & E s s AY s

i realize now that the padded walls might have been there for people like me to bang their heads on after the tests. The doctor was quiet as he mulled over the results, his lips a thin pink line, his brows knitted closely. He had the look of someone pretending to be doing something while he waited for the right words to come. i followed his lips as he finally looked up and gently released the words, “There’s a problem.” i looked from him to my mother, like a spectator in a tennis match. i studied her face, and again, i saw a poker game going on. What? i don’t know what’s going on. Somebody tell me. Seeing me anxious and trying not to be, her eyes soften and start to fill with a curious concoction of love, pity and strength. Outside the office, she explains that i have bad ears, and they would only get worse with time. it was untreatable, and i had been coping all this time by reading people’s lips. Her own lips, normally dark from years of smoking, were pale as she said this. The ride home was quiet, like a hearse on its way to a funeral. No one could look at me. Each one of us sat all the way home dipped in awkward silence. 4. Sensorineural Disorder. Two new words for me to learn. i rolled them over in my mouth, checking to see if i liked them. if i could be comfortable with them. They were, after all, two words i’d read over and over again from doctors and audiologists. i broke them down like i usually did with new words, because i liked finding the meanings of words (and as i grew up, events) that way. Deconstruction is how we make sense of chaos. Sensory—related to the senses. Neural— related to the nerves. Disorder—not in order; messy. My ear nerves must be broken then. Oh. i was both bewildered and bereft. it felt like an old playmate suddenly wouldn’t come out to play patintero in the streets, and had just decided one day to shut himself up indoors and stop being friends. Word travelled fast within the family. Soon, i was averting my eyes from the looks of pity and curiosity during family gatherings. No one knew what to say to me, preferring to talk to my mother over my head. The only one who did think to ask me himself was an uncle who took a perverse delight in testing me. it became a gratifying game to him to talk to me while i wasn’t looking, then ask gleefully if i “got that”. And of course, since i couldn’t, he quickly racked up a lot of “points” on his imaginary scoreboard. i felt

like a circus freak, a special breed of human created to entertain ignorant people, and possibly reassure them that they were fine after all. i put up with it because it hadn’t yet occurred to me that i could say something scathing in return—it was truly a testament to my docile nature as a child. But now that i look back on it, i think he had a bigger problem than i did. The greatest disability, i think, is the inability to be kind. 5. For a child, “belonging” is a big word. For an adult, especially a broken one, it is even bigger. Not all of us have the child’s resilience to deal with rejection. Each hurtful word takes root more deeply, each dismissive hand cuts closer to the bone. For me, the struggle to belong took the shape of a narrow zigzag road, each bend shuttling me back and forth between the hearing world and the silent one. The road was hindered with thick gnarled branches that slapped and scratched at me as i walked along, sometimes threatening to clutch me with claws and swoop me into the dark belly of the trunk. i plod along, hacking away at them with an ax made up of steel and guts, and most of the time, motivational quotes. Sometimes i grew tired and would sit in the middle of the road and consider if the search was worth it, if maybe staying in the middle wouldn’t be so bad. i went through the rest of my schooling clutching this blemish close to me. it was a badge i pinned to my beginner’s bra (and later on, my sexier adult bra)—always there but no one knew till they opened me up. My grandfather bought me a hearing aid—a ghastly black and silver rectangular box with a built-in clip to attach to my clothes. it had a dial to turn up the volume as needed, and came with flesh-colored earphones. i was horrified—i foresaw a future where bullies would loop the cord around my neck and squeeze it till i turned blue. i hid the device in my closet, tucked under my baggy dark green culottes (which were equally horrifying), and promptly forgot about it. i resolved to live my life like a “normal” person. But if normal meant being in groups and laughing raucously at one another’s jokes, i couldn’t really be one, though God knows i tried. But i had only two eyes, and they couldn’t keep up with people talking all at once. i would watch my friends’ faces for cues so i could submit the appropriate responses. i laughed when they laughed and looked sad when they did. i often went home wondering what that hilarious joke was, or what the juicy details about a friend’s breakup were, and felt like i had failed another test yet again. Being normal was exhausting.

DEC 2016 - JAN 2017 / ESQUIRE

N O T E s & E s s AY s

6. i latched on to the thought of divine healing. i dressed myself up in a bright pink top, jeans and sneakers and hied myself off to a prayer group meeting, where a healing pastor had been invited. i was nervous—my mother had taken me to a Healing Mass once before, and it had ended with me feeling a little bit queasy, and not the slightest bit “healed.” All i had accomplished was to fall into a faint, seemingly slain by the Holy Spirit. Well, not really. i was pushed into falling, actually, because maybe a person still standing after being laid hands on makes the healers look bad. This new one, a pastor from Nigeria, laid his hands over me, and whispered things into my right ear. i felt his breath tickle, and the low vibrations of his voice. He clapped his hands like a magician after each prayer into my ear, testing if i now understand. Of course i didn’t; instead, i was torn between the urge to laugh and the urge to cry and the urge to magick a force field around me where nobody could see my poor little nerve wrecking his healing record. After several tries, i could see he was frustrated, and out of pity for the poor pastor, i finally nodded and said, yes, thank you, i do understand now, giving him a graceful exit from the painfully embarrassing predicament. Afterwards, his assistant pastor, a short man with a brash manner about him, came over and told me, you don’t have enough faith, that’s why. i went home and pondered over this. Maybe he’s right, maybe i don’t have enough faith. i asked God, how much faith is enough faith? Why me? Am i not loved? Why won’t you heal me? i wrestled with God in this manner, day in and day out, in turns begging and defiant. The whole exercise brought me to a boil where i found my innards strewn out on the parquet floor on which i lay, exhausted and despairing. i found out that the atheists couldn’t be more wrong when they say that faith is the panacea of the weak. Because the truth is, faith is not for the faint-hearted. 7. After i had my children, i began to be afraid of the dark. The anesthesia from childbirth had taken a further toll on my hearing, taking huge chunks with it as it faded away. Darkness became a source of anxiety, not because of the possibility of supernatural occurrences or figments of my imagination coming to life, but because of the disconnect it creates. i cannot see; therefore, i cannot hear. i feel most vulnerable in the dark. it presses against me like a heavy sheet of iron-meshed cotton aimed to suffocate with both soft and stiff tenacity. The self-loathing creeps up on me and dashes all my hard-earned optimistic thoughts in a matter of seconds. (My husband does his best,

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speaking only when absolutely necessary, remembering to put my hand on his lips to read them, or his fingers on my chest as he spells out his message. it is absurdly romantic, a little luminous strawberry peeking out from a cold, forlorn landscape of dead gray crops.) Moments like this take my breath away, and i marvel at his deep well of patience. i sigh and gather the dregs of my confidence, wrap them carefully in linen, and tuck them in a little bundle in my heart, to be brought out again later when light and warmth have come back. 8. Of all the letters in the sign language alphabet, i like the letter R the most—in sign, it looks like two people entwined in a passionate embrace. it’s also the universal sign for “keep your fingers crossed,” which is also pretty much how i feel most of the time as i navigate through life. i had rearranged the furniture in my head and decided to learn sign language. i wanted to know if i could cross over to the silent side and find the elusive sense of self i craved. We made friends with people from the deaf community, and they patiently waited as we tried to decode their gestures and make our own flimsy, bumbling attempts to signal back. i was elated to be in a place where i could let my guard down, give my two invisible nerves a safe place to stay in hibernation. But not for long. Apparently, in Deaf culture, being hard-of-hearing does not automatically qualify one to belong to the community. Members of the Deaf community wear their deafness like a badge of honor, not a weakness to conquer. it defines them. Thus, they identify themselves as Deaf, instead of simply deaf. The D shouts out their pride. i was a transient sailor, cut adrift from the ship once again. Try as i might, i could not pretend i liked losing my hearing as the years go by, the sounds slowly becoming fainter like the caws of gulls as they fly farther away in the sky. Perhaps the difference lay in that—that i had once known sound intimately while they hadn’t, and i couldn’t pretend i didn’t miss it. it was not that theirs was a lesser experience—it was just different from mine, is all. None of their senses were broken; they were born knowing that they had four complete senses. i was born knowing i had five, and one was slowly fading, its heartbeat faintly pulsing into longer pauses until it collapses into a flatline someday. i was like a mother whose child had been diagnosed and with terminal illness. She knew he would one day go for good, but she could not come to terms with it no matter how many comforting lies she told herself. Finally, the middle of the road began to look comfortable.

N O T E s & E s s AY s

9. “We accept the love we think we deserve.” When i first read this line from The Perks of Being A Wallflower, i felt like i had woken up from a deep sleep. it explained so much of my romantic relationships, why i was content to accept crappy behaviour and halfhearted engagements from my lovers. i kept much of me to myself, afraid to be rejected if they found out more about me. Afraid to be thought of as stupid. Afraid to be tossed into a box labelled “broken”. i actually was once tossed aside, by a boyfriend who could not bear having a hard-of-hearing girlfriend but could not say it to my face. i had to learn about it from a well-meaning friend. Even then, i found it an acceptable reason, perhaps because i had always expected to be abandoned anyway. The downside of this, however, was that i had never had my heart broken, because i had never given them enough of myself to break. Sometimes, when i tell people right away that i am hard of hearing, they almost always clam up and end up not talking to me at all. i think that people rarely meet people like me, and it is the nature of human beings to be afraid of the unknown. They don’t know what to do, and so they smile and nod awkwardly. They walk on tiptoes, so careful not to say something ignorant and offensive. On one hand, i think it’s sweet that they care about my feelings. But on the other hand, the fear of offending can also prevent the forging of real connections. The fear of offending, i think, builds more walls than confrontation does. Over the years, as i found myself in the middle of the road more and more often, i grew comfortable in my own skin, in my own place. i guess time does that to you if you let it—it makes you give less of a shit what others think, and if you are self-aware enough, it makes you like the person you are becoming. it makes you start to see your scars, especially the ones you inflicted on yourself, in a different light—as imprinted medals of honor or notches on your sword, like warriors do. 10. A friend once told me that i was the best listener she knew. We both laughed at the irony of it. She was not the first one to tell me this—i have at times been singled out from quiet oblivion even by people i barely knew as a keeper of secrets, a living journal of sorts. They tell me their deepest regrets and their greatest joys, but more often than not, the heartaches they can tell no one else about. They say it’s because of the way i sit in rapt attention, my eyes fixed on their faces, soaking in their every word, like nothing else matters except their

story. i think it’s what all of us crave the most out of life, really—to be seen, to be heard, to know that we matter. it is this revelation that leads me to finally find the beauty in my own imperfection. if i were blessed with perfect hearing, would i have been blessed with the ability to listen so well, too? Or would i have become just like the millions of people who can hear every sound perfectly, but miss the nuances conveyed in a message? Most people listen with the intent to reply, i’ve read somewhere. And it’s true. i notice this in my conversations with normal-hearing people sometimes. They seem to be listening, but i know they’re not. Sometimes even as i share my own tidbits, i can sense that they are already rehearsing what next to say to me, sifting through their mental files the best anecdote to illustrate their point. Other times, i see them nodding along, but i know their minds are elsewhere—it could be in their kitchens, making a rundown of the things they need to cook dinner tonight, or it could be back at the office remembering what an ass their boss was today. Their eyes tell me this, or their legs or the way they hold their arms tightly. But i don’t take it personally. After all, who knows if i wouldn’t have turned out the same way had things gone differently? Maybe the burden is there to help me share another’s burden. This absurd relativity makes sense to me. it helps me tilt my head to the side and say, here, rest on one of these shoulders. it helps me take their stories home with me and add them to my library of heartaches, built to understand both the human inclination to surrender and the stronger, more primal, urge to survive. 11. My husband has texted me to say that he will be arriving soon. i go back to the counter and order him a latte to go. A different barista is at the cash register, and he asks me a question while my head is bowed down as i rummage in my wallet for change. i ask him to repeat what he said. He mumbles again, but his lips are somewhat stilted, as if he was trying to keep his upper teeth from falling out. i ask him again and apologize for misunderstanding. Finally i read it—how is your day going, he says. Oh, it’s fine, it’s going well, thank you. He smiles awkwardly and takes my money. He turns to his colleague beside him and mouths, “Ang tanga naman nito.” i wait till he turns back to me, smile at him sweetly and say, “You know, i’m just deaf, not dumb.” His eyes go wide and he gets flustered, his fingers fidgeting at the coins in the register. i enjoy his discomfort for a while, then i remember that it makes me no better than my ignorant uncle. i smile at him once more, kindly this time, and wish him a good day.

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i step out into the sunlight, letting the breeze rustle my hair. i wave my arms to call my husband closer. i hand him his coffee, and we walk together towards the crowd. As i lace my fingers through his other hand, i look at his fingers—the ones that spell out letters in the dark. The skin on his hand has become drier and more lined since the first time we met. i look at his lips and read kindness in the grooves that grow deeper as he ages. He is a pragmatic man, not given to big declarations of love or fantastic gestures of romance. He is far from perfect, but so am i. And inasmuch as i am a romantic person, the one given to ideals and flights of fancy, i appreciate his practical sensibility. Practical people know the value of things, and as such, he did not throw me away. instead, he took my hand and together we threw out the box, the one labelled “broken.” i had no use for it in my life anymore.

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We walk towards the grandstand, the music from the loudspeakers thumping. i feel its beat in my chest, its pulse in my wrist. The music feels alive, full of promise and possibility. Gone are the days when i could appreciate the more subtle notes in a composition, or close my eyes to a soothing story of love as told by a piano. These days, much of the music i can still perceive are those that have a deep and throbbing enough bass tone for me to feel. 12. But there is music to be found in silence, too. in being content with reading people’s lips. it happens when one is at peace with a world she has come to understand owes her nothing. it comes with the knowledge that there is no need to belong, only a need to be. it is a familiar awareness that i stand on a bridge that connects my two worlds. And strangely enough, it is the spot where the view is most beautiful. Och Gonzalez-Umlas is an essayist

I m Ag E tA k E N f Ro m t h E N E W Yo R k P U B L I C L I B R A RY

N O T E s & E s s AY s

DEC 2016 - JAN 2017 / ESQUIRE

Her excellency perhaps for the first time in living memory, we have a vice president who is more than a ceremonial figure. we should be paying attention to leni robredo.

by S a s h a M a r t i n ez Ph oto g ra p h s by Fra n c i s c o G u e rre ro

When the Vice President of the PhiliPPines returns to her office at dusk of November 9th, her staff have just finished watching Donald Trump quite graciously delivering his victory speech as president-elect of the United States of America. I stood with her in-house think tank in that half-circle gathered before the television, reading over and over the marquee that declared, in too-big and too-bold type, that Trump—uncouth, unqualified, unabashedly racist and sexist Mr. Trump—was the new leader of the Land of the Free. I killed time listening to the first bars of his speech, waiting for my appointment with my Vice President, wondering for the nth time when exactly this world stopped making sense. Trump’s win is a blow for Filipinos of a certain political, perhaps even moral bent. Its transatlanticism can only underscore the increasing powerlessness individuals have against the machinations of states, of the maddeningly frequent irrationalities of groupthink. All these sorrows are growing larger; the bleeding hearts among us rail at the apparent uselessness of one’s faith in humanity.

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PHOTOgRAPHS BY CHARI VILLEgAS AND MARTIN BAUTISTA/OVP

“Sana he won’t take it against me,” the duly-elected Vice President “Nanghihina ako,” says the Vice President when I finally sit says now, “in the sense na, dahil sa statement ko, ipitin niya ‘yung work.” down with her and confirm the Trump news. And she laughs, Has that ever happened? and it is the kind of laughter relieved to be let out, the kind “Hindi naman,” she says. “In fairness to him. Ako, I’ve of laughter that understands it is the very best thing it can be been very vocal about my opposition to the extrajudicial after weathering through a battery from the past few days. It’s killings, death penalty, Martial Law, Libingan ng mga Bayani. the kind of laugh that escapes you before you brace yourself for And sometimes he jokes about it during Cabinet meetings. another round of punches. “As in, physically, nanghihina ako.” Halimbawa, ‘Extrajudicial killings. Ay, ayoko na ‘yan pag-usapan, And what can you do, besides stand with her in her bracing? nandito si Ma’am, magagalit na naman ‘yan sa’kin.’ ‘yung mga And, consider: Vice President Leni Robredo has just emerged ganun. ‘Yung sa akin naman, basta ma-retain sa level na yun, ‘yung from an immensely charged November 8th in Tacloban—the nakakapagtrabaho pa ako. ‘Di ba? There are things na kailangan mo third anniversary of the landfall of Super Typhoon Yolanda, na lang lunukin, kasi may mas malaking obligasyon ka.” on its own an occasion weighted with grief and duty, but one It was on November 8th, too, that the Supreme Court that made salacious headlines when President Rodrigo Duterte rejected all petitions seeking to prevent the late dictator saw it fit to boast to an alarmingly receptive audience about Ferdinand E. Marcos’ burial at the Libingan ng mga Bayani, how he made a habit of ogling Vice President Robredo’s legs. sending shockwaves of stunned outrage among what was This, as the Vice President shared the stage with him and with looking like an increasingly powerless opposition. Outrage—and a coterie of their colleagues, looking like she was reaching into anger, and betrayal, and grief. A move campaigned for by Marcos her considerable reserves of restraint and class to not let the progeny who were rising higher and higher in the political ranks, prattle and snigger of immature boys get to her. Let this pass, and with the President’s blessing: Rendering the highest honors was the Vice President thinking? Let it pass quickly; there’s so to a man who masterminded one of the bloodiest regimes of much work I have to do today. modern Filipino history, who plunged the Philippines into a kind What can you, a citizen, do when your country’s president bandies of political, social, economic muck that, 30 about his habitual harassment of the years on, we’re still struggling to get out of. second-highest executive in the land? What And the Vice President, in a Romualdez can you, a citizen, do when a man who was country, surrounded by tarpaulins bearing swept into power by 16 million Filipinos the late dictator’s son’s name instead of has habitually tagged your Vice President hers—the very same late dictator’s son a woman-as-object, subject to male desire, who’s filed a case against the Supreme first and foremost? What can you, a mere Court protesting his loss against Vice citizen, do to protest the tastelessness, President Robredo—had to roll with that the sheer offensiveness, of the country’s punch, too: “Ako kasi, I have always been most powerful man—especially since very vocal about my opposition. There he was elected into office riding on his were talks already that they would decide repeated admissions of his womanizing that way—pero alam mo ‘yun, because you ways, his tendency to shower women on felt so strongly about it, parang you were the campaign trail with his advances, his always hoping that until the very end, “joke” about wishing he’d been the first in they would have a change of heart? Sa’kin, line to rape a missionary? Especially since nandoon ako sa Yolanda anniversary when this government has inexorably embraced I learned of the decision. ‘Yung physical misogyny as a guiding principle? manifestation, talagang…” The Vice You reach into the considerable President sighs, shrugs, waves that away. reserves of anger and outrage that “Pero, alam natin na wala tayong magagawa. you possess, and you protest and you Nirerespeto natin ‘yung Supreme Court. condemn, and you make sure to do so Palagay ko, sana hindi mahinto ‘yung pagstanding with her. express natin ng feeling of indignation. Kasi Following the furor that met the tingin ko, it’s not as simple as—sasabihin president’s demeaning, the Vice President na, ‘Patay na ‘yun e, kalimutan na lang natin.’ released a statement: “When President Parang, tingin ko kasi: ‘Yung values natin as Duterte made inappropriate remarks, I a nation, ‘di ba?” deliberately chose to ignore these. There I tell her that a lot of people are are larger and more urgent issues we scared—by this seeming denial of confront as a nation that demand our historical fact, of the plight of thousands collective attention… Tasteless remarks who suffered under the dictatorship. She and inappropriate advances against Action FiGURE says, “‘Yun nga eh. Parang may chilling effect women should have no place in our society. The VP has also taken it upon herself to expand siya. May chilling effect ‘yung ginagawa We should expect that most of all from our even the scope of what services her office is na… Ako kasi, parati akong optimistic. Parati leaders.” She capped her statement with a expected to provide the citizenry: “Traditionally kasi, yung Office of the Vice President ginagawa akong optimistic na everything happens promise to fulfill her mandate as “the duly niya, mas political at mas ceremonial… I told for a reason. I think in the end, parati ring elected Vice President,” regardless of the my staff, I can’t spend six years doing just ‘yung good will prevail over evil.” noise around her. ceremonial stuff.

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Before that rallying cry has a chance to sink in, she continues: “Kaya lang, ‘yung tanong lang: Yung wounds sa atin: How much can we carry? Kasi sunod-sunod. Sunod-sunod.”

W h At d o E S A V i c E P R E S i d E n t d o ?

After nearly two weeks of filling up key positions in his Cabinet (and following a pointedly separate inauguration ceremony), President Duterte appointed his Vice President to head the Housing and Urban Development Coordinating Council—a position occupied by two of her predecessors. But what her predecessors didn’t inherit was the backlog of pledges and obligations following the widespread devastation wrought by Yolanda—a workload that necessitated an immediate expansion of the HUDCC’s mandate of merely coordinating (and not supervising) the activities of the government’s six housing agencies, all of which have charters of their own. Given the enormity of the things she’s seeking to accomplish, and with a keen awareness of the limitations of the post, Robredo has made moves to strengthen the council’s mandate by transforming it into a Department—by way of a draft Executive Order that, as of this writing, is currently sitting unsigned on the president’s desk. “Until and unless hindi siya ma-convert into a Department,” says the VP, “kaya sa amin, ang dami na naming gustong gawin, hindi namin magawa kasi wala sa mandate namin… Kung department sana kami, magagawa na namin at our level.” The VP points out that over the years the HUDCC has taken on a reputation for underperforming—and not because of incumbent chairs, but because of institutional lacks that need to be addressed. “‘Yung point ko naman, nandito tayo para magtrabaho, so gawin na natin ‘yung lahat. Lalo na kasi 5.6 million yung ating [housing] backlog, tapos ‘yung policies natin ngayon ay...mageescalate ‘yung backlog.” She adds: “Meron din kasing mindset na: ‘Basta lang.’ Parati kong ine-emphasize ngayon sa kanila na ang accomplishment natin: Building homes, building communities, not just building houses. Kasi parang over the years, yung pinaka accomplishment ay number of houses built—kahit masama, kahit ang layo, walang tubig… Accomplishment na yun, kasi ang metric, number of houses built.” She’s also pushing for government to remain cognizant of its duty to relocate citizens with as little disruption as possible. “It’s a lot of work... pero ayoko rin na uupo ako, gagawin ko yung dating ginagawa kahit mali. Sabi ko, kahit na matagalan, basta inayos na natin. Para rin sa mga susunod sa atin.” Does she have the president’s backing on her plans for government housing? “At least, doon sa mga areas na kailangan—halimbawa, housing— the president has been very supportive. Sobrang daming problema sa housing ngayon, and every time na nagrereport ako sa kanya, parating sinasabi ko ‘yung proposed na next steps, so far very supportive naman siya.” The VP has also taken it upon herself to expand even the scope of what services her office is expected to provide the citizenry:

i want to continue my anti-poverty programs from before on a more nationwide scale.

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“Traditionally kasi, ‘yung Office of the Vice President ginagawa niya, mas political at mas ceremonial… I told my staff, I can’t spend six years doing just ceremonial stuff. So, sabi ko, gusto ko, to make the office more advocacy-heavy. So, eto na, nag-isip kami. We don’t have the mandate naman to execute programs, and we don’t have the budget to execute programs, pero I want to continue my anti-poverty programs from before on a more nationwide scale. So, inisip namin, paano ba kami makakagalaw without money? So, naisip namin, to make the office a sort of a conduit between those communities in need and ‘yung mga gustong tumulong.”

CARDIgAN BY HERMèS, gREENBELT 3; TURTLENECk BY ESCADA SPORT, gREENBELT 5

And so the past four months have seen the Vice President travel across the archipelago, sometimes to municipalities that have never been visited by national government officials, sometimes holding meetings in the middle of rice fields— touching base with communities to learn firsthand what kind of help they need and bridging them with private institutions eager to lend a hand. It’s an echo of the VP’s career as an alternative (pro bono) lawyer for the poor—and her continuing to advocate for “the last, the least, and the lost” is an impressive push against the institutional limitations of her position.

And yet. It’s a particularly noisy government we have, complete with chest-thumping, cat-calling, and careless jokes disguising public policy. How do you work in this atmosphere— how do you do your job? “Sa akin din, six years is a short time, and there is so much to do. Kung mag-eengage pa ako, papatulan ko pa lahat ng bagay? Halimbawa, tulad ng kay Presidente, two sides of the coin parati, merong happy na nag-co-cooperate ako sa kanya, merong unhappy kasi magkaiba kami [ng partida]. Pero sa akin naman, ‘yung point ko, there’s a job to do. I might not agree with all that he is or everything that he says, DEC 2016 - JAN 2017 / ESQUIRE

pero as long as I communicate to him the message, and as long as he respects me despite the differences in opinion—tapos hayaan niya akong gawin ang trabaho ko, ako, hundred percent talaga. And so far, in fairness to him, marami na kaming disagreements, pero, in fairness to him, as far as ‘yung housing is concerned, he has been very supportive. That’s good enough for me. Kung may magawa akong something in a few years, ‘di ba?” The VP points out: “Ang daming kaguluhan sa paligid. Parati kong sinasabi, I’m focused on the targets, I keep my eyes on the ball. I will not allow myself to be distracted by all of this. Halimbawa, nung nag-decide in favor of Libingan, ang daming nagsasabi, ‘Sunod nito, tatalunin na ako [with the electoral protest].’ Ang sa akin naman, hindi naman ako nagpapabaya. Nandiyan yung mga abogado ko, inaasikaso ‘yung kaso ko.” I tell her, with the force of the sorrows wrought on bleeding hearts across the country, in a desperate bid for the world to start making sense again: Whatever happens, we’ll have your back. “I appreciate that, but I also want to rally people to unite. Kasi, hindi ko rin gusto na parang, dinidivide ko lalo. Ayoko ‘yun. Kaya, ang effect naman noon sa akin, may tendency akong maglow profile, para lang hindi—I think, kasi, it’s too early in the day. Ang dami nang nangyayari. Pero, alam mo ‘yun, parang I think it will always be to the benefit of everyone ‘pag… hindi pala-away ka. Mas parating: Between several choices, doon ka sa choice that would create minimal [damage].” Duly chastened, but not quite enough, I ask if she’s okay with being thought of as an opposition leader. “No. Kasi tingin ko, even if I’m in politics already for the past four years, I still don’t see myself as a politician, in the sense na I know how to traverse this route. I think, eventually, kailangan kong maintindihan. But I’m not rushing. I’m not pressuring myself into following the same paths na finollow ng iba. Ako, palagay ko, there will always be better ways of doing things.” And Vice President Robredo has work to do, better things to do, than go toe-to-toe with all the noise.

realization that despite all that, there are still people who choose, every day, to slip those rubber bracelets around their wrists, to announce their as-fervent-as-ever support for the strongman they very proudly put in power, all 16 million of them. At some point, you get tired of arguing. Opposition has always been paramount to a functioning democracy. But the current political atmosphere has presented to the minority the options of: Get in line, or else. The administration’s communications secretary is in one broadsheet branding those who protest a hero’s burial for the dictator “temperamental brats.” In another broadsheet the mascot-cum-mobilizer of Duterte supporters online insists on her right to manipulate facts to provoke her considerable lynch mobs. In the halls of Congress, political party lines have blurred in service of popular thought and the promise of a reinstituted pork barrel. Over at the Senate, vocal critics of the administration are persecuted and steam-rolled over—with Senator Leila de Lima foremost among them weathering through months of sordid accusations involving sex tapes, drug money, and being carelessly tagged by the Justice Secretary as the mastermind behind the death of a surrenderee mayor murdered in his cell, all after being forcibly wrested from heading the one government committee that dared investigate murders carried out under the guise of an indiscriminate war on drugs. Online, dissent is hushed, and often by hordes who’d not hesitate to shower you with all iterations of verbal abuse. And so: How do you, a mere citizen, protect the Vice President from the legion—headed by the unapologetic son of a dictator, condoned by the President who’d tagged the dictator’s daughter as his primary donor during the elections—eager to unseat her? How do you, a mere citizen, fight the battles she’d rather not fight because she’s got so much work to do, and someone in this damned government has to keep the wheels running, someone among our nation’s top officials has to make that necessary trek to sitios difficult to place on maps to hold meetings in rice fields? How do you rally around someone beset at all sides? How do you stand with one of the last pure bleeding hearts in the Republic, when your own has grown too weary? How many more wounds can you carry? How much more bracing can you take? What do you tell Filipinos losing hope? “Sana isipin na the power is in our hands,” says the Vice President. “‘Yung mga ganito, tingin ko, minor upheavals ‘to. They were allowed to happen for a greater reason. Puwedeng hindi pa natin alam kung bakit, pero always naman—yung tawag ng asawa ko diyan, connecting the dots. Eventually it will make sense. Pero what’s important is what you did while you try to make sense out of things. You do not lose sight of what you believe in, you do not lose sight of the goal. You drown out the voices, because there are bigger battles to fight.”

the eVening before I met with the Vice President— fresh from the Supreme Court’s decision on the Libingan issue—a man wearing a Duterte baller approached me, trying to sell me a Philippine flag fashioned out of plastic beads and crystals. I nod at his baller, ask, “Binoto mo si Duterte?” “Of course.” “Naniniwala ka pa rin sa kanya, kahit ang dami nang namamatay?” “Ay, ma’am, but the police only kill them because they’re nag-laban, you know? And, others, they kill each other.” I did not argue. Encounters like this hammer home one’s seemingly indelible status as political minority—even in the midst of the social turmoil, the rise of human rights violations and murders, the sheer unpredictability of our government’s moral compass. Encounters like this hit you with the

STYLING CLIFFORD OLANDAY • SHOOT DIRECTION PAUL VILLARIBA MAKEUP RONA T. RESÑGIT • HAIR MURIEL VEGA PEREZ • STYLING ASSISTANT MIGUEL ESCOBAR

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TURTLENECk BY ESCADA SPORT, gREENBELT 5

“ang daming kaguluhan sa paligid. parati kong sinasabi, i’m focused on the targets, i keep my eyes on the ball. i will not allow myself to be distracted by all of this.”

DEC 2016 - JAN 2017 / ESQUIRE

20 naughty or nice?

we made a list, and checked it twice, but we leave it to you to figure out whoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s been naughty and whoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s been nice. their deeds have brought them notoriety or fame. who do you think will go down in history with glory or with shame?

I l l u s t ra t i o n s by L e e C a c e s

naughty nice

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pretty hate machine IN THE THEATER OF DIGITAL WAR, MOCHA USON IS WINNING FAR MORE HEARTS AND MINDS (AND LIKES AND CLICKS) THAN LEGITIMATE NEWS OUTLETS THROUGH HER UNREPENTANTLY PRO-DUTERTE BLOG. IS SHE REALLY ALL THAT BAD? by Au d rey N . C a rp io Ph o t o g ra p h s by J o s e p h Pa s c u a l

THERE IS THE WORLD WE KNOW, where we get our news from TV networks that have been established before Martial Law, and our opinions from the newspapers that were founded in its wake. A world where we naturally trust a multi-awarded investigative journalist who specializes in terrorism, and the news website she launched as a platform for social change. The prevailing narratives we read from these sources have us believe that out on the streets, there is a war on drugs that is too deadly for us to stand idly by, that our country is aligning with a new axis of evil, that our duly elected leader is a madman bent on dragging us to hell. Then there is the Upside Down. In this world, Facebook bloggers amass more followers and boast higher engagement numbers than their professional, traditional, and mainstream counterparts, who are accused of skewing and skewering the truth. A woman named Mocha, adamantly not-a-journalist, becomes a one-stop source of information, opinion and discourse for at least four million people—who, through her, have found their voice. In this world, things are ﬁnally happening for the “ordinary” Filipino people, long oppressed by the oligarchs, the Americans, and the Liberal Party. Duterte is not a demon but a demigod, and those who are convinced otherwise are just yellow-blinded by their irrational hate. A monster was unleashed in the schism that was the 2016 elections, and that monster is you and me. We remain on the opposite sides of each other, as pros and antis, as patriots and traitors, as silencers and dissenters, as meme busters and satirists, turds, tards, trolls, and bots and all manner of destabilizers. As another hundred days pass, our beliefs one way or the other become only further entrenched. There is no going back, there is no returning right side up.

MOCHA USON IS KITTED OUT IN HER USUAL COMBAT GEAR— camo jacket, skinny jeans, camo Nike Zoom LeBron Soldiers. We are shooting at the Icon Clinic, an aesthetic center that has been working with the Mocha Girls from the time they were still dancing provocatively. While we wait, the Mocha Girls’ manager, Lord Byron Cristobal, shows me a photo from the clinic’s decidedly un-risqué 2017 calendar: the girls are all dressed in classy Filipiniana, with Mocha in a striking First Lady-worthy red terno. The transformation is complete. Byron is also heavily involved with the Mocha Uson Blog. He and Mocha form a trim two-person team, going around to ﬁlm and interview various department heads and government personalities. The blog was recently the target of a Change.org petition to be struck down for spreading false information. As of this writing, the blog prevails, with the petition short of 1,760 signatures; meanwhile, the petitioner’s page was swiftly suspended for “violating Facebook community standards,” thanks to Mocha’s Facebook army and the Report Page button. Mocha didn’t give an attack command; she doesn’t need to. She just leaves it right there—a link from Trendingnewsportal.net.ph, a hint of an outrageous conspiracy, or a photograph of her gagged mouth, with a rallying cry that they will never be silenced. Sometimes, the posts are more insidious, like the nameand-shaming campaign of two local Reuters correspondents DEC 2016 - JAN 2017 / ESQUIRE

who supposedly broke the Hitlergate story, with a caption that reads: “Irresponsible journalists must be punished,” a meme that originated from what looks like a pro-Bongbong Marcos troll account. Then there was a post featuring the Facebook profile of an Ateneo student who edited the “Mochang Tanga” lampoon issue of Matanglawin, highlighting that he was once an intern at Rappler; this would inevitably lead to cyberbullying (the post has since been removed). It’s all fair game to Mocha, who has been slut-shamed, stupid-shamed, and on the receiving end of every misogynistic insult one can hurl at a woman who used to write a sex column for Maxim Philippines, but now blogs about the Duterte administration. The shift in content was sudden, but the taming of Mocha’s image was gradual. “Nag-lay low na kami sa sexiness. Maxim featured me on their cover in 2009. Tapos two years lang siya or one. Nung nawala na yung Maxim magazine, hindi na kami gaanong ka-sexy na rin,” she says. (Her Maxim cover was explicit even for today’s standards—perhaps even more progressive, billing itself as the Gay and Lesbian issue). Mocha was, and still is, the lead singer-dancer of the all-girl group she formed almost ten years ago, and despite her rise to prominence as a political blogger, her full-time job is still performing with the group—which they do every single night. “We sing and dance, do a little bit of comedy, hosting, games. It’s like a variety show.” The Mocha Uson Blog, which migrated to Facebook from Maxim, Wordpress, and ABS-CBN, already had 2.5 million likers before it got political. One of the first posts that indicated Mocha’s pivot, made just a week after Duterte announced his candidacy, was about the group’s willingness to give up their racy numbers if Duterte won: “Kasi sa Davao, conservative sila when it comes to pageants—bawal yata ’yung swimwear dun, and bawal din ’yung mga super sexy performances dun. So we said na kung sakaling ipagbabawal ’yung sexy shows, we’re willing to sacrifice that. Kaya dun nagsimula… from the Heneral Luna movie, ‘Bayan o negosyo?’ So pipiliin namin bayan muna.” Sexy shows have not been banned in Davao or anywhere else, but Mocha changed the look of the group anyway. When they performed at pro-Duterte rallies, the girls would wear camo pants and Duterte jerseys. “Parang it symbolizes revolution. Na it’s time for a revolution.”

MOCHA USON, BORN MARGAUX, was a 20-year-old medical technology student when her father, a regional trial judge in Pangasinan, was gunned down by two men riding-in-tandem on a motorcycle. “He was handling a very sensitive case, a mayoral electoral protest,” she says. “So he was being bullied in court, because my father, he always did the right thing. Because of that, he was assassinated.” Early in 2016, a Rappler article contextualized Mocha’s background by republishing an excerpt from a Newsbreak investigative report from 2007 that cited Oscar Uson as one of the victims in a spate of judiciary killings (not to be confused with… judicial killings). “It was politically motivated. And that was the biggest reason I supported President Duterte. Kasi katulad ng ibang mga tao, katulad ng halos lahat ng Pilipino, sawa na sa corrupt na sistema ng gobyerno.”

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Way before she campaigned for Duterte, Mocha was lending her name and body to specific causes. Starting in 2010, Mocha harnessed her sex-positive philosophy—and willingness to bare skin—for the public good by becoming a breast cancer awareness advocate. From showing breast exams on YouTube to holding nude-painting fundraisers for her mother, who had breast cancer, Mocha naturally threw her support behind the RH Bill, which was on its long and rough road to being passed. She handed out condoms and purple ballers that said “I Love Sex Education” and even publicly challenged then-Congressman Manny Pacquiao, a known RH opponent, to a discussion on the benefits of the proposed law. She raised quite a few eyebrows with some of her methods, but Mocha is one chick who just DGAF. “I don’t care about what people think or say about me. Kung may gusto akong gawin, gagawin ko.” Just how did Mocha take her 2.5 million followers and almost double it within a year? She saw what was missing from mainstream media: positive reinforcement for her candidate’s supporters. “Everyone was on Facebook. ‘Yung mga tao, they wanted to see kung ilan ‘yung tao sa rally ni Duterte. Kami, nakakapunta kami sa mga rally niya and we’re doing that voluntarily. So the people, they can see the updates from my Facebook. So d’un dumami. Kasi pinapakita namin ’yung mga hindi napapakita sa media.” Her page became an alternative source of information for the many, many people who supported Duterte. Those on free data, who are unable to access links outside Facebook on their phones, would particularly find her updates useful (conversely, those on free data might only read headlines or her accompanying captions). After Du31, Mocha ran an online survey among her “ka-DDS” (Duterte Die-Hard Supporters, a subversion of Davao Death Squad). “Ano yung top ten wish list niyo para kay Pangulong Duterte na magagawa niya in 100 days?” she asked. Their number one request was to have a direct hotline to the president’s office where they can lodge complaints about corruption or poor services in the government. With list in hand, Mocha traveled to Davao and waited in line with everyone else—“no VIP treatment, kahit na Gokongwei ka pa, you have to line up”—for five hours to see the President and discuss each item, on camera. The next day, at a speech delivered in Cebu, Duterte announced his plans to launch a 24-hour direct hotline to his office, which would be called 8888. “He already had that in mind,” Mocha says. “Ang maganda, pinakinggan niya ‘yung request ng tao, and the next day, sinabi na niya in public.” Other wishes that were checked off the list were a solution to the tanim-bala problem, a national ID system, and additional resources for OFWs, which was addressed by the One-Stop

A MONSTER WAS UNLEASHED IN THE SCHISM THAT WAS THE 2016 ELECTIONS, AND THAT MONSTER IS YOU AND ME.

airport or at the POEA. Encouraged by the responses to her citizen-journalist videos, Mocha has made her blog’s threefold mission to be the voice of the voiceless Filipinos, to focus on the positive changes made by the Duterte administration, and to expose the evil in this world.

Service Center. The only thing on the list that hasn’t been implemented yet, but might be granted as a Christmas gift, is the death penalty. Since then, Mocha has become a complaints department and PR agency rolled into one. Disgruntled citizens, folks with unresolved cases, and OFWs needing assistance would message her with their problems. She would try to help by forwarding the email to the relevant ofﬁcial; if that doesn’t work, they “make noise on Facebook” until they get their attention. While she has voluntarily offered to disseminate information for various agencies, she goes the extra mile by physically checking out and documenting the new services, for instance, at the

GIVEN MOCHA’S NOBLE INTENTIONS, what’s all the handwringing about? After Duterte, no one comes close to being as divisive a figure on social media as Mocha Uson, self-proclaimed ordinary citizen. Numerous essays have been written about her and her rise to influence, and she served as the lynchpin in one of the articles in Rappler’s series on the weaponization of the internet. On the side of her detractors, there is the opinion that at worst, she maliciously makes viral fake news and incites hate, and at best, is a blind follower who shuts down anyone who disagrees with her. “…Arguably her most toxic effect— contributing to the dumbing down of Philippine society by spreading a culture of misinformation/uneducation and ‘tsismis’ (speculation), among others,” recently railed The Superficial Gazette, a satirical site. “Mocha Uson and her fanatic underlings in the Administration’s Propaganda War promote an ‘if you’re not with me, you’re my enemy’ narrative, one that attempts to portray politics as having only two sides: ‘Duterte’ or ‘Dilaw’ (Google ‘false dichotomy’).” (In her defense, Mocha denies sharing fake news. “They’re trying to discredit me. Check my sources. If you think it’s not true, then debunk, debunk the news that I posted.”) On the other extreme are fawning commentaries that herald Mocha as the second coming, like this one from De La Salle professor Antonio P. Contreras in the Manila Times on Oct. 27: “Mocha Uson is powerful not because of her intelligence. She is powerful because she renders intelligence useless. She is powerful not because she produces facts. She is powerful because she renders facts irrelevant. She has become powerful by reinventing her sexuality…Mocha Uson destabilized, challenged, unmasked. She forced the contradictions of the conflicted, hypocritical social elites to unravel.” Both camps perhaps give too much credit to Mocha the personality, neglecting the four million-strong followers who entrusted her with this power. On her page, they are neither talked down to nor ridiculed for their political naiveté, improper grammar or poor debating skills. Sure, some of them exhibit trollish behavior, but this can be said of people on both sides of the fence. However, Mocha recently installed a “no-debate” policy on her page, effectively turning her blog into one big—and potentially dangerous—echo chamber. “They already have this judgment about me. So sabi ko there’s no point kasi, bakit pa ako magsasalita, e iniisip niyo, bobo, tanga, walang alam,” she says. “Kayo mga nagtatalino-talinuhan, meron naman kayong mga page nang sarili, d’un kayo magtalo. Kasi ang ginagawa ng mga sinasabing disente sila, mas maraming alam, ay inaaway yung mga ordinaryong tao na hindi magaling mag-English, inaapi sila hanggang sa Facebook.” She recognizes that the Mocha Uson phenomenon is not solely about her. The attempt to shut her down offered her a

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little sense of relief at first, because if she didn’t have a blog, she wouldn’t also have as much stress. But she says she was surprised by the angry reactions. “They’re not trying to silence me. It’s not me. ’Pag pinetition nila na tanggalin ‘yung Mocha Uson Blog, it’s the four million people there,” she points out. “‘Bakit nila kami pinapatahimik?’ Sabi ng mga Duterte supporters. Parang, kayo lang ang tama? Wala bang karapatan magsalita ang ordinaryong tao?” Mocha found a father figure in the President, as have millions of other supporters, and their oftentimes-rabid pack mentality is attributed to their intense loyalty to Tatay Digong. “’Pag mayroong mga taong bumabastos sa tatay namin—tinatawag siyang psychopath, dine-disrespect siya—nasasaktan ’yung mga anak niya,” she explains. “Ngayon, ’yung mga anak niya, ipagtatanggol ‘yung tatay nila. Kaya ‘yun lang normal reaction, na pag-binully mo ‘yung tatay namin, magagalit kami.” Those on the dissenting “disente” side would blame this allegiance to a strongman and their implicit acceptance of his tactics, no matter how disturbing, to low educational levels, weak institutions, or the failures of the past administrations—but the fact remains, there are a hell of a lot of people who believe in the President’s oblique brilliance and inherent goodness. His supporters don’t fully agree with the extrajudicial killings, either, as seen in the Social Weather Stations survey, which revealed that 71 percent of respondents who approve of the War on Drugs would rather the drug suspects be captured alive. How to explain this cognitive dissonance when, according to PNP statistics, 4,700 have been killed since Duterte took office? As to the singular issue that is tearing our nation apart—what EJKs, they say. The almost-daily body count is due to legitimate police operations or inter-cartel executions, obviously. And Duterte’s promise to kill 300,000 to three million more people? Hyperbole. Someone once told Mocha about an uncle who was a longtime shabu addict. Nothing could stop the uncle, until Duterte threatened to kill him. “He has to speak their language, the language of the criminals. You have to look them in the eye. It takes a Duterte to scare these criminals.” Duterte doubters might dismiss these statements as the desperate rationalizations of blind followers. But I don’t see Mocha as a blind follower. She took a leap of faith with her eyes wide open when she decided to campaign for this man, and accepted him, flaws and all, as captain of the ship. Nobody knows what Duterte is really thinking, not even his Cabinet, and his increasingly vitriolic tirades may leave us tearing our hair out—but the DDS look beyond his words and focus on the actions, the results. They see, for instance, the positive

of Filipino fishermen being allowed to fish in our shoal again, not that an international arbitration court ruling has been set aside. Everything the media has portrayed Duterte to be is the reverse, Mocha laments, and she cites an example. In the Mocha Girls’ active career as touring performers, they’ve come across their share of dodgy politicians who show their true colors by treating them like prostitutes. “Sanay kami sa mga kunyari mababait, statesman—pero mga manyak, bastos. Si Duterte, na akala ng tao bastos siya, manyak siya, it’s really the opposite talaga. He doesn’t disrespect women.” “It’s really easy to hate Duterte. He’s probinsyano, he doesn’t look presentable, he has a foul mouth. But if you just don’t judge him by what you see on the media, or ‘yung mga snippets, soundbites, and give him a chance—you will really discover na he is… iba, iba talaga.” As the president’s proxy, it’s also easy to hate on Mocha, if all you know of her is that she used to take her clothes off a lot and is now the high priestess of Dutertism. There are a lot more people, however, who don’t hate Mocha, and in fact many come up to her in malls, restaurants, and out on the streets to tell her to keep up the fight. “Ituloy ang laban. Mocha, kayo ang boses namin. Kayo ang boses namin. ‘Wag kayong titigil.” And so it is for them that Mocha won’t stop, despite the death threats and all the discouragement, because this is now her purpose in life; she is driven by a higher calling. Mocha’s latest coup was taking over column inches in the op-ed pages of The Philippine Star, a publication she has usually lumped together with the rest of the media she calls “presstitutes.” Her own followers had misgivings about the offer, saying the newspaper needed her more than she needed the newspaper, while her critics mourned the death of journalism. It remains to be seen whether Mocha will use this opportunity to constructively engage with differing perspectives; as of now the column is intended solely for the ka-DDS who aren’t on Facebook, a rather narrow focus considering she has practically joined the establishment. Now that she’s subject to editorial standards and can’t default to reductive memes and labels like “dilawan,” perhaps a new Mocha will emerge from these pages, different from the one of her unregulated, post-factual blog—a Mocha who might actually open minds that were once closed, and dare we hope, a Mocha who can unify people in these trying times? We are navigating a world of false dichotomies. The Upside Down bleeds into the Downside Up. Is President Duterte a lovable grandpa or a murderous fascist? Is Mocha Uson a virulent propagandist or the voice of the masses? Perhaps the reality is even stranger—we just haven’t figured them out yet.

THIS IS NOW HER PURPOSE IN LIFE; SHE IS DRIVEN BY A HIGHER CALLING.

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SO, MR. GASCON: Where were you when a woman in our barangay was raped by a drug addict? The question does not register. I may have mumbled my words—or my facetious tone viewed as inappropriate. Jose Luiz Martin “Chito” Gascon, chairman of the Commission on Human Rights, sworn enemy of President Duterte and staunch critic of the popular war on drugs, stares at me. My previous—admittedly limited—engagements with Gascon have been social, and I know him as a Coke-guzzling jokester. Yet there is little jest in our interview. We live in serious times. “I don’t understand the question,” he replies. I repeat my query, and Gascon feigns a smile before saying: “Well, that’s a question we’ve been receiving a lot on social media. The term ‘human rights’ is something that I think is not fully appreciated or understood. As a result, we are often mistaken for what other institutions of government are supposed to do.” Misunderstanding, of course, begets vitriol. And the social media troll is that vitriol’s incarnation. Online support groups of Duterte, Bongbong Marcos, and General Bato dela Rosa have circulated memes calling for the Commission’s abolition. Gascon and his staff have, of course, been subjected to multiple forms of online hate—pictures of guns sent to their inboxes, the usual cursing, and accusations of being drug lords.

away from the soaring rhetoric of the inauguration, Digong was recently more pithy: “…lahat kayo diyan sa Human Rights Commission, mga pangit.” Gascon is possibly second only to Senator Leila de Lima (a former CHR Chair herself ) on the list of the most despised people in Philippine politics. Yet the attention is disproportionate, because the agency he leads is powerless relative to the Palace. The CHR does not have the capacity to prosecute, let alone send anyone to jail. Its investigators look into state violations of human rights, but they can only provide recommendations to relevant authorities. It is up to a prosecutor to file a criminal case, and it is up to the police and the army to initiate internal administrative proceedings. They may choose to ignore the CHR, and they do so regularly, especially these days. “The anecdotal evidence” Gascon explains, “suggests that only 30 percent of our recommendations are ever considered.” That’s if they can even investigate. With a staff of barely 600, Gascon must look into the over 3,500 deaths associated with Duterte’s war on drugs. As of late October, the CHR had initiated only 251 fact-finding inquiries, which were in various degrees of progress. To the average citizen, these deaths are slowly becoming statistics. Inundated and desensitized, few people bother with the details. Some cases—those that truly strain credulity—do gain public attention, such as that of father and son Renato and JP Bertes, who were tortured and killed by police inside a Pasay City jail. The reason for their deaths? Nanlaban—they fought back. When deaths occur, Duterte and his alter ego, Bato, assume that there was “regularity” in police procedure. The officers were just doing their jobs according to the books. With cases like that of the Berteses, Gascon explains, you can simply “present its absurdity,” leading people to realize the more general truth that unbridled police power is not the way to counter criminality. Then you just plod on. “Fight each battle, work on each case, and ultimately find justice once,” which will hopefully lead to a second, a third, a fourth, a fifth time. But probably not a 3,500th time. The scale of the deaths is overwhelming. And, for Gascon, it was mostly unexpected. When he took this job in June 2015—a distant past when a Senator named Grace Poe was topping the surveys—Gascon says he “had different ideas of what the challenges would be…” It’s an understatement, and we both know it. At another point in our conversation, Gascon is more categorical: “We have not seen this unprecedented level of violations of civil and political

THE ANGER MAY BE BLOWN OUT OF PROPORTION, BUT GASCON KNOWS THAT IT IS BASED ON LEGITIMATE CONCERNS. PEOPLE ARE DISILLUSIONED WITH A WEAK STATE, AND THEY WANTED QUICK RESULTS.

IN THE CAB THAT TOOK ME FROM THE AIRPORT to the CHR headquarters in Diliman, Quezon City, I had braced myself for the inevitable comment: “Ah, ‘yang CHR. ‘Yung mga kakampi ng mga adik.” It was a long ride and it provided a chance to talk about the CHR. Yes, the Commission primarily monitors state violence, because you need somebody to police the police. No, it cannot protect citizens from drug addicts, because that is not its mandate. Yes, it can be toothless amid presidential power. The driver admits to mistrusting CHR, but discovering what it actually did gave him pause. “Mabuti na lang po pinaliwanag niyo sa akin yan. Kasi, sa totoo lang, kung walang magpapaliwanag, ‘di naman namin alam ang ginagawa ng CHR.” Not knowing its functions, he added, made it easy to demonize the Commission. It doesn’t help that this popular and populist president himself obviously dislikes the Commission. In his inauguration speech, he singled out the CHR and asked them to “allow us a level of governance that is consistent to our mandate.” The words were anodyne for the foul-mouthed president, but they masked a threat: Don’t get in my way, or else. Veering

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rights, not since the dictatorship.” In an interview with Foreign Policy, he called Duterte the “biggest challenge to democracy” since Marcos. Elsewhere, he compared the rise of Duterte to the rise of White Walkers: winter is coming. None of this is to absolve previous presidents. Of course, “every single administration since the transition to democracy has their own share of human rights issues that they need to be held accountable for.” But there is something different with Duterte. By ordering police to kill drug dealers and users and by promising to defend them against critics, the president has enabled the impunity we now see. Gascon offers an admittedly clichéd metaphor: “You’ve thrown a pebble in the pond: it will create its ripples.” Human rights are washed away by these ripples. Duterte himself says that he does not “care about human rights” and that they can serve as an excuse to “destroy the country.” His spokesperson, Ernesto Abella, claimed that the UN’s call for the Philippines to uphold rights was an imposition of “liberal Western values” on “an Asian nation that places a premium on common good…”—the standard response of despots who forget that Asian nations lobbied for and signed the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. In fact, as Australian historian Roland Burke has shown, the human rights architecture of the UN was largely designed by Filipinos like Carlos P. Romulo and Salvador P. Lopez, who served as chair of the UN human rights commission in the 1960s. President Duterte may be surprised to discover that the UN human rights monitoring system currently being used to investigate him was largely drafted by our own diplomats. But this is ancient history. Once upon a time, we venerated our human rights advocates; these days, we troll them. The most significant change that has come is a shifting of political rhetoric: Those who defend human dignity are enemies of change and the torturer, Marcos, is now a hero. Amid this perfect storm of illiberalism, how much can one marginal government agency do? Defanged, pilloried, and obstructed, the CHR is, at times, reduced to an information-gathering agency. So why the hatred? My own answer is that populists need bogeymen. Hitler told Germans to fear Jews, Joseph McCarthy told Americans to fear Communists, and the Brexiteers told Britain to fear migrants. Duterte wants you to fear the drug lord, the pusher, the addict, and people that “coddle” them, i.e. the human rights advocate. Hatred for a constructed “other” consolidates support around a strong, charismatic leader, who will protect the people from an external menace. Once the hysteria begins, it is hard to dial back. The anger may be blown out of proportion, but Gascon knows that it is based on legitimate concerns. People are disillusioned with a weak state, and they want quick results. Protecting human rights, on the other hand, entails slow processes, and it has its own form of paranoia: somebody like Gascon values due process and the dignity of life so much that he will buck no violent shortcut to crime reduction. But slowness, like traffic, was unacceptable. “In the end,” he says, “the public wanted change. And here we are, change has happened. It may not be the change you or I want, but that’s where we are.” Gascon is sanguine and understands that, at least in the short run, he is fighting a losing battle. How effective can his criticisms be when even he says that “Dutertismo is the only game in town,” with “even the so-called liberals joining the supermajority”? “In a sense the pendulum has swung one way,” he concedes. “It will be a while before it swings back and we reach some kind

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of equilibrium.” His unenviable duty is to take “the cudgels for human rights even when it’s not popular.” It is “the biggest challenge of my life.”

GASCON IS AN EDSA-ERA ACTIVIST at a time when the democracy that People Power restored is undergoing significant strain. He is a familiar, if out-of-date, political archetype: gained a social consciousness through progressive Catholic teaching in the early ’80s, spurred to action against the dictatorship by the murder of Ninoy Aquino, marched with the crowds in February 1986, helped rebuild the edifice of our democracy after Ferdie fled. Yet he is an exceptional version of this political archetype. In 1985, he won the student council election at the University of the Philippines, edging out the Communist-affiliated candidate in that hotbed of radicalism. As chairperson of the council, he offered a moderate alternative to violent revolution. Instead of supporting the Maoist Communist Party, he called on students to support Cory Aquino’s campaign in the snap election of ’85. After Marcos cheated Aquino, he led those same students to EDSA. And when Aquino called for a new constitution, Gascon became the youngest member of the constitutional convention. In the late 1980s, social democrats like Chito Gascon represented a moderate alternative to the ideological extremes that competed for political influence. On one side, you had the fascist Marcos, who led a military dictatorship. On the other, there was the Maoist Communist Party and its burgeoning New People’s Army, which had peaked at 20,000 regular troops—a credible military and political threat. The social democrats, along with many middle-class liberals, were a potent middle force: They were an anti-Marcos coalition that, unlike the Communists, did not wish to abolish the dictatorship only to establish a new one. “I was an activist, but I wasn’t a Communist,” explains Gascon. “I believed in democracy.” This democratic movement would become the backbone of People Power, and Gascon was its student icon. For a man with such a storied career, Dutertian social media has unfortunately reduced Gascon’s CV to his involvement with the Liberal Party. Yet there is no avoiding the issue. Though he disengaged with the LP after his CHR appointment, the now middleaged Gascon can look back at his long political career and see that most of it was spent as a dilawan. “In 1986, there was no social democratic party,” recalls Gascon. “Of all the traditional political parties, the Liberal Party seemed most open to reform.” At the time, the LP’s president was the revered Senator Jovito Salonga, whom even the radical Communists respected. Along with fellow social democrats, Gascon called on

ONCE UPON A TIME, WE VENERATED OUR HUMAN RIGHTS ADVOCATES; THESE DAYS, WE TROLL THEM.

moderate activists to join the LP and reform it from within. As LP members, activists like Gascon sought to transform it into a cohesive, programmatic political force, unlike other parties which are simply amalgams of vested interests. Gascon became leader of the party’s youth wing, head of its think tank, and, much later, its director general. He has no regrets, but Gascon is likewise sanguine about his time with the LP. “I’ve tried my best to transform it, to make it more programmatic,” he claims. “But, looking back now, I have to say my mission failed.” He concludes, “The reality is that [our political system] does not engender party-based politics.” No wonder the LP has now been whipped into submission, unable to assert itself as a credible opposition.

GASCON’S FAILURE IS NOT JUST HIS OWN. And it is not just the Liberal Party that is in tatters, but post-EDSA liberal democracy as a whole. When Mocha Uson and your tito ask for more “disiplina,” they are telling you that open discourse and due process are inefﬁcient. They want authoritarianism. When a president and a Supreme Court honor a former dictator as a hero, they’re saying this authoritarianism business might not be such a bad idea. Had previous leaders done a better job, perhaps people would have more faith in our democratic institutions, and we would have been able to avert this crisis. “Those who were given the opportunity to serve previously,” Gascon says, “have failed in many respects, even if there are many things they can be proud of.” Gascon does not wince when discussing his failures and challenges. Frustration, at times, may kick in, but the human rights advocate plays the long game. With the failure of his partybuilding project—and perhaps the failure of the entire EDSA system he helped create—Gascon is back where he started. And there is something liberating about being back in the bottom. “Right now, in a sense, I’m going back to basics. I was moved into action by the human rights violations I saw happening during the dictatorship. And now I have been given an opportunity to serve the people in an institution that is mandated to promote human rights, in a set of circumstances that are not ideal.” Throughout our conversation, Gascon keeps referring back to a world without “equilibrium.” Something is, indeed, out of whack. Yet the old activist is hopeful and idealistic, ever ready to provide inspirational quotes about never giving up a political struggle: “The revolution you aspire for is out there in the horizon. It’s something you never give up on.” But his real strength lies in a prosaic stoicism. “Over time, we will reach some kind of equilibrium again,” he assures me. “But I think it will take some time. Things will get worse before they get better.” Not so reassuring after all. How much worse and how much longer? “Your guess is as good as mine.” In the meantime, we both know that there will likely be more cases of extrajudicial killings tomorrow. Like the revolutionary horizon that Gascon chases, the end of the CHR’s caseload seems to recede more as one walks forward. But this is Gascon’s job. Tomorrow, when he gets to his desk, he will hear of another death. Chairperson Chito Gascon will do what he can.

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agot isidro naughty nice If the Internet, as they say, has been weaponized in 2016, then words are surely its ammunition. Political emotions have been running so high this year that with enough context, single words can bear enough power to assemble masses to a cause or trigger the most terrible online vitriol. For the Philippines, these words have been the likes of “Dutertard,” “dilaw,” and “disente.” The natural brevity of social media has made them vehicles for greater messages, simple and efficient conveyances of news and opinions. And in the epitomic case of actress and recording artist Agot Isidro, “psychopath” was a silver bullet. In October, Isidro shared a Rappler story on Facebook about President Duterte challenging the European Union and the United States to withdraw economic aid. The article quoted Duterte as saying “Maski magkahirap dito, we will survive. I’ll be the first one to go hungry, I’ll be the first one to die of hunger, huwag kayo mag-alala.” The President’s proud remarks must have really struck a chord with Isidro, whose caption for the repost read:

Save for her role in the popular ABS-CBN series FPJ’s Ang Probinsyano (which, it must be noted, casted her as the repentant wife of a powerful drug lord named Tomath Tuathon), Isidro hadn’t been in the public eye for some time until that post went viral. She had already been posting other more subdued criticisms of the administration on Facebook, racking up likes in the hundreds, but ”psychopath” was a catalyst. As of this writing, that Facebook post has over 51,000 reactions and 12,479 shares—numbers that were certainly inflated by the ire she drew from pro-Duterte hiveminds. At the height of it, she received some of the lowest, most vile online ad hominem: “Manganak ka muna bago ka mangutya sa aming mahal na pangulo. Kaya ka iniwan ng iyong asawa kasi baog ka,” as well as attempts at character assassination, when a fake Agot Isidro page farmed hateful comments by blaming the President’s sinfulness for typhoons and earthquakes.

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It wasn’t all bad, though—many were quick to rally behind Isidro, even reminding everyone of her educational attainment (she graduated Magna Cum Laude from the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York, and has a master’s degree in Communication from the Ateneo de Manila University). One more popular form of it was a meme that read: “Be an Agot Isidro in this world of Mocha Usons.” But despite the attacks against her, Isidro seems staunch and unfazed. In the wake of her “psychopath” post, she even insisted upon her psychiatric assessment of the President once by sharing a Psychology Today article that defines the condition. She does continue to jab at the state of things, often with just a meme or a furtive caption, but Agot Isidro hasn’t quite returned to the fore. Perhaps she has no intention to. “As opinionated as I am, I know that I would have to deal with this in a more introspective manner,” she wrote, in a long and somber post about her shock following the events of November 8 and 9. “I would still remain vigilant, my eyes and ears open to the daily events that unfold.” Nothing she has posted since has been quite as incendiary as “psychopath,” but Isidro has made her point and sent a clear message. Few other celebrities have. —MIgUEL ESCOBAR

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Imelda schweIghart, who represented the Philippines for Miss Earth 2016, became the subject of controversy after an awkward conversation between her and Miss Earth Austria Kimberly Budinsky. Schweighart, who is half-german, asked Budinsky point-blank if Hitler was from Austria. Budinsky brushed it off, telling Schweighart that “we don’t normally talk about Hitler.” Miss Earth Philippines then remarked, “Our president is doing Hitler stuff in the Philippines,” referring to Duterte’s comparison of his War on Drugs to the Holocaust. Needless to say, her comments blew up on social media, and a cursory apology ensued. She later resigned from Miss Earth after she was caught on video calling out pageant winner Miss Ecuador, saying, “‘Yung nanalo peke ilong, peke baba, peke boobs! Miss Earth, dapat natural.” —ME

jaclyn jose naughty nice When Jaclyn Jose took home the Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival—becoming the first Southeast Asian woman joining the ranks of Bette Davis, Katharine Hepburn, and Meryl Streep—the jury’s choice was heavily questioned. Critics called her performance more of a supporting role, but members of the jury quickly came to her defense, with French director Arnaud Desplechin saying, “She is the film. Have you seen the performance she gave? She broke my heart.” He was of course referring to Jose’s portrayal of the title character in Brillante Mendoza’s Ma Rosa, as a detained crystal meth-dealing matriarch from the slums whose children attempt to free her and their father. Jose says that the greatest challenge for her in playing Rosa was not acting at all, where for many of her 32 years in the industry, she played mainly large, comedic, and quite campy characters. For Jose, the Cannes Film Festival was the opportunity to be a spectator. It was enough to see internationally reputable publications such as Vanity Fair praise her daughter (and co-star), Andi Eigenmann’s sense of style on the Cannes red carpet, and to watch actresses she had long admired—like Marion Cotillard and Charlize Theron—most likely take the prize in her category. The win may not have come as a surprise to anyone else who saw the film, but Jose was beautifully blindsided. Following the accolade, Jose says the greatest challenge is having “to behave like I have a Palme d’Or.” She laughs and says, “Like if I’m going to the grocery na naka-tsinelas tsaka shorts, siguro ngayon sandals naman tsaka shorts.” —GABBIE TATAD

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teddy locsin, jr. anyone who crItIcIzes donald trump’s use of twItter may find themselves taken aback after following @teddyboylocsin. Few other (read: no other) local public figures—political or otherwise—are as loud and imprudent about their opinions on Twitter as our U.N. Ambassador. Throughout 2016, Locsin Jr. faced public scrutiny for everything from Nazi sympathy to body-shaming Leila de Lima. He has since deleted a few of his most controversial, instigative tweets and apologized for them, but outrageous ones still remain, and his Twitter fingers are still on the trigger. Here are some of his greatest hits. —ME

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We at Esquire have had our fair share of criticism online. And for that, We’re sorry. (Not really.)

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On Leila de Lima:

On EJK:

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Sandro, who is currently pursuing a post-graduate degree in London, frequently uses Twitter to demonstrate his mastery of global politics.

ThIs year, the Filipino public was introduced to political scion and future statesman-slashDJ Ferdinand Alexander Marcos III, when news broke that he had accidentally shaded two circles for president on his official ballot (thereby invalidating his vote). Sandro Marcos later implied, via Twitter, that because the total votes tallied for president didn’t match the total votes for vice president, there had been a case of #DayaangMatuwid. The tweet has since been removed and apologized for, but he continues to be something of a celebrity on Twitter. When DJ @sandromarcos7 isn’t dropping dope beats and getting places turnt, he finds time to fend off his tens of thousands of female admirers on Twitter. And if, perchance, he manages to withstand their adulation and contain their raging libidos, Lil’ Marcos will bless us with gems of political wisdom, such as... —ME

But despite his superior intellect, Sandro is always modest and self-aware.

He also makes it a point to keep abreast with the times, making sure to have an opinion on matters aside from politics. And, like his parents and grandparents before him, Sandro is always very gracious in victory. His astute observations of the world are likely the results of his top-notch education and his innate love for knowledge.

On Maine Mendoza: On Jejomar Binay:

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In case you missed it: highlights from the world’s first heavyweight class schoolyard fight

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roUnD 2 CAYETANO: Madam chair, madam chair…

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DE LIMA: Let me finish. I am the chair here. CAYETANO: …Madam Chair...

roUnD 1 SEN. ANTONIO TRILLANES: ‘Di kita

papapormahin. SEN. ALAN PETER CAYETANO: Anong

porma pinagsasabi mo? Ikaw mahilig pumorma dito. SENATOR LEILA DE LIMA: Please stop. CAYETANO: Sasabihan niya ako na hindi ako papapormahin, sumasagot ako ng maayos? DE LIMA: Please, please. CAYETANO: Ganito na ba tayo? Tatabihan mo ako para ‘di makaporma dito? Sa ‘yo na lang ‘to. DE LIMA: Let’s not resort to this. CAYETANO: …. Senador ako ha! Binoto ako ng tao, ‘di ba? DE LIMA: Please, please, please. Let’s not do it this way.

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TRILLANES: *reaches over to shut off Cayetano’s microphone* CAYETANO: Madam Chair, may I just sit here and listen to you without being intimidated?

Because my seatmate here is intimidating me. I am trying to ask questions. He told me here, “hindi kita papopormahin.” And then he tells me here, “Nabubuo ba pangarap mo? You are defending evil,” etc. So Madam Chair, I’m trying to get to the bottom of this, at kung totoo lang sinasabi. Tatabihin niyo ako at ita-trash talk ako. Siguro naman bilang isang senador, I never did that to any of my colleagues. And I consider him a friend. So it’s just a point of order, Madam Chair. I can move—can you make sure he doesn’t follow me? … Madam Chair, can you stop—can Senator Trillanes stop talking to me? I mean, I don’t want to talk to him, but he keeps talking to me. I will put this between us so he will not [talk to me]. *places his own nameplate to the side, to block Senator Trillanes*

roUnD 3 TRILLANES: Mr. President, does the

gentleman sense any animosity in my tone of voice? I believe I am at my calmest. Relatively speaking, this could be one of the best behaviors I’ve ever had in this hearing. CAYETANO: Mr. President, Judas kissed Jesus Christ. Judas kissed Jesus Christ. Would Jesus Christ tell him, “Judas, wala kang animosity?” So that’s what I’m saying, Mr. President. I was asking the questions, siya po ang sumagot na, “You want me to come over here?” I want to have a discussion with you. We can sit down.

DEC 2016 - JAN 2017 / ESQUIRE

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nice Margarita Forés had tears in her eyes the first time it was publicly announced that she was Asia’s Best Female Chef. It was January 13, 2016. She was standing at the corner of her high-end Italian restaurant, Lusso, in front of selected members of the food press. In her usual pencil skirt and white button-down, her expression finds itself between a laugh and a cry. She’d known two hours earlier, but as she looks at the media—most have become friends throughout the years—busily tapping on their mobiles to proclaim the good news, things just became real. Since then, Forés has continued to herald the flag, traveling from country to country to represent the Philippines in international chef congresses, from Indonesia and Singapore to Ireland and most recently, Harvard in Boston. We asked her which food impressed her most this year: Favorite Food Trend: Filipino Renaissance Most Unforgettable Dish of the Year: Crab head custard with chicken, mushrooms, and garlic chives Go-to Restaurant of the Year: The Chairman (Hong Kong) Dream for Filipino Cuisine: That it would be accessible authentically in more parts of the world —SLU

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andrew tan naughty nice When andreW Tan scribbled his name on a ceremonial cask of brandy in Spain last year, it was his life coming full circle. In 1974, when Tan graduated from college at the University of the East, his father, a factory worker, cracked open bottles of Fundador brandy to celebrate the momentous occasion. Even then, Tan was determined to work extremely hard to give his family a better life: As a child, they had once shared a tenement apartment with four other families. Forty-two years later, in November this year, Tan’s Emperador Inc. acquired Spain’s Fundador Pedro Domecq. The purchase of Spain’s largest and oldest brandy maker sealed Emperador’s title as the world’s largest brandy company. It also added to Emperador’s international liquor portfolio, which already included Whyte and Mackay. And yet there’s still far more to Tan than his impressive portfolio of spirits: Alliance Global, his holding company, has interests in food (Golden Arches Development Corp, which owns McDonald’s), liquor (Emperador), and real estate (Megaworld, the Philippines’ leading real estate developer). Tan, in his personal capacity, also purchased a building of his own late last year, the glorious Torre Espacio in Madrid, one of the tallest skyscrapers in Spain, where the Philippine flag now flies proudly. —YVETTE FERNANDEz

PHOTOGRAPH BY SONNY THAKUR

he looks lIke any other customer: an unassuming, lighthearted man who keeps to himself. Only the more updated techies would probably recognize him as the person behind gadget chains Digital Walker and Beyond the Box, but Charlie Paw is one of the country’s most prolific restaurateurs. His eateries are all over social media and, more importantly, the dishes prove their worth even outside the mobile screen. The globetrotter and businessman entered the food industry simply to satisfy his own cravings. He started Ramen Bar in 2010 to sate his love for ramen, and then Umami Hambaagu House (which played hard-to-get, keeping its location a secret until reservations were made; not many people were willing to play along). It was in 2013, with Wrong Ramen and collaborator Dwight Co, when Paw realized the importance of the right kind of marketing. Paw launched eateries that appealed to the millennial lifestyle: hip, determinedly effortless interiors, with picture-perfect plates and witty sensibilities. Paw’s dedication to quality showed in 2014’s breakthrough Hole in the Wall. The concept was high-end food court with concessionaires run by chefs. Logistics became an issue, and he decided to just coordinate everything under his own company, with stalls by chefs JP Anglo, Jeremy Slagle, and more. In fact, if Paw has one particular skill, it’s finding talented chefs who are willing to push the boundaries in the kitchen: He’s had a longtime partnership with pastry chefs Miko Aspiras and Kristine Lotilla (Scout’s Honor, Le Petit Soufflé, Freezer Burn, and a soon-to-open donut shop); Him Uy de Baron and Noel Mauricio (modern Chinese bistro Ping Pong Diplomacy); and Nicco Santos (the PeranakanThai joint Hey Handsome). Completing his repertoire of good eats are sandwich sensation Fowl Bread, as well as franchises Hanamaruken (his personal favorite ramen shop in Japan) and another Japanese import, Kushikatsu Daruma. No, you may not have met Charlie Paw. He’s the type who likes to let his chefs do the talking, but we guarantee he’s at least filled up your social media feed the past few years, if not also your belly. –SASHA LIM-UY

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IT Used TO Be a reGULar MIraCLe: being able to reach Quezon City from Alabang in just 45 minutes, five more to get to Antipolo. When that happens, people would know the miracle worker behind the clearing of the streets. But now, on this Sunday, despite the standard press tours, the billboards, banners and ads, it came as no surprise to hear people say, “The Pacquiao fight was today?” or “May laban pala si Manny ngayon?” and even “Akala ko retired na siya?” Something has changed in the way we regard Manny Pacquiao as a sports icon and a person. We’ve gone from a nation of borderline worshippers—it was as if the man could do no wrong, after pulling off one of the greatest runs by a Filipino (or anybody at all, for that matter) in the world of boxing. Until he slipped. Initially it was him falling face first on the canvas via the hands of Mexican nemesis Juan Manuel Marquez in 2012. And then he opened his mouth outside of the boxing ring into the political arena. That was when we stopped paying attention, started praying for him to go away. His alleged womanizing and gambling ways got out in the open, though, to be fair, the man owned up to his mistakes. But with a string of humiliating losses, mediocre wins, and the flop of a megafight with archrival Floyd Mayweather Jr., Pacquiao’s reputation took a dive, like one of his opponents getting decked with his flurry of haymakers. The knockout barrage started in February 2015, with Pacquiao’s ill-worded stand against same-sex marriage, costing him several lucrative endorsements and ties with pay-per-view (PPV) partner HBO and sports brand Nike. Then came his so-called farewell fight last April which they had hoped would salvage his dwindling appeal and bring back public sympathy. He vowed to focus on his Senate post after, to make up for his dismal attendance record as a congressman. The inevitable comeback followed after

that greats like Muhammad Ali and Michael Jordan don’t know when to quit). When he did show up at the Senate, he would deliver confounding privilege speeches, riddled with Biblical quotes and mixed with misplaced machismo. The man who gained worldwide adulation through his fists has lost much respect with his mouth.

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PHOTOGRAPH BY ROY MACAM

his seven-month retirement that nobody bought in the first place (history shows

The PNP-NCRPO reported the usual zero percent crime rate in the metropolis on this Pacquiao-fight Sunday, though cinemas and sports bars hosting PPV events were only half-filled. Even Mayweather sat ringside to watch Pacquiao school the younger, bigger Jessie Vargas (perhaps planting the seeds of another megafight between the two titans in the future). But Pacquiao’s own countrymen didn’t seem to care about his return to the ring, or even of a potential Pac-Floyd rematch, for that matter. It’s unfortunate, if you ask me, because Pacquiao put on quite a show, bringing back flashes of the Manny of old, the boxer we used to universally adore. Allow me to come clean: I’m a Pacquiao fan. I’m a Pacnut, as fanatics of the Pacman were once derisively called in online forums. I’d like to believe I had a special connection knowing that I, too, walked the same streets Pacquiao used to tread while he was peddling sugar donuts, cigarettes, and other merchandise to feed his siblings, before he escaped to Manila to forge boxing history. See, when I was a teenager, you had to travel an hour to GenSan to get a taste of Jollibee (a simple pleasure for a probinsyano on the southern edge of Mindanao), and I would save my allowance, walk kilometers from the bus terminal to the mall and back. It’s that imagined affinity, and the fact that someone from our part of the archipelago can capture the world’s respect, that had me cling to my Pacquiao fandom, and save some extra money to buy the latest Nike Pacman shirt to wear for an equally expensive PPV live viewing. But the last time I did that was five years ago. All that’s left now, after watching the man reclaim lost glory (on the smartphone screen, via Facebook live streaming, on some shady fan page) is grudging admiration for Pacquiao the boxer. There is still that. But, on the whole, this former Pacnut would rather count the holes on a cracker than spend time paying any more attention to what he does or says outside the ring. —OMAR BELO

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“If you want someone to make a speech, ask a man. If you want to get something done, ask a woman,” said Margaret Thatcher. Add 2016 Olympics silver medalist Hidilyn Diaz to the long list of women who get things done. After Onyok Velasco won a silver medal in boxing at the 1996 Atlanta Olympics, many men have talked about following suit, about doing the necessary work but shying away from guaranteeing another Olympic medal. Four editions of the Olympic games later—from Sydney, Athens, Beijing, to London—and all that talk ended up as meaningless chatter as the nation, drunk on hype and hope time after time, came away empty-handed and brokenhearted. But where many men have failed, a woman succeeded—and in a male-dominated sport at that. To be clear, though, Diaz had two unsuccessful tries at the Olympics before this: first in Beijing, then in London. On her third try in Rio de Janeiro last August, she managed to make history because she did an unmanly thing to do when faced with an insurmountable wall: She took a step back. Finding no success in the women’s weightlifting 58kg category, the 4-foot-10 Filipina chose to go against the tide, moving down in weight to compete in the 53kg class; other athletes, especially ones with testosterone-fueled egos in this macho sport, would power through and soldier on. Diaz soldiered on as well, but she used her brain to move forward. Her gamble paid off in a big way, breaking a twenty-year Olympic medal drought with a silver medal finish, becoming the first Filipina to win in the Olympics, and bringing home the country’s breakthrough Olympic medal in weightlifting, the first outside of boxing and taekwondo. In other words, Diaz did what most men would not normally do, and in return, achieved greatness many athletes of any gender and skill level only talked about. Contemplating retirement before this year’s Olympics, Diaz deserves to walk into the sunset, immortality in tow, perhaps to enjoy a stint in showbusiness like her predecessor Onyok. No one would blame her. But her first words soon as she arrived proved as inspiring as her feat. “Tokyo [Olympics] po,” she said in a press conference, referring to her target four years from now. “Siguro hindi na ako papayag na silver lang. Gusto ko gold. Pipilitin ko.” Big talk for a small woman, sure, but Diaz has already proven herself that she got the balls to back up her bold words. –OB

DEC 2016 - JAN 2017 / ESQUIRE

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superficial gazette of the republic of the philippines naughty nice If there’s a phrase—other than “extrajudicial killings”—that we wish hadn’t entered common usage in 2016, it’s “historical revisionism.” But, on September 11, there it was, on no less than the Official gazette of the Republic of the Philippines: “Celebrating his 99th birthdate [sic], Ferdinand Marcos started his political career in 1949 as a Representative of the Second District of Ilocos Norte…Marcos was the first post-independence president to be re-elected in 1969. In 1972, he declared Martial Law to suppress a communist insurgency and secessionism in Mindanao. In 1986, Marcos stepped down from the presidency to avoid bloodshed during the uprising that came to be known as ‘People Power’.” The online outrage came quickly, and while the Og quickly took the post down (to be replaced with a photo and a safer, shorter caption), the wheels were in motion. Writer and editor Jonathan de Santos introduced the #Superficialgazette hashtag on Twitter, spurring a wave of satirically sanitized historical facts, and it quickly took on a life of its own. Days later, there was a Facebook account sending out official-looking memes, and earning thousands of followers within days. Just three months later, the Superficial gazette is a legitimate presence on Facebook, having evolved from posting jokey updates to real news, fact-checking, and the occasional commentary. The relatively small page (38,000+ followers) has nevertheless drawn enough attention for its moderators to be called out for an “online debate” by notorious pro-government online activist Sass Sasot, and for its Twitter account to be temporarily suspended. It continues to poke fun in particular at Palace secretary Martin Andanar and his “best communications team in the solar system,” who, thankfully, have kept providing the Sg with plenty of comedy fodder. —KRISTINE FONACIER

PHOTOGRAPH BY JAKE VERzOSA

It’s a gooD tIme for Filipino basketball. Last October, the 2015-16 PBA season came to a close as Gin King Justin Brownlee hit a three-pointer at the final buzzer. Barangay Ginebra San Miguel—arguably the PBA’s most popular franchise—had spent eight long years without a title, and finally, after Game Six of an exceptionally arduous Finals run against the Meralco Bolts, their drought ended. It was an exciting series that many look to as proof that the PBA is alive and kicking. Ginebra’s win proved something else, too: the unquestionable brilliance of Coach Tim Cone. Before signing on to coach the Kings, Cone had already won 18 PBA Championships—13 with the Alaska franchise and five with the Purefoods franchise, making him the most decorated coach in the league. Then, on his first year coaching a new team—one that had been ridiculed for losing consistently despite always having a strong roster—he bagged his 19th title. It was a quintessential sports movie narrative brought to life, complete with the veteran-watchingfrom-the-stands in the form of Ginebra legend Robert Jaworski, who was among the live audience. It was a testament he didn’t need, but one that nonetheless proves that he isn’t just a factor to his team’s victories—he may very well be the key. —ME

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the former chaIr of the Commission on Human Rights and the former Secretary of Justice has had a tumultuous start to her career as a neophyte Senator: She unfortunately got in President Duterte’s considerable crosshairs when she’d dared question the rise of extrajudicial killings since the start of his term. Manifestations of his ire that someone from another branch of government dared exercise checks and balances against his branch of government ran the spectrum—but, most tellingly, what stuck among the Filipino people were his insults regarding her appearance and allegations of her starring in sex tapes with inappropriate menfolk. Because you naturally combat valid criticisms regarding the bloodshed in your fledgling administration with attacks on your critic’s personal life. As Chair of the Senate Committee of Justice and Human Rights, she led one of the few government bodies willing to publicly probe the implications of the drug war under which these murders were being executed, and lending credence to the Davao Death Squad that’s shrouded President Duterte’s reputation as an iron fist in his home city. Before her investigation gained ground, however, she was ousted by her colleagues and duly replaced with a man who’d once announced his desire to suspend the writ of habeas corpus. Because that’s what heading a committee that covers issues of justice and human rights seems to call for, according to our esteemed Senate. Senator de Lima has admitted to her relationship with her former driver Ronnie Dayan, who President Duterte has accused, in quite a presidential fashion, of receiving drug money for the Senator. —SASHA MARTINEz

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Who coUlD the aUDIence for this possibly be? The puppets made their debut in a show at the PNP anniversary rites in a skit titled “Tatay Digong and the Adiks,” and both the Adiks and the lovable Tsip Bato have since found their way to numerous public appearances and at least one catchy video. Props to whoever thought this up and to whatever they smoked, all in the service of a drug-free Philippines. —KF

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miriam defensor santiago In the 1992 presIdentIal campaIgn I was for Mitra, along with the most influential people in the country. There was so much money coming into our campaign that I carried a cardboard box to headquarters with a Webster’s dictionary inside so as not to look hard up among Chinese contributors with luggages of cash. Someone said that money has no smell. Whoever that guy was, he knew nothing about money. I loved the smell of money in the morning. It smelled of victory. Cory Aquino wasn’t smelling much of it. With her finance people locked into the Mitra camp, we had a stranglehold on her candidate’s financing. One day I handed her a speech draft. She thanked me, and added, “Wait, don’t go. I have a question. Are you for Mitra?” “Yes,” I said with a hint of superiority. “Well, he will lose,” she said. “You know this election decides whether the Marcoses return to power the way they lost it—by elections.” “They won’t,” I said, “Monching will win.” “No, Teddy Boy, he will lose,” she said, cool as mint in the mouth. At this point my small anger management issue kicked in. “They will not, Monching will win,” my voice breaking through an attempt to match her calm. “And, and,” I sputtered, “I’d rather lose with the man who was jailed with my father and your husband”—failed attempt at sarcasm there—“than win with the man who jailed them.” She smiled. I closed the door behind me. Back in headquarters I met a New York Times correspondent who wanted to cover a campaign sortie. “You came to the right place,” I said, “we’re gonna win.” I took him to a Mitra rally. He vanished into the crowd never to be seen by me again. A week later he called to say he was the airport and that my candidate would lose and Miriam would win. He hung up before I could vent my temper. I thought I should interview Miriam. To catch her up, my first question was: “You said you will line up customs people and shoot them.” “Oh, Teddy Boy,” she said, smiling sweetly, “what lousy law school did you go to? A president cannot do that. He swears to uphold the law.” My wife took over the interview, and they got on famously after that. I fumed in the garden with her husband Jun laughing beside me. Election day came. The votes came in. Mitra sank lower and lower in the count, while in ABS-CBN’S quick count—a nuts-and-bolts tally of every precinct from Aparri to Jolo—a super exit poll if you will, not taking samples but instantly communicating the count as it was being made—Miriam led with every vote counted. My companion at the poll center in La Salle greenhills pulled me by the arm to join him in congratulating Miriam at her house. Then, for a reason COMELEC never explained, the ABS- CBN quick count was blacked out. Suitcases stuffed with papers poured into greenhills.

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Two weeks later the quick count was allowed to resume to show Miriam losing. After the winner was proclaimed, the young were mortified and stupefied. I saw them cry in frustration. It was all they could do. Miriam invited friends to one of many appearances she was making in schools to console the students. This one was in Santo Tomas. As we walked down the corridor leading to the auditorium we heard clapping from the classrooms. At first a smattering of applause, but quickly more and more of it. Soon the corridor was reverberating with claps and cheers, reaching a crescendo when the doors to the auditorium opened and a blast of cheers and applause hit us in the face. Cries of a hurricane force expressed sadness and disgust with democracy and a total contempt for the voting process. She walked to the podium, the air electric with energy. Then she turned to the audience and bowed. Pandemonium broke loose. She did not say a word. They had said it all for her. That evening, along that corridor and in that hall, democracy died the death it deserved. The media said, “Well, better that ‘woman’ was cheated than that she became president.” Not so long ago, the champions of People Power sat in the gallery. They seemed to be anticipating the proclamation of their candidate with an unaccountable calm because the fight was so close. Although I too voted for their candidate, I kept insisting that we go behind the cover page of the COCs to verify the totals. The session was recessed with exasperation. I was called to the Speaker’s room. One of the chiefs of the Senate phoned one of the champions of democracy in the gallery and, within earshot, said, “Your boy just won’t listen to reason.” A staffer quietly slipped me a manual of procedure, opened to a page with a paragraph marked out precisely allowing a look behind the cover page of COCs. The phone was handed to me and a voice said, “Do you want another actor to become president?” “No,” I said, “I just want the winner, regardless of his profession, to be president.” I left the room, got in my car, and left Congress. I hadn’t reached Commonwealth Avenue yet when my phone rang, and a voice pleaded that I return. I did. And I expressed my vote in a way far too clever to be honest, “I see no obstacle to the proclamation of…” And then I left for good. That evening, the Philippines lost the distinction it won at EDSA and sank to be what it is today—the lowest form of democracy in history. That day, we committed the original sin, that has ever since tarnished every election we have had, not only with cheating which is now electronic in its celerity, but with choices nowhere near Miriam in quality. With the burial of Miriam we interred our last best hope of democracy, and above both their remains a plinth was erected, shafting the mournful air, commemorating its repeated mockery. —TEDDY LOCSIN, JR.

PHOTOGRAPH BY CHARLES BUENCONSEJO

1945 - 2016

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life

behind

bars Tash a Lu i s a Wo man We Love

by Chris Puhm Photographs by sonny Thakur

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Her beauty p H i l o s o p H y, i f you can call i t t H a t, i s n ’ t inspired by fasHion and beauty mags, but b y p o ly n e s i a n warrior tribes wHo believe tHat “tHe more tattoos you Have, tHe more beautiful or m a n l y y o u a r e .”

We don’t live in the Prohibition era, thankfully. But, with the right combination of inspired ingredients, one can turn a nondescript commercial space into a cool speakeasy, West Village jazz joint, or Japanese whiskey bar. Just dim the lights all the way down, put on an old, crackling jazz record and have the bartender serve you a classic drink. The illusion lasts about as long as the bar staff keeps your buzz going, or you finally stumble back out into the early morning sun. Under the harsh natural light even the best-executed bar concept turns into a dingy joint smelling of spilled booze and stale bar chow. On a scorching hot and sunny Wednesday morning in Makati, Shangri-La’s Sage Bar isn’t afforded the forgiving luxury of strategically placed lights and mood music to hide any potential flaws and, in any case, doesn’t need it. It’s the embodiment of a sleek hotel bar with a grand piano seemingly waiting to be taken over by a nightly rotation of charming Rat Pack-style crooners. Today, the bar is taken over by Tasha Lu, the 29-year-old Australian bartender-turned-brand-ambassador for Hendrick’s Gin who’s here on a mission to spread the good word about super premium gin, and to take Manila’s bar culture to the next level by teaching local bartenders a thing or two about a new cocktail or two. Tasha, of course, takes her ambassadorial responsibilities very seriously, and when I am first introduced to her, she sits dutifully in a make-up chair, letting the team of stylists do their jobs. Naturally, she’s done some modeling in the past, but it doesn’t seem to have had any lasting impact on her life. “Wow, pockets!” she goofily exclaims in a laid-back Aussie accent (is there any other kind?) while leaning against the bar counter, looking for a position in which to place her hands that isn’t awkward. She appears reluctant, but understands that this needs

to be done, that it’s all part of being a beautiful woman who represents a brand of gin. How do you distill a person’s essence down to a few characteristics, like the unique combination and administration of ingredients that result in a distinctive cocktail? Tasha is still amused that someone asked her that question in an interview. Does what you drink define you, similarly to the old saying “you are what you eat”? Tasha loves Negronis but she endearingly laughs off any meaningful connection to her character: “I’m not dry! I’m not bitter!” Esquire, she says, might be a smoky Negroni, a popular and well-liked cocktail. It’s an answer that shows she knows how to please this customer—a skill she developed working at the upscale Eau de Vie in Melbourne, where her boss encouraged her to go beyond concocting delicious cocktails to honing her conversational and service skills. This is what being a bartender is about, and what led her from Australia to Singapore to become the face of Hendrick’s in Southeast Asia. Talking to Tasha is like talking to a therapist, or a friend who knows how to listen. She’s open and self-aware, yet doesn’t come off as overly self-conscious, almost as if she doesn’t feel the need to hide anything. Perhaps another skill of a good bartender.

As our PhotogrAPher snAPs AWAy, Tasha gazes intently into the distance. I ask her what she thought about in that moment, to which she chuckles, “Modeling isn’t really my thing. Who stares out a window like this?” If Tasha has a thing, it’s tattoos. Her beauty philosophy, if you can call it that, isn’t inspired by fashion and beauty mags, but by Polynesian warrior tribes who believe that “the more tattoos

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you have, the more beautiful or manly you are.” (She’s done her homework on Filipino tribal tattoo artists, and would love to seek out Whang-od Oggay, the sole remaining traditional tattoo artist from Kalinga province.) It seems as if she’s most comfortable showing skin that’s covered in ink, explaining the fact that she usually wears pants to cover her not-yet-fully-tattooed legs. Drinks are her thing, too, of course; but drinking— not so much. Nowadays, she spends her days in hotel bars in Singapore, Manila, Bangkok, and Jakarta working on presentations, and her evenings in other bars doing guest shifts and training bartenders to work more creatively by using sandcastle tools to mix cocktails. When she does find the time to drink, it’s usually gin-based cocktails (of course), such as a classic, clean French 75 or a traditional English Summer Cup. And when she does go all out on a mad bender, Tasha confides, she can still trust her autopilot to kick in and ensure she gets home safely—well-hydrated, headache pill

dropped, make-up removed, showered—before blacking out, no matter where she is. Tasha’s spent enough time behind bars to have a few stories to tell. Not all pleasant, one can imagine, so she chooses to hold on to the good ones. Like the time a cute elderly couple walked into her trendy bar one early afternoon and didn’t leave until way past their bedtime, Tasha releasing them back into the night tipsy and happy to have slow-danced the evening away. When you spend as much time pouring people alcohol as she does, you’re bound to rack up anecdotes like this—sometimes sweet, sometimes bitter, sometimes dry, but always good to share. Seasoned bartenders are stockpiles of stories, and there is hardly anything more seductive than a woman with stories to tell. I forget to ask her again what cocktail she thinks she is, although I certainly intended to. So I just conclude on my own that she’s a drink that may not be for everyone, but is, without a doubt, a classic.

Styling by Ria CaSCo • Make-up by Joan teotiCo • haiR by DoMiniQue MaRtin

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IMAGE COURTESY OF JOSE MARI CHAN

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W H AT I ’ V E L E A R N E D

Jose Mari Chan 71, SINGER-SONGWRITER AND BUSINESSMAN

I N T E RV I E W BY K A R A O RT I GA

My maternal grandmother, who is from Cebu, loved music and

was an avid record collector. Music ﬂowed in the house most of the day—either from the radio box or our home phonograph. My mom also played the piano. So from early childhood, I was exposed to music of the popular genre. At a very young age, I found myself singing along to songs. By nine years old, my yaya accompanied me to a local radio station to participate in a Sunday show called Children’s Hour on DYRI, where kids my age sang, played the piano or recited poetry. I was always picked to sing in grade school programs. I never

had stage fright. At about 12 or 13 years old, I found myself humming my own melodies. A crop of singer-songwriters emerging in the pop music scene inspired me: Paul Anka, Neil Sedaka, etc. Before that, singers like Sinatra and Perry Como only sang material written for them. I was 13 years old when I wrote my ﬁrst original songs. They might have been derivative—but they were original. My father was a young Chinese immigrant from Fujian, straight out

of poverty. He was only 13 when he came to the Philippines. He lost his father when he was only 10 and was determined to make something of himself. He is a self-made, strongly driven man. Papa showed me that results can only come from hard work, dedication and persistence. He saw my musical

gift early on, and although he never stiﬂed it, he always stressed the need for me to stay on course in business. My mother was the only child of a Chinese mestizo married to a Cebuana mestiza. At 16, Mama was crowned Miss Bisaya in Iloilo. Mama taught me kindness towards others. She showed us the ways of ﬁ lial piety and family togetherness. When I was a child growing up, the image of the invisible God

for me was that of “Papa Dios.” Just as my ﬂesh and blood father was loving and caring, so was Papa Dios. As I grew up, theology gave me an intellectual understanding of Judaism and Christianity. I went through a period of doubt, but little by little, I learned about true faith.

The world of business has taught me the culture of fair play and competition . I have to admit: I’m overly cautious towards

diversiﬁcation, which may be a weakness on my part. But that competitive spirit is something I carried into my music career. And that has helped me in both ﬁelds. I would love to have met Richard Rodgers in person —perhaps one of the greatest American songwriters, a prolific and brilliant musician. One day, many of my songs, with a few exceptions, will be forgotten as belonging to the distant past. The few

songs that will be loved and appreciated will be known for themselves. The songwriter who authored them will no longer be as important as the songs themselves. The way to perpetuate the life of a song is to have it revived again and again through the years by the current generations of singers. And it will only happen if the future music lovers will still ﬁnd the songs relevant to their experiences. To me, my songs are like my children, coming from the “womb” of my creative heart and soul. When my songs are loved by a great number of people, I feel accomplished and fulﬁ lled. My songs—like my children—will have lives of their own. “Christmas In Our Hearts” was first written as a poem by the late Chari Cruz-Zarate in 1988 titled, “Ang Tubig ay Buhay” for her Assumption College Silver Jubilee. After that Homecoming, I shelved the song. Then in 1990, I decided to use the same melody and turn it into a Christmas song with co-lyricist Rina Cañiza, whom I met only that same week after a Sunday Mass. Rina just came up to me from out of the blue, introduced herself and offered to co-write with me. I feel extra blessed having a song of mine become a part of

my most favorite time of the year. It is a song that carries the true meaning and the spirit of Christmas.

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STYLE

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Trend-proof clothes meet one-off pieces— the why-not streak coursing through men’s style continues. From left, on Sonny: Sport coat and pants by Boglioli; shoes by Bally. On Adryan: Jacket and pants by Ermenegildo Zegna; shoes by Dolce & Gabbana. On CJ: Jacket by Louis Vuitton; pants by Versace; shoes by Donald J Pliner; backpack by Christian Louboutin. On Jonny: Coat and pants by Louis Vuitton; shoes by Johnston & Murphy.

PhOtOGrAPhS By

Ryan JeRome

ONLY THE

BRAVE

Put on a bit of daring in suits festooned with pattern, coats in brash colors, and jackets imbued with shine. d E c E M B E R -Ja n Ua Ry 2 0 1 6 / E S Q U I R E

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style

Yes, this rose-gold jacket in foiled nylon is tricky—but try it. ‘Tis the season for taking risks. Jacket by Calvin Klein Collection; sweater by Paul Smith; pants by Boglioli; shoes by Christian Louboutin; handkerchief by Dior.

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The thrill of dressing (at least, for those who care a lot about it) is getting pieces that you love and then wearing them in a way that is only yours. coat by Berluti; sweater and shirt by Paul Smith; boots by Johnston & Murphy; tie (around neck) by HermĂ¨s.

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style style

Sport coat and pants by HermÃ¨s; shirt by Brett Johnson; shoes by Johnston & Murphy; scarf by Louis Vuitton.

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coat by calvin KleinÂ collection; shirt by Versace; tie by Ermenegildo Zegna

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style

Break away from the safety of a gray, black, or blue suit with a portfolio of zippy patterns, from windowpane to glen check, houndstooth to chalk stripe. Sport coat by Paul Smith; pants by Louis Vuitton; shoes by Johnston & Murphy.

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style

Sport coat and shirt by Ermenegildo Zegna.

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Here’s the thing: You wear red, people look at you, so aside from putting on a ballsy piece like this slouchy, bloodshot top coat, carry a dose of bravado. (Tattoos optional.) coat by Paul Smith; pants by Berluti; belt by Louis Vuitton.

ProducTion

ERIcK StRyKER

STYling

BRUno LIMa at cELEStInE STYling aSSiSTanT

MELISSa MISfUd

inTern

catHy ngUyEn

grooming

LoUI fERRy at oPUS BEaUty USIng oRIBE

ProducTion comPanY

Eggy PRodUctIon

modelS

adRyan HanSon, cJ BodE, and Sonny HEnty at two ManagEMEnt; Jonny at aSton ModELS

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T H I S WAY O U T

Did You Nazi It Coming? BY AU D R E Y N . CA R P I O

IN THE MAY 1965 ISSUE OF ESQUIRE, Gideon Hausner, the Israeli attorney general who successfully prosecuted Adolf Eichmann for his crimes against humanity, wrote a piece about the terrible possibility of uncaptured Nazi criminals running loose in the streets. “It would be a real tragedy…if the greatest evil on earth remains unpunished and the most dangerous criminals who ever trod the soil are able to revert to normal life,” he warns. “Let them bear the sign of Cain to the end of their days, even if the hand of justice does not reach all of them. They must have no repose, so that all potential aggressors may know what is in store for the foes of humanity.” The article was illustrated on the cover with a picture of what Adolf Hitler would have looked like had he survived and been exiled in some South American country. “This month I will be 76 years old. Can I come home now?” the cover line goes (though the subject in question was really just the father of a carpenter employed by the photographer).

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This year, the Philippines and the United States saw the stunning rise to power of two demagogues who ran on a platform of dehumanization. President Rodrigo Duterte threatened to exterminate drug addicts and dealers, while American president-elect Donald Trump promised to get rid of the Muslims and Mexicans. Both men claim to be the antidote to the deep-seated corruption of the establishment; both style themselves as the revolutionary change their country needs. Remember, Hitler went down this road before. It seems inconceivable that our democracies could ever allow for another tyrant to bloom (though it’s easier when you’re literally burying the oppressive past with heroes.) History reminds us that a regime changes in reaction to the previous one, and democracy slides into tyranny because it is allowed to happen. To quote Mocha Uson, voice of our own disenfranchised and ignored, “Our country had so much freedom for more than 20 years now and look what it did to us? Do we really need FREEDOM? Or do we need DISCIPLINE?”