How the queer youth are finding themselves in ukay-ukay

MANILA, Philippines – The dictionary says that to be thrifty is to be careful with money and other resources. Put in the context of sartorial culture, thrift is all about finding “good” clothes (the criteria for which differs from person to person) for cheap — and this usually means shopping for preloved, second-hand, used and unused clothing.

Its loose equivalent in Filipino is “ukay-ukay,” which refers more to the act of scrounging through piles and rows of clothes than saving money, but the spirit of thrift is still there.

Almost all ukay-ukay shops around the Philippines have that distinct look: walls and floors either tiled or baring cement, fluorescent tube lamps, handwritten signages for prices, and neon green hangers or huge containers of piles of clothes. Clothing items both from high-end brands and from unheard-of retail stores meet at the racks, not one more valuable than the other.

In between rows of dusty clothes, the queer kids navigate fashion and identity.

Over the past few years, I’ve seen more teenagers and young adults flocking to places like Makati Cinema Square and public markets in pursuit of clothes. When I was younger, there was shame in buying cheap at the ukay-ukay shops, and my idea of “branded” was fast fashion, so it was interesting to see the tide turn just a couple of years before the pandemic.

One could chalk up this new interest in ukay-ukay to the thrift haul vlogs of the late 2010s, which started primarily in the United States with YouTubers like Emma Chamberlain and Conan Gray, before the trend bled into local content, with ukay style icons like Mimiyuuuh and Shaira Luna at the forefront.

Personal and political

Around the same time, we all started to grow more aware of the damaging and unethical production practices behind our favorite brands, and consciousness of those issues were amplified with the rise of ultra-fast fashion online shopping giant SHEIN during the pandemic. Ukay-ukay then stepped in as the alternative.

On top of ukay-ukay being the more obvious sustainable choice, writer AJ Raymundo said, “I think there’s something beautiful about giving these second-hand clothes another chance especially when you think about all the resources that go into making clothes.”

For Dibs, student and “Ukay God” (they jest, but I think it’s true), ukay-ukay serves as an inspiration and a challenge. 

“I crochet my own clothes minsan (sometimes) and I’ve been wanting to develop my sewing skills so I look sa (at) ukay for inspo,” they said. To them, the challenge comes in finding clothes that need repair or “have space for reform.”

And for these queer individuals, the appeal of ukay-ukay doesn’t end at sustainability, affordability, and quality. Sourcing clothes from thrift stores also plays a big role in their self-expression as members of the LGBTQ+ community.

“I always try to go out of my comfort zone and try clothes I wouldn’t usually wear, or try to make clothes ‘work’ and fit my style,” said Zero Candelaria, a student and filmmaker. “I think that’s why a lot of the queer creatives that I know gravitate towards thrifting. It’s also a really accessible way to experiment with your gender expression.”

For David Paddit, who works in marketing for a jewelry brand, the creativity in tinkering with ukay pieces is inherently queer. 

“We take something old and turn it over its head, subverting expectations,” he said. “There’s no wrong way of going about ukay-ukay, much like queer identity.”

Similarly, for Alyssa, student and homebaker, finding unique pieces at the ukay-ukay has helped her embrace her sexuality and identity “as someone part of the LGBT [community] by allowing me to stand out based on my fashion sense.” She said that ukay “has opened my eyes to a community of queer Filipinos who use fashion to establish and emphasize their identities, inspiring me to do the same.”

Dibs also pointed out that the lack of distinction between men’s clothing and women’s clothing in ukay-ukay allows shoppers a wider selection of pieces to choose from. 

“As someone who identifies as non-binary, ukay is basically like this free real estate playground for me to look for all kinds of clothes for the personal style I’m trying to cultivate without having to worry if ginawang pambabae ba or panglalaki ‘yung damit (the clothes were made for women or men),” they said.

For AJ, the ukay shops themselves are symbolic of the queer experience. 

“Sobrang queer lang talaga at very Filipino ng entire ukay experience na lahat ng damit magkakaiba at walang uniformity. Tapos yung mga nagbabantay, nakikinig ng drama sa radyo o kaya budots – sobrang campy niya lang!” 

(The ukay experience is just very queer and very Filipino in that the clothes vary and have no uniformity. And the sellers, they listen to radio dramas or budots — just very campy!)

In an article for The University of North Carolina Press Blog, historian Jennifer Le Zotte wrote that the Lavender Scare, a widespread moral panic surrounding homosexuality that happened in the United States in the ‘50s and ‘60s, forced retailers to fire queer employees and discriminate against cross-dressing patrons. While it doesn’t seem like a big deal today, trying on clothes made for the opposite sex was a big no-no at that time.

“Commercial support of queer communities came instead from alternative retail sites — such as thrift stores,” she said. Major American thrift stores like Goodwill and the Salvation Army and smaller local second-hand shops became the go-to for queer people, because “such places did not issue public responses of solidarity with non-normative dressers, but most did extend a sort of benevolent neglect to all customers.”

And though times have changed, mainstream retailers still have yet to replicate the safe space that ukay-ukays have made.Their clothes are only either for men or for women, and the most androgynous they’ll ever get is in the kids’ section. Despite maybe having one rack dedicated to rainbow pieces and statement tees loudly declaring gayness or allyship (only during Pride Month), it’s in these stores that trans women also get vilified for wanting to try women’s clothes in women’s dressing rooms, where they belong.

Meanwhile, the ukay-ukay unabashedly serves as a nexus for the different subcultures and factions of the local queer community. Think Cubao Expo gays, the baklang kanal, lesbians who dress up like grandfathers, the punks. All of them flock to the ukay-ukay in pursuit of clothes that they feel bring out themselves.

Moreover, their different styles — and where they’re curated and shopped — matter especially in a socio-political landscape that isolates LGBTQ+ individuals. Their clothes and the way they’re worn are visual codes that people use to signal to each other that they are the same, and that more importantly, they’re there for one another. – Rappler.com

Sophia Gonzaga is a Rappler intern.