Joseph Bagasao and the Subtle Language of BAGASÁO

​Joseph Bagasao’s work exhibits a particular kind of restraint. Nothing needs to make itself heard too loudly. A seam may interrupt a garment's expected trajectory; a shift in proportion may destabilize a familiar silhouette; and contrasting textures may introduce tension into an apparently minimal construction. It is within these subtle displacements that BAGASÁO has gradually defined its aesthetic: precise yet never rigid, understated yet far from neutral, suspended between structure and ease. We met Joseph Bagasao, the founder and creative director of the Philippine brand, at the Fondazione Sozzani during Milan Fashion Week. The occasion was FASHIONPHILIPPINES MILAN, a mentorship and exhibition program presenting a new generation of Filipino fashion brands to an international audience.

Since its founding as an independent label, BAGASÁO has developed a language that can move beyond its place of origin without severing its connection to it. Rather than using Filipino identity as an aesthetic statement, BAGASÁO treats it as intrinsic to its perspective — a cultural background that need not announce itself to remain present. Our conversation in Milan provided an opportunity to explore the origins of this measured approach and to understand how personal experience, cultural identity, and independence can influence fashion design without becoming rigid formulas.

© BAGASÁO 

Your relationship with fashion seems to be deeply rooted in memories from long before it became a professional choice. Where does that story begin for you?

It really started as a passion, and I think it largely goes back to my grandmother. I grew up very close to her in a rural area of the Philippines, far from Manila. I lived next door to her, and after my grandfather passed away, I slept every week at her house. She became an important presence in my life. She encouraged me to play the piano, and I remember that she always surrounded herself with beautiful things. She loved clothes, shoes, and beautiful objects. She was incredibly chic. For instance, she always carried a fan. Last year, I suddenly realized that the woman I had unconsciously been designing for all these years was actually her. I found myself asking, "Why am I always drawn to this kind of woman, with this attitude and elegance?" Then I realized that the image had been there all along. It was my grandmother. I think I became interested in fashion very early on. While other kids were watching Cartoon Network, I was watching Fashion TV. I knew designers like Prada before I even understood fashion. I was fascinated by clothes, shoes, and beautiful things because I grew up surrounded by that sensibility.

​Joseph Bagasao, portrait. © BAGASÁO 

However, fashion was not initially perceived as an obvious path for you. How did you transform your early fascination into your own professional language?

At that time in the Philippines, studying fashion was perceived very differently, particularly if you were a boy. My parents didn’t want me to pursue fashion at first, so I finished college first. But I always knew I wanted to work in fashion. After graduating, I couldn’t find the right job, so I studied photography and took French classes while looking for an internship with a fashion designer. That was really the beginning. Eventually, I convinced my mother to let me attend fashion school. I attended the Fashion Institute of the Philippines, graduating at the top of my class. I was awarded Designer of the Year. I then did internships and eventually worked for Josie Natori [Editor’s note: a Filipino-American fashion designer and entrepreneur], where I became a junior designer specializing in embroidery. That experience is why handwork remains such an important element in my clothes today.

© BAGASÁO 

When did working in fashion no longer suffice, prompting you to develop your own vocabulary and, eventually, your own brand?

After working for a few years and becoming comfortable in my job, I decided to leave and start my own business. I was afraid of losing my dream so I took a leap of faith and started my own brand. Then, in 2016, I received an opportunity to show in Tokyo. I was one of the three Filipino designers selected to participate in Amazon Fashion Week TOKYO. That became an important moment for me. From there, it was year after year and collection after collection. I tried to understand not only how to make clothes, but also what kind of company I wanted to build and what kind of brand I wanted BAGASÁO to be. There are so many brands, designers, and products in the world. I didn’t want to add more products without reason. At some point, I realized that I had to stay true to the message I wanted to convey through my clothes. That became my compass. Even if I’ve already designed something, if it doesn’t feel authentic to me, I know I have to go back and change it.

© BAGASÁO 

In your work, there seems to be a constant negotiation between the presence of the garment and the person wearing it. What kind of relationship do you want your clothes to have with the body and the individual wearing them?

I don't like looking at someone and no longer seeing the person because I can only see the clothes. A garment can be beautiful, but if the person inside it disappears, something is lost. I want people to feel like themselves in my clothes. Many of my clients in the Philippines start with one piece and then keep coming back. I think this happens because the pieces are approachable yet not completely conventional. A shirt is never just a typical shirt. There's always something unique about them, yet they still connect with who the person is.

Your clothes often start with a sense of formal restraint, but something subtly disrupts their apparent simplicity. How would you describe BAGASÁO's aesthetic?

I like clean lines, but I also like to subtly disrupt them. For example, I might make a pair of trousers and introduce a seam somewhere unexpected that breaks the line. The gesture is small; it doesn't need to be loud. There is always something slightly off—something that interrupts what initially appears simple.

© BAGASÁO 

In fashion, cultural identity is often reduced to recognizable symbols or visual codes. Your work, however, seems to resist that kind of literal representation. How does your Filipino heritage inform your work without becoming an explicit or folkloric signifier?

Whenever I’m interviewed in the Philippines, people ask me: “What makes your work Filipino?” For me, the answer is quite simple. I grew up in the Philippines. My values were formed there. The way I look at textiles, choose colors, and notice things around me—even the way I look at a flower—are connected to how I was raised and the culture that shaped me. So my clothes don't necessarily have to look Filipino. I don't need to add something to a garment that immediately announces, “This is Filipino.” The identity is already there because it's part of how I see things. It has been very meaningful to hear from international juries that they can recognize something distinctly Filipino in my work without it being explicit or literal. I use a lot of Japanese fabrics, for example, but the clothes don't necessarily look Japanese. Nor do they simply look European. This is important to me because I want to show that being Filipino has many faces.

© BAGASÁO 

© BAGASÁO 

Could we think of your language as a hybrid that is deeply rooted in the culture that shaped you yet is constantly transformed through encounters with other materials, places, and visual traditions?

I like that definition. It resonates with me. One of my ambitions has always been to showcase the level of craftsmanship in the Philippines to an international audience. While working with Josie Natori, I saw collections from major fashion houses and the extraordinary level of handiwork behind them. I thought, "People in the Philippines are capable of working at that level, too." This became one of my goals for the brand, not only for myself but also for Philippine craftsmanship. There is an incredible amount of knowledge there. For example, when I work with weavers in the Philippines, I don't just want to go somewhere and buy fabric. I want to travel to the mountains and see how it's made. I need to understand the process. To me, that’s the only way to truly value what people are doing.

© BAGASÁO 

For an independent designer, creative autonomy must coexist with economic reality. How do you envision the future of BAGASÁO and how do you define sustainable growth when independence determines the brand's size and speed?

Initially, I thought of sustainability as something I had to actively pursue or impose on the brand. Over time, however, I realized that the brand's scale and our work methods are already connected to sustainability. What has become increasingly important to me are quality and longevity. I want to create products that last — items that can be kept and perhaps eventually passed on to future generations. I think about the longevity of the brand in the same way. I also try to avoid using too many synthetic fabrics. For me, sustainability is connected to the reality of being an independent designer. I don’t have substantial financial backing. I didn't inherit money, nor did I start out with investors providing enormous resources. We had to work with what we had and what we could realistically accomplish. I always tell my team that I want the brand to grow as much as possible. I don’t want to pretend that we are something we're not, nor do I want to make choices simply because a brand is supposedly expected to do so. For me, the important thing is to be honest about where we are, what we can do, and who we really are.

© BAGASÁO 

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Campaign Credits:

Photography: Geric Cruz

Video Director: Martin Bautista

Assistant: Albert Calaguas

Assistant: Albert Calaguas

Model: Dennese Victoria

Model: Sunil Aku

Production Assistant: Gemma Santos, Sophia Pangandian, Pina Arban