ObituaryTransition

Auggie Cordero: Two friends on a rainy day

As we laid him to rest, I remember an afternoon we shared

Auggie Cordero, taken in 2018, at his desk in his Malate atelier, magazines, books and fabrics behind him and under his desk. That’s a portrait of supermodel Anna Bayle. (Photo by Thelma Sioson)

One of the last shoots of Auggie Cordero was in 2018 for Inquirer Lifestyle, a classic yet modern gown of tulle and lace, rich in detailing, modeled by Miss World 2018 Vanessa Ponce de Leon. (Photography by Jerick Sanchez, styling by Luis Carlo San Juan, makeup by Sari Campos)

Auggie Cordero, in 2018, made terno contemporary and hip using silk taffeta and lace, with stylized sleeves, lace ‘patadyong’ layered on bubble skirt, mixing prints with lace appliqués, a terno that could be worn from day to night. (Photography by Jerick Sanchez, styling by Luis Carlo San Juan, makeup by Theresa Padin, model: Sharina Gutierrez)

Foremost Filipino fashion designer Auggie Cordero, who set trends and blazed the trail for Philippine fashion design from the ‘70s to the early 2000s, was cremated Tuesday morning, Oct. 25, 2022, at Loyola Memorial Chapels. His ashes will be inurned at Loyola Memorial Park in Marikina.

Auggie died 3:22 a.m. Friday, Oct. 21, 2022, after a 12-hour confinement in the ICU of Makati Medical Center, where he was rushed Thursday after he complained that he had difficulty breathing and his speech rather slurred. The cause of death was acute respiratory failure and septic shock. His closest of kin, his younger sister Neng (Sonia), was with him; his other sibling, Zeny, the eldest, is based in the US. A very private wake, attended only by immediate family, his remaining staff, and few close friends, was held at Loyola Memorial Chapels—the intimate setting being the wish of the recluse designer.

In 2018, at Solaire, Auggie Cordero in one of the rare times the recluse dined out, with the author (right) and Rina Go (Photo from T. Sioson files)

During the pandemic, Auggie’s family and close friends like Rina Go had seen him face health challenges, such as diabetes, kidney and heart problems, but his death still came as a shock to us; his very strong appetite must have deluded us into thinking that his check-ups could wait—like he kept saying.

The country knew Auggie Cordero as the designer who designed the wardrobe of then President Cory Aquino. This was, however, barely skimming the surface of his solid achievements. Auggie had a knack for starting trends. Almost single-handedly, he put the style legend, actress Audrey Hepburn, in the consciousness of many a Filipina in the ‘80s as, collection after collection, one fashion shoot after another, he popularized the Audrey Hepburn gamine look of sabrina neckline, cropped pants, tailored yet very feminine silhouettes. Before that he became known for his Annie Hall and Katharine Hepburn collections of soft tailored coordinates and smart layering. Auggie also popularized the shirtdress which appealed to the growingly empowered Filipino women, the accents such as bow and camellia to soften tailored tops inspired by Chanel, the tuxedo dressing inspired by his fashion god Yves Saint Laurent, the barong tunic for women, the use of color in bridal ensembles, among other trends through the decades.

Even as he had a big fabric inventory, he wound down the operations of his atelier in Malate during the pandemic.

I’ve known him even before I joined the newspapers—a long lifetime shared. He’s been my best friend, and I suspect, a soul mate, a most cranky soul mate.

It’s not easy to write about a friend you’ve just laid to rest. So I am republishing here one of the many stories I’ve written about him. First published in Manila Chronicle in 1994, it is part of my book why I’m afraid of heights, published in 2012.

1994
Balagtas St., Pasay

The relentless drone of the rain was conducive to sleep—or, if sleep wasn’t possible, at least to inertia. That Saturday afternoon, to watch Tom Hanks in Philadelphia was certainly a lot more attractive prospect than meeting deadlines, so on impulse, actually with great abandon, I drove to Auggie’s flat to drag him to Hanks. That was a rare Saturday when Auggie was not in his atelier attending to clients.

At the door, Matisse, the mutt, was hostile as usual, his squelched barks tantamount to a Do Not Disturb sign.

Auggie Cordero was settled at his dining table-cum-work desk, a mugful of sharpened pencils by his elbow, bond paper spread out on the table, and stapled on pieces of paper were swatches of fabrics. Auggie was running his left hand through the swatches, as his other hand sketched away.

His ashtray was almost filled, but then it always is—whether Auggie is sketching, reading or talking for hours on the phone. Behind him hung the BenCab and on the floor below it stood an Onib Olmedo of a woman garbed in maroon, Onib’s color phase Auggie so loved. But this Onib has remained unhung for more than a year now simply because Auggie finds its frame tacky.

Auggie has always been a BenCab person. The artist’s male nudes hang on the stairway landing; a huge BenCab drawing has been on the dining room wall for as long as I can remember. Its lines and circles would have an almost hypnotic effect on us through late-night dinners and idle chats. I’ve always thought that the lightness and clearness of those Bencab lines were a good foil to the volumes and volumes of magazines and heavy books piled up all over Auggie’s apartment. (Unfortunately, I have yet to sneak out a bound volume of the ‘50s Vogue.)

So how about driving to Shangri-La Cinema for Philadelphia, I asked him.

All the way there? He was more indifferent than aghast at the twin-evil thought of rain and traffic.

Why not, I said, you’re just sketching and I’m in no mood to work, and you can resume sketching late at night (Auggie is a hopeless insomniac), and besides, I added, I want to see Tom Hanks.

You know, he said, there’s a scene there where…then Auggie proceeded to describe the scene, which I can hardly remember now, and Hanks’ performance. He capped it with another of those Auggie “scoops”—“You know that scene alone, I’ve read, was enough to bag him the Oscar.”

Why, I asked, you’ve seen Philadelphia?

No, he said, I read it somewhere.

Always, Auggie reads about something somewhere. He’s up to date with the latest issues of New York magazine, Vanity Fair, Entertainment Weekly, Premiere, WWD, apart from Vogue, Harper’s, the dailies and the latest bestsellers.

And now, he was telling me that he’d read somewhere that Anna Wintour was on the way out from Vogue. The Vogue publications, he said, were girding for some revamp, and so was, he read, Vanity Fair.

Have you seen Vanity Fair lately, he asked, it’s not as hot as before. Dominique Dunne’s cover on Jackie O didn’t say anything new, he went on, it was apparent he wasn’t able to crack Jackie’s cordon sanitaire. Nobody, he said, had yet succeeded in violating Jackie O’s demand for privacy—up to her deathbed and beyond.

But what is most revealing, he tattled on, is the latest unauthorized bio of Calvin Klein. Calvin, he went on, tried his best to stop its publication so no big publishing house picked it up, only a small brave one did, and it’s selling like hotcakes.

Before he could enumerate the jaw-droppers in Calvin Klein’s bio, and before he could resume gushing about just how much he loved New York magazine, particularly its latest issue devoted entirely to “where to find what in New York, down to the smallest button and black jeans,” I cut him short to remind him about Philadelphia.

“Lubayan mo nga ako,” now he’d stopped sketching. I don’t want to go to Shangri-La, he sounded firm, I can wait for it in beta.

But—I said, this was his chance to see the moviehouse. Auggie hasn’t been to that tony theater. Worse, he hasn’t even been to Megamall and perhaps doesn’t even know what Ortigas Center looks like—a rare Manilan indeed.

He prefers to discover innumerable places through his magazines, books…. and cable TV—and still ends up beating us to information

For apart from his yearly trips to the US, to Europe, to Hong Kong, Auggie doesn’t seem to care to go anywhere around Metro Manila, not beyond Remedios Circle in Malate anyway. He prefers to discover innumerable places through his magazines, books, betas, VHSs, lasers, and cable TV—and still ends up beating us to information about fashion, celebrities, movies, the arts. When you get wind of some news, like Audrey Hepburn dying, and you want to break it to friends, it’s no fun calling Auggie. Chances are he’s heard about it already.

Auggie Cordero styled this for Metro magazine in 1996, for Rajo Laurel, and for the author when she was editor in chief of Metro magazine.

Now his talk turned to Paris, where I had just come from. He chattered away about it as if he had lived there all these years—the fashion houses, how no French seemed to be overweight; how at dusk, the lights beamed on all that historic architecture would turn on as if in sync, and the City of Lights would come to life; the books at the Latin Quarter; the colors Parisians combine in their summer suits; the way they sit facing the street at roadside cafes.

It is this expert hand at detailing that has forged his clientele’s loyalty to his craft, the women who want clothes they can wear for years and years

Auggie’s eye, be he traveling or watching a movie, leaves out no detail, where style is concerned. Not surprisingly, this hawk eye for the smallest detail has been his fashion trademark. It has resulted in a master touch that, ironically, has put him at a disadvantage on runway shows where Manilans would rather see blazing fireworks and be entertained by loud bursts of sequins, beads and color. But it is this expert hand at detailing that has forged his clientele’s loyalty to his craft, the women who want clothes they can wear for years and years without fearing they would go out of vogue, the women who regard a clothes’ craftsmanship as an investment.

Then again, amid his Paris discourse, I whined in to say that I wanted desperately to see Philadelphia.

“Kulit mo. Hindi aalis yang Philadelphia,” now he sounded exasperated. “Mag-intay ka hanggang matapos ang show ko. You pushed me to have this show.”

He then pointed at the swatches of fabrics and the stack of paper and folders that was about a foot high. See those, he said, those are all my designs and studies.

He moaned that he’d not had a good sleep the past nights (but you’re insomniac anyway, I wanted to cut in), because he’s been busy editing designs, and he must not stop now, not when all these fabrics were before him.

You don’t have a gala show for 14 years and now you cram? I chided him.

Of course I am—he cast me a sharp look—the show is barely more than a month away, and I’ve designed only 20 pieces, for more than a 100-piece collection.

He added that he had felt so overworked the past few days that he thought of giving himself a treat—he bought himself two antique watches: a 1932 Longines and 1934 Hamilton.

I’ve known Auggie for so long that I know better than to take him literally. When he says he’s designed only 20 clothes, in truth, he means he’s finalized only 20 designs down to the last stitch; he edits, then re-edits and re-edits again the clothes until he comes up with the right cut and proportion, until the beads or embroidery or lace or other touches meet the standard he’s set for himself. And the standard is that of a scholar—a diligent master to whom the proportion and cut of clothes are paramount. Next to that is the detailing—in the sleeves or lapel, or the fabric dye or beading. Any of these details can make the difference.

‘Hide your body flaw. Ilusyonada ka masyado’—I’m sick and tired of him telling me that

If Auggie has succeeded in custom-made clothes and not in RTW, it must be partly because he makes his design and cut to suit the body of an individual woman and her style identity, nothing short of that. So if you have bulges all over and come to him wanting a figure-hugging dress, he won’t do it but will cover you up instead in some loose tailored number. “Hide your body flaw. Ilusyonada ka masyado”—I’m sick and tired of him telling me that. You can’t make him buy into your illusions.

So now, he was telling me to look at the lines he was sketching. See these silk linen wool swatches in plaids and linear patterns, he said—in shades of black, brown and grey. I’m turning them into suits, he said, but the silhouette of which Manila had not seen. I’m changing the proportion, he continued—why always cut at the waist? This time, I’ll cut at the breast and the shape flows from there. I’ll change the proportion and make the suit longer, and the skirt follows accordingly. Now see how the long sleeves would be shaped, he went on.

But—he punctured the air with his pencil to stress a point—I’m trying something else with these suits; I’ll show how they could be worn with our barong.

He resumed drawing a barong and little dainty designs down its bodice.

See these, he pointed at the designs—I’ll use all kinds of indigenous beads to trace images of gabi leaves and other flowers and I’ll dye these beads—coco, shell, hishi—in various colors, so they’ll look startling up close.

Yeah, I said, but they won’t be seen on the ramp, the audience wouldn’t appreciate those details. Your hard labor would be a waste.

He sat up, his hands a flurry of gestures. Never mind if they don’t, he said, basta I’ll be satisfied with what I do.

You see, he went on, what I want to show is that the barong or the Filipiniana attire could be not only stylized but more so, mainstreamed into contemporary dressing.

In short, he said, they could be worn to everyday affairs, even the office.

Take the terno, he said, no matter how exquisitely embroidered and crafted it is, why does the audience abroad not mind it? He continued—in Singapore I heard them say your terno is very beautiful but we can’t wear it.

I agree with Auggie that by blending the suit with the barong, and by doing it in an elegant and classy manner—he will yet start another trend in Manila fashion

I get Auggie’s point—Filipiniana cannot thrive in isolation. Our terno, maria clara, barong, if they are to be relevant to our daily life, have to be recast into everyday dressing. I agree with Auggie that by blending the suit with the barong, and by doing it in an elegant and classy manner—nothing costumey or obtrusive—he will yet start another trend in Manila fashion.

 

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I didn’t know why but his mind wandered off to Indochine, the Oscar winner for Best Foreign Movie.

He asked excitedly—do you remember the very last scene of Catherine Deneuve standing along the river, her back to the camera?

He stood up to do the Deneuve pose and gushed. “I can’t forget that sight. Her  brown coat loose,” he said, his hands running down his sides, “and her pants just straight….that’s so classic.”

He went on, you remember her ao dai, how they flowed? That gave me an idea, he said and stood up again, his hand carving an imaginary body in the air—“I’m making a sotana (soutane)-inspired tunic but in piña.”

How on earth his mind—and eye—went from Indochine to the sotana and a new vision for a tunic, I didn’t bother to interrupt him. But what didn’t surprise me anymore was that yet another movie should so move Auggie into conceiving a look.

As many know, movies inspire Auggie no end, his favorite scenes running on his mind for days on end. He’s had an Audrey Hepburn phase, a Katharine Hepburn phase and so on, and would spend night after night sketching away designs inspired by these heroines. And now it’s Indochine for his forthcoming gala collection.

When he said sotana, I remembered what I’ve been meaning to ask him —why do you always cover the body? Why don’t you want to bare so much flesh?

“Ano!?” he said. “Para mabastos ang mga customers ko ng watch-your-car boys? Titilian ako ng mga asawa nun.”

No, I said, even just for your show—why do you always have to think of your customers? Why not think about the Manila fashion show audience, this time, which always wants a shocker?

There’s still such a thing as subtlety and that in the long run is more alluring

You mean bombastic, huh, he said, then turned very serious—“When I design I think of the woman who can be sensual and appealing without those peek-a-boos. Sensuality is not the bare flesh alone. I design for the woman who is confident and secure enough—‘coz if you are, you don’t have to strip. There’s still such a thing as subtlety and that in the long run is more alluring.”

Then he opened the pages of Paris Line showing the Fall/Winter collections—“Look at these. Look at Saint Laurent. His clothes stood out for their simplicity. They’re almost unmindful of trends. You know that you have to be moneyed to wear YSL and yet you don’t flaunt it because the clothes are so classic. A woman has to be not only rich but also secure to wear these unembellished clothes.”

Indeed one only has to listen to Auggie to know where his bias lies. He goes for Saint Laurent, Armani and their kind. He goes for subtlety, not fancy.

He went on—“The women who’ve inspired me were Audrey, Katharine, Jackie Kennedy, Babe Paley, Grace Kelly. They were not bombastic at all, were they? And yet their mystique has been etched on the minds of generations.”

The talk strayed to Anna Bayle, who’s coming home just to model for his show. Just what is he designing for his bosom friend, his muse, I asked.

“She’ll wear my bridal gowns at the start and end of the show…Oh you should see my wedding gown…” He was gesturing again—“I’ll combine ecru, black and grey in a wedding gown, and in another, use a patadyong lining for my jusi.”

Or, he added, “Have you ever seen a Maria Clara with a bustle?”

I wasn’t surprised that he would have black and grey or plaid lining in a wedding gown. After all, it was Auggie who introduced color in wedding ensembles on the Manila scene. As early as a few years back, he was dressing his bridesmaids and flower girls in blues or magentas or spring colors. Other designers followed.

That rainy Saturday afternoon, I dropped by Auggie’s because I wanted to goof off. Instead I found him in the heat of creation, a month before his show at Manila Hotel. I didn’t plan to reactivate my mind on a lazy gloomy afternoon, but what I’d just seen of his designs did just that. In that sense—to see him at work—was I luckier than my colleagues; most of the younger fashion writers haven’t even seen an Auggie Cordero collection. The last time he graced the runway was 14 years ago. It’s been a long wait.

But in another sense I’m luckier than my colleagues: I have had Auggie Cordero for my rainy-day companion all these years, for all kinds of weather, really. Tom Hanks can wait.

 In 2019, Auggie Cordero designed resort wear for Inquirer Lifestyle (Photography by Jerick Sanchez, styling by Luis Carlo San Juan, makeup by Theresa Padin)

About author

Articles

After devoting more than 30 years to daily newspaper editing (as Lifestyle editor) and a decade to magazine publishing (as editorial director and general manager), she now wants to focus on writing—she hopes.

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