Cover Ditta Sandico, one of several designers helping in the promotion and development of Philippine weaving industry (Photo: courtesy of Ditta Sandico)
Ditta Sandico, one of several designers helping in the promotion and development of Philippine weaving industry (Photo: courtesy of Ditta Sandico)
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Local designers and artisans innovate the Philippine weaving tradition to survive climate threats and build an enduring heritage industry
The extraction and knotting of piña fibre is a physically gruelling endeavour executed entirely by hand. Long before a single thread reaches a loom, rural scrapers carefully extract fine fibres from the leaves of red Spanish pineapples with a coconut shell, broken ceramic plate or pottery shard. Next, they meticulously knot individual strands together to create a continuous thread.
Even a microscopic imperfection in this manual preparation can compromise the final textile. Behind every luxury garment lies hours of delicate labour that consumers often take completely for granted. Today, the Philippine weaving industry faces a critical juncture, navigating the escalating threats of extreme weather, the pressure of mass production and the risk of cultural erasure. To ensure its survival, local designers, community leaders and master weavers are radically rethinking how heritage is produced, protected and presented to the world.
Read more: The value of craft: how HABI, MaArte and ArteFino champion the piña and abacá weaving industry
For eco-fashion pioneer Ditta Sandico, building a sustainable brand requires confronting treacherous environmental realities. Sandico introduced ‘banaca’—a robust textile woven from banana and abacá fibres—harvested by hand in Catanduanes. The province is routinely devastated by super typhoons and severe flooding. Securing this raw material requires travelling to remote, unfamiliar territories—“the proverbial road less travelled,” Sandico shares. “[I do it] to connect with communities and people whom I would not ordinarily encounter under normal circumstances.”
Despite the climate threats, the international success of banaca—which now includes biomorphic lighting sculptures exhibited in Milan by her daughter, Mirei—has brought tangible economic security to these isolated farming communities. “Many families have been able to build more durable concrete houses using materials that can better withstand the strong winds and typhoons that frequently batter the island,” Sandico reports. Families can now purchase appliances to make everyday life more comfortable, and there is a noticeable increase in children graduating from school because of the additional income generated through weaving.
Read more: Beyond the ‘banaca’: Ditta Sandico celebrates four decades of her impact on Philippine fashion
Above A screenshot from a video captured by Lulu Tan Gan during her visit to Baraclayan Weaving Center in Iloilo (Image: courtesy of Lulu Tan Gan)
A screenshot from a video captured by Lulu Tan Gan during her visit to Baraclayan Weaving Center in Iloilo (Image: courtesy of Lulu Tan Gan)
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Sandico acknowledges the difficulty of altering the psychological barrier of luxury consumers who initially favoured European and American designer labels. “It took many years to educate our customers and help them appreciate locally made products,” she explains. “We had to reengineer their mindset—to understand that ‘local’ did not mean cheap, ordinary or of lesser value. Luxury is not simply a foreign label. It can also be the time, skill, story and cultural heritage woven into something made by Filipino hands.” When textiles arrive at her studio in flat rolls, her team transforms them into sculptural pieces that celebrate the fabric’s natural flexibility, yielding three-dimensional forms like rosettes and butterfly wings.
Designer Lulu Tan Gan similarly reshaped the physical constraints of indigenous materials to bring them into contemporary global fashion. Having established her career in the early 1980s with hand-loomed knitwear, Tan Gan pivoted in the mid-2000s after being captivated by the ethereal beauty of piña, which was then largely restricted to traditional formalwear. Merging the two disciplines presented immense technical pushback. “By construction, the piña fabric is woven, does not stretch, is fragile and feather-weight,” Tan Gan notes. “The construction pattern of knit fabric allows stretching and movement, rather than the strong, much thicker and heavier characteristic of woven fabric.”
Above Back view of Lulu Tan Gan’s piña tailored shirt with a playful use of stripes on the pockets and wide cuffs. Traditional floral embroidery adorns the front and back yokes, blending heritage craft with contemporary tailoring (Photo: courtesy of Lulu Tan Gan)
Back view of Lulu Tan Gan’s piña tailored shirt with a playful use of stripes on the pockets and wide cuffs. Traditional floral embroidery adorns the front and back yokes, blending heritage craft with contemporary tailoring (Photo: courtesy of Lulu Tan Gan)
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Rather than fighting the material’s natural characteristics, Tan Gan experimented heavily with washing and finishing, successfully making the notoriously stiff piña softer and more fluid. She eliminated traditional linings, layering the translucent piña over her knitwear to create ‘travel-friendly’ pieces that are easy to fold, pack and maintain for a jet-setting clientele. For Tan Gan, engaging with the Philippine weaving industry means actively participating in the supply chain without demanding restrictive terms.
“I never ask for exclusivity. I pay the price they ask for,” she states. She issues a clear directive to the next generation of creatives eager to use indigenous materials: “Choose the indigenous fabrics that speak to you, but first understand their construction and technical limitations. They are painstakingly handwoven, so design with care—prioritise functionality, proper fit and finishing over fleeting trends.”
Above A film still from ‘Threaded Traditions’, featuring Alan M Tumbokon, operations manager and co-founder of La Herminia Weaving and Arts Inc in Kalibo, Aklan (Image: courtesy of HABI: The Philippine Textile Council)
A film still from ‘Threaded Traditions’, featuring Alan M Tumbokon, operations manager and co-founder of La Herminia Weaving and Arts Inc in Kalibo, Aklan (Image: courtesy of HABI: The Philippine Textile Council)
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While designers push the boundaries of the finished fabric, community leaders are innovating pre-loom infrastructure to scale production sustainably. Alan M Tumbokon, operations manager and co-founder of La Herminia Weaving and Arts Inc in Kalibo, Aklan, reflects on the historical volatility of the supply chain. In the late 1990s, the industry faced severe scarcities of knotted piña fibre until the Philippine Fiber Industry Development Authority (PhilFIDA) introduced a programme assisting farmers in planting the red Spanish pineapple variety. While this stabilised the raw materials, Tumbokon still had to modernise the production process to meet growing international demand, taking his family’s enterprise from producing 30 yards a month to thousands of yards.
He achieved this by introducing 60-inch-wide handlooms operated by a single weaver and a mechanised warping system capable of processing 120 metres of fabric efficiently with consistent tension. “For me, mechanisation is not about taking the ‘handmade’ out of Aklanon piña,” Tumbokon clarifies. “The technology handles the repetitive and time-consuming parts of preparation, while the weaver remains at the heart of the process.”
When dealing with foreign luxury buyers accustomed to industrial speed, Tumbokon remains uncompromising regarding realistic lead times. “We also believe that our buyers choose piña precisely because it is not mass-produced,” he explains. “So we tell our buyers: if you want a truly authentic Aklanon piña fabric, you have to respect the process and the time it takes.”
Above A film still from ‘Threaded Traditions’, featuring creations out of piña from Panay Island (Image: courtesy of HABI: The Philippine Textile Council)
A film still from ‘Threaded Traditions’, featuring creations out of piña from Panay Island (Image: courtesy of HABI: The Philippine Textile Council)
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This operational stability has driven a crucial economic and cultural shift in Aklan. Historically considered a female-dominated craft, weaving is now viewed as a year-round, stable profession. Men shifting away from weather-dependent fishing and physically demanding, seasonal construction jobs now make up 10 to 15 per cent of modern weavers at La Herminia. Financial incentives have also proven critical in retaining the youth. Tumbokon points to Zairel Regusta, who recently won the Outstanding Young Weaver award, as evidence that the loom offers both creative recognition and viable income, proving to young Aklanons that they “do not have to leave their community to build a good future.”
With Aklan piña handloom weaving securing a Unesco inscription, Tumbokon stresses that the title must translate into tangible policy. He advocates for stronger protections against exploitative middlemen who purchase authentic pieces only to copy the designs and undercut prices with cheaper products. “Now it is our responsibility to turn that recognition into fair income, sustainable livelihoods, stronger businesses and opportunities for the next generation,” Tumbokon asserts.
In other regions, the Philippine weaving industry is engaged in a literal resurrection. Jeannie Laccay, founder of Aruga Handwovens, returned to Dupax del Sur, Nueva Vizcaya, to reconstruct the Isinay weaving tradition, an ancestral practice that vanished in the 1970s. With the endorsement of community elders from Isinay Advocates Inc, Laccay began teaching the craft from scratch. During an exchange trip to Sarawak, Malaysia, she observed indigenous weavers practising traditional rituals, such as praying over natural ingredients, waking at dawn to treat yarns and bathing in the river. This inspired her ultimate operational strategy: to fully reinstate the use of natural dyes in Isinay textiles, despite the current supply bottlenecks and the lengthy extraction process required.
Above Jeannie Laccay, founder of Aruga Handwovens (Image: courtesy of Jeannie Laccay)
Jeannie Laccay, founder of Aruga Handwovens (Image: courtesy of Jeannie Laccay)
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To prevent another cultural erasure, Laccay advocates for structural educational reform. “I think incorporating weaving in the educational system (like what we did with the Mother Tongue) as early as grade school will greatly help indigenous groups preserve their artistic blueprints,” she states, noting that past generations learned sewing through Home Economics.
Her ultimate vision is the establishment of a School of Living Traditions in her hometown to teach the Isinay language and host public workshops. For Laccay, weaving is a profoundly domestic anchor. “Selling our handwoven pieces is not only about plain business, rather it is about maintaining the families together, upgrading the quality of our life and keeping our weaving heritage stronger because more and more parents see the value of weaving in their family life,” she says.
For young Filipinos in the diaspora seeking their roots, Laccay offers direct counsel: “Speak your dialect, practice the traditions or share stories about your heritage as often as you can—simply being proud of where you came from because honouring your roots begins with living them proudly every day.”
Above Len Cabili, founder and creative director of Filip + Inna, with esteemed T’Boli master dreamweaver Subi Nalon (Image: courtesy of Len Cabili)
Len Cabili, founder and creative director of Filip + Inna, with esteemed T’Boli master dreamweaver Subi Nalon (Image: courtesy of Len Cabili)
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Executing this level of cultural preservation on a national scale requires a radical decentralisation of creative power. Len Cabili, founder and creative director of Filip + Inna, partners with 19 distinct communities, from the Tinguian of Northern Luzon to the Sama of Sulu. Operating such a fragmented supply chain relies on deep, non-transactional relationships. “To personally visit the artisans was integral to relationship building rather than a transactional relationship,” Cabili explains. “Quality is not a problem as Filipino artisans are innately gifted with exceptional creativity.”
To integrate young artisans into the corporate side of the fashion ecosystem, Cabili brought second-generation T’boli women from Lake Sebu onto her in-house team in Manila, giving them an understanding of the entire operation. Uniquely, she transfers immense creative agency back to the communities, allowing the artisans to select thread colours and guide the embroidery concepts on the garments. “The power shift dances continually—it is not one or the other,” Cabili observes. “It is what makes the work process enjoyable and our way of honouring their creativity.”
As a member of the Cultural Intellectual Property Rights Initiative (CIPRI), her brand strictly adheres to the 3Cs Rule: Consent, Credit and Compensation. A portion of the company’s net income directly funds grassroots incentives, scholar programmes and industry initiatives. For emerging creatives attempting to build brands centred on cultural heritage, Cabili’s primary directive is absolute: “Create a culture of reciprocity.”
When examining the Philippine weaving industry a century from now, its legacy will not merely rest on the aesthetic beauty of the garments. It will be remembered as a testament to the agricultural resilience of the farmers who braved super typhoons, the dedication of the knotters who readied the fibres and the ingenuity of the designers who secured its place in the modern world. By fostering a culture of reciprocity and respecting the slow, arduous work of human hands, these innovators ensure that the nation’s cultural identity will continue to thrive on the loom for generations to come.
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Franz writes about the local cultural scene and rediscovering the country’s storied past and rich heritage. He earned his bachelor’s degree in Journalism from the University of Santo Tomas and is currently pursuing a master's degree in Art Studies at the University of the Philippines Diliman. Besides working on this luxury lifestyle magazine, Franz is an avid book reader, local traveller, museum-goer, chorister, and community theatre playwright. But above all this, this Aether main spends more time in Teyvat than anywhere else.
