Red-carpet ready: Tatler Philippines celebrates its silver anniversary with Tatler Most Stylish 2026

The most revealing thing about Bea Alonzo’s style is not what she wears but what she has learnt to let go of. With time, her wardrobe hasn’t become stricter, just more intentional. There’s a sense that she no longer feels the need to try everything. Instead, she chooses pieces that feel right for her. Fashion, once a place to try things on, is now more about editing—keeping what fits her in clothes and in life.

Good tailoring matters for Alonzo: a well-cut blazer isn’t a statement piece so much as a reflection of how she dresses and approaches things in general—clean, thoughtful, never trying too hard. She doesn’t chase trends unless they fit into what she already knows works for her, choosing pieces that feel better the more they’re worn. If something enters her wardrobe, it’s because it fits into what she already knows about herself.

Preparation is part of it too. She knows confidence doesn’t just happen; it comes from intention, teamwork and attention to the small things that make everything feel effortless. Even the red carpet, often seen as a big performance, becomes something more grounded, a shared work with people she trusts.

What she seems to value most has little to do with appearance. It’s the process of understanding herself. It’s the sense that she’s no longer trying to define herself through style, but through the clarity of knowing what truly belongs.

Few people spend as much time looking at products as Michael Concepcion; and it shows. Ask about his wardrobe and he is quicker to talk about fabrication, construction and silhouette rather than labels or trends, approaching clothing with the curiosity of someone who understands how much thinking happens before a piece reaches the shop floor.

Years in retail have also made him realistic. Originality, he admits, has become harder to claim when everyone sees the same collections at the same time. Rather than resist that, he has settled into something more convincing: knowing what holds his attention and trusting that instinct. His wardrobe doesn’t chase what’s new nearly as much as it reflects an eye trained by years of looking.

Perhaps that’s why his eyewear has become the closest thing to a signature. Worn longer than almost anything else, a good frame quietly shapes how a person is remembered. It's a small detail, but one he clearly enjoys getting right.

That same attention extends beyond his own wardrobe. He speaks enthusiastically about designers such as Carl Jan Cruz and Kelvin Morales or the community growing around spaces like Purveyr Plaza, not as passing favourites but as evidence of a local industry becoming increasingly confident in its own voice.

Getting dressed, in the end, is much like everything else he does: considered, never overworked and always recognisably his own.

Style is part of the family story for Sabina Gonzalez and her mother, Tweetie de Leon Gonzalez, but the two have each made it distinctly their own.

A good fit is non-negotiable for Sabina. Everything else is open to interpretation. She has gravitated towards the clean proportions and slightly pared-back feel of the ‘90s, but her wardrobe is far from strict. Vintage designer pieces sit alongside everyday brands, trends are borrowed selectively and, every so often, something comes from her mother’s wardrobe. Having Tweetie—also among this year’s Most Stylish—close at hand makes that particular source of inspiration all the more personal.

The mix matters more than the label. Sabina likes the contrast of something affordable with a vintage designer find, or a piece with history alongside something completely ordinary. It gives an outfit a sense of personality without looking as though every element has been chosen to make a point.

Tweetie, meanwhile, has spent years refining a style built around clean silhouettes, good proportions and a certain polish that does not require much fuss. Her wardrobe has loosened over time, moving away from shorter, tighter pieces towards longer, more relaxed shapes, but the instinct remains the same: everything should look considered without looking overworked.

Monochrome is a favourite for good reason. It gives her the long, clean line she likes, while leaving room for an interesting shape or unexpected detail. A treasured waistcoat, structured at the top and billowy below, captures that duality particularly well. It can look serious or playful depending on what she wears it with.

Their approaches may differ—Sabina’s more referential and eclectic, Tweetie’s more polished and edited—but there is a shared belief underneath it all: clothes should feel personal. Having both mother and daughter among this year’s Most Stylish makes for an appealing generational conversation, one that proves style can be inherited as inspiration without ever becoming imitation.

There has to be a little swag. That is about as close as Niana Guerrero gets to a fixed rule when it comes to personal style.

The rest depends on her mood: where she is going and, increasingly, how willing she is to try something she might once have dismissed. Her style has opened up to new silhouettes, themes and trends, though she rarely takes any of them exactly as presented. She prefers to add her own flavour, turning something familiar into something that feels more like her.

A good pair of baggy jeans can tell you a lot about this social media star. Hers can be dressed up, dressed down and worn a hundred different ways, but the real test is simpler: she can dance in them. It is a small detail, but it gets to the heart of her style. Clothes can look good, but they should still feel like her.

Her appreciation for Filipino creatives extends beyond fashion to make-up artists, stylists, hairstylists and artists, drawn to the individual ways they approach their craft. After attending her first fashion week—once the thing of dreams—her own style seems to be entering a similar phase: more curious, more experimental and still unmistakably hers.

She is figuring out what works by being willing to try what does not—and keeping the swag along the way.

For Angie and Joey Mead King, style is anything but one-note. Together, they reflect two distinct approaches to dressing, united by a shared confidence in individuality and the freedom to evolve.

Few wardrobes move as fluently between grit and glamour as Angie Mead King’s. She resists the notion of a singular signature look, allowing circumstance to dictate silhouette without ever surrendering a distinct point of view. One day calls for tactical clothing that can withstand the demands of work; the next invites a sharply different style. Rather than signalling contradiction, the contrast reflects an instinct to dress for purpose, allowing each version of herself to emerge without either cancelling out the other.

She is sceptical of originality for originality's sake, recognising that fashion forever circles back on itself. Instead of chasing the illusion of the new, she gravitates towards what flatters, functions and resonates with the realities of her life.

Yet practicality never excludes pleasure. A trusted glam team, decisive footwear and the reassurance of a well-considered look remain part of the ritual before red carpet moments. She believes that clothes have the power to shift moods and sharpen presence, not because they transform identity but because they amplify it.

Joey, meanwhile, approaches fashion as something wonderfully alive. Her wardrobe is less a fixed identity than an ever-shifting cast of characters: one day a gypsy romantic, the next in impeccably cut suiting with trainers, then a vintage band T-shirt offset by diamond earrings. The combinations sound improbable on paper. On her, they read as entirely coherent because they all begin from the same place—instinct.

Years spent modelling gave her more than an education in clothes; they sharpened her understanding of how garments behave once they leave the runway and enter real life. She knows which silhouettes liberate, which fabrics steady the mind and how structure or softness can subtly recalibrate the way a day unfolds.

The most interesting thing about Tati Miranda-Fortuna’s wardrobe is what it leaves out. There is little yearning for chasing a new look every season. Instead, she has built a closet around pieces she can keep wearing, made with materials and techniques that mean something to her.

A cropped black jacket and trouser set is a good example. Woven by hand in Lubuagan, Kalinga and finished with embroidery, it is one of the pieces Miranda-Fortuna reaches for because it works almost anywhere—from travel to more formal occasions—while keeping her connected to Filipino craft.

That relationship with Filipino craftsmanship extends into Bahay Tahi, the clothing label she founded. She works with weaving communities in the Cordillera, Aklan and Laguna, as well as local designers, with collaborations aimed at keeping these traditions visible and giving younger makers room to develop.

Her clothes themselves tend to be understated. When she wants more impact, she reaches for pearls—sometimes several strands of Philippine South Sea pearls at once. She also favours a capsule wardrobe in a signature palette, where things can be mixed and matched without much thought.

It is a practical way of dressing, but there is something more personal underneath it. Wearing something made by Filipino hands gives her a reason to feel connected to what she is wearing. The clothes do not just look good; they remind her why she chose them in the first place.

Colour, print, femininity and the occasional “too much” piece all have a place in Rosanna Ocampo’s wardrobe, provided they are worn with conviction. That same instinct runs through her eponymous label, Rosanna Ocampo, where exuberance is grounded in a heavy appreciation for craft.

She is creatively influenced by Philippine craftsmanship and the sensibility she has absorbed from Italy over decades. The former is particularly close to her work, as she continues to champion techniques handed down through generations and reinterpret them for a contemporary audience. A raffia piece from her collection, first presented at Milan Fashion Week, became an early signature and remains one of the elements most closely associated with the brand.

Her relationship with fashion has become more intentional over the years. She still enjoys a statement piece, but dressing to impress has given way to dressing with a clearer sense of self. Some days call for something powerful, others for something joyful. Either way, preparation comes first; clothes, in her view, are the finishing touch to confidence rather than its source. Her approach is more instinctive: if something fits her world, benissimo; if it does not, she lets it go—a useful philosophy for someone whose style has always had its own volume.

Some wardrobes grow with success. Jae de Veyra Pickrell’s has gone the other way. It has become more precise. Time in fashion taught her how to spot desire; time in building businesses and raising a family taught her when to say no. She no longer shops for possibility but for permanence, measuring every acquisition against a future self decades from now. It is less an exercise in restraint than one of confidence.

She’s not interested in drama for its own sake, but in clothes that shift something familiar with just enough subtlety—a coat that feels slightly off, tailoring that changes how you see proportion, menswear softened when worn by a woman. This outlook explains her draw to Comme des Garçons. She likes pieces that don’t finish the thought but leaves some space for interpretation. Even when she borrows from the wardrobe of her husband, chef Bruce Ricketts,  it’s less about volume and more about how a small change in shape can alter everything.

There is little romance in how she speaks about confidence. She understands it as something surprisingly technical. The right cut, the correct shoe, a garment that sits precisely where it should, freeing the mind from self-consciousness so attention can move elsewhere.

Her style is informed but never showy. The references are there for those who notice them, but the lasting impression is one of ease born from discernment rather than excess.

The menswear racks come first. Before looking at womenswear, Tessa Alindogan looks for the cut, structure and proportion found on the other side of the shop floor.

A well-cut blazer is the closest thing to a signature. The rest of the wardrobe tends to follow its lead: clean lines, restrained colours and tailoring that does not need much decoration. Then comes the part that makes the whole thing more interesting. A bright shoe, an unexpected accessory or a feminine detail breaks the severity just enough.

It is a way of dressing that makes sense, coming from an interior designer and artist. Alindogan has the same instinct for editing in both worlds—take away what is unnecessary, then stop when the remaining elements feel right. Even trends have to go through that process. If the proportion works, the quality is there and it feels likely to last, it stays. Otherwise, there is no reason to force it.

That sense of restraint is particularly useful on any occasion. One strong silhouette is preferable to several competing ideas. The clothes should make their point and then get out of the way.

There is room for personality, though, and Alindogan finds it in the details. Shoes are where colour and wit tend to enter; menswear provides the foundation.

Classic is the word Santino Rosales comes back to, although he makes sure not to get stuck in one place. He has always gravitated towards traditional styles, even as the fit of his clothes has changed with the times. These days, he prefers things a little more relaxed and regular, taking cues from current trends but folding them into a style that already feels like his own.

His affection for linen is particularly telling. He likes good linen not only because it lasts, but it changes with you. The fabric softens, picks up creases and gathers a little history along the way. It is the sort of clothing that does not need to stay pristine to look good.

That sense of longevity extends to the rest of his wardrobe. Rosales would rather spend on a well-made staple he can see himself wearing for years than chase every new thing. A good accessory, as well, can bring a simple outfit together.

As a professional football player, preparation matters, but so does knowing when to stop overthinking and just trust yourself. When an important moment arrives, he draws confidence in knowing he has earned his place there.

The connection between clothes and performance goes back to childhood, when a new pair of shoes could make him feel cooler—and somehow faster, too. Those feelings have stayed, even if the wardrobe has matured.

Clothes no longer mark occasions so much as keep pace with the life Kylie Verzosa has built. Her style shifts with her life, and she seems perfectly comfortable with that. The impulse now is less about collecting clothes but more on collecting the right ones—the blazer that survives endless days between meetings, the pair of shoes that can keep up on foot, the handbag roomy enough for another flight. Practicality, in her case, never reads as compromise.

Fashion remains something she pays attention to rather than something she obeys. She enjoys watching what emerges from different fashion capitals, lifting ideas here and there before folding them into a wardrobe that still feels unmistakably her own.

That same instinct carries into the work she’s building beyond acting. Whether creating businesses or opening conversations through her mental health podcast, the common thread is an interest in making things that last and matter to other people. It’s perhaps why she doesn’t see confidence as something clothes create but as simply reinforcing what’s already there.

There is also a refreshing lack of preciousness about the way she dresses. She’d rather experiment, moving easily between labels like Louis Vuitton, Dior and Jacquemus depending on the mood of the day, and that ease is precisely what gives her wardrobe its point of view. Rather than chasing perfection, she embraces the possibility of getting it slightly wrong in pursuit of something more individual.

‘Eventologist’ is a term Tim Yap coined for himself, which tells you something about the way he approaches a room. He is interested not simply in what happens at an event, but in the details that make people remember being there.

His clothes are part of that equation. A beautifully tailored dinner jacket has become a wardrobe staple, fitting neatly into a career spent celebrating other people’s biggest moments. Once more interested in fashion that made an immediate statement, Yap now looks for pieces with a story and a reason to be there. Trends can provide ideas, but they are never the point.

There is a strong Filipino thread to his wardrobe, too. Supporting local designers has long been part of his practice, whether that means wearing the work of established names such as Rajo Laurel, Randy Ortiz and Rhett Eala, or bringing younger Filipino talent into the conversation. A pair of Marikina shoes, a contemporary barong or a handcrafted accessory can travel with him to an event or Fashion Week abroad.

The clothes may set the tone, but Yap is just as interested in what he brings into the room. Before important moments, he takes a few seconds to close his eyes and picture light filling him from within. The ritual is less about commanding attention than being ready to give something back.

Some spend years searching for a signature. Alden Richards has spent his refining one.

His style has never relied on novelty, but instead has grown more precise, influenced by the confidence to choose what feels familiar over what is fashionable. Trends come into view, but only occasionally find a place in his closet. They have to make sense alongside the clean jackets, crisp shirts and watches that have become constants rather than statements.

His restraint feels increasingly rare. At a time when getting dressed is often about being noticed, Richards is more interested in recognition than attention. His clothes rarely compete for focus; they simply allow him to be seen clearly.

The watch he calls his most meaningful possession offers the clearest clue. It is less about collecting objects than staying grounded, a mindset that also informs how he approaches work and public life. More than an accessory, it suggests an awareness of time as something to be respected rather than outrun.

There is a similar intention in his support for Filipino creatives, offered without fanfare, as a natural extension of who he is. Perhaps that is what defines Richards’s style: it has never tried to keep up with fashion but has simply kept pace with him.

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