MAGAZINERADIOSHOP
LOG INSUBSCRIBE
2025-11-05
Written by Regine Anastacio
By Regine Anastacio
Filipina New York–based writer Regine Anastacio explores how fashion tells stories across cultures. Known for tracing the intersections of style, migration, and memory, she turns to the Philippines’ ukay-ukay thrift stalls and places them in dialogue with global counterparts in New York, Tokyo, London, and Los Angeles. The result is a celebration of circular fashion as a shared archive of clothes and communities.
In the Philippines, an ukay-ukay stall is more than a thrift shop; it is a living archive. Racks of secondhand denim, silk blouses, and well-worn sneakers arrive from every corner of the globe, carrying with them stories of migration, trade, and reinvention. To step inside is to witness fashion’s journey across oceans, translated anew by Filipino hands and Filipino style.
The word ukay comes from the Filipino verb halukay, meaning “to dig.” It captures the thrill of rummaging through piles of clothing in search of an unexpected treasure. For decades, ukay-ukay shops have flourished across the Philippines, turning affordability into artistry. A jacket from Seoul, sneakers from Los Angeles, or a blouse from Milan may all end up on the same rack, ready to be reimagined in a new context.
Thrift Cultures Around the World
As Regine Anastacio observes, this instinct to give clothing another life is far from unique to Manila. Around the world, thrift culture carries its own local flavors.
In New York, the racks at Beacon’s Closet, Buffalo Exchange, or L Train Vintage are curated to capture the pulse of what is trending: Y2K jeans, oversized leather jackets, baby tees. Here, thrifting is less about stumbling on the unknown and more about finding the piece that feels “right now.”
In Tokyo’s Shimokitazawa district, vintage shops have become synonymous with a youth-driven subculture. The curation is meticulous: Americana denim, 90s sportswear, and retro sneakers are arranged with almost gallery-like precision. Shopping here feels like stepping into a time capsule where every item has been chosen with care, reflecting the Japanese reverence for detail and craft.
London’s Brick Lane thrifting scene carries a different energy, eclectic and layered, a mix of punk, mod, and bohemian histories that reflect the city’s multicultural fabric. LA’s Melrose, meanwhile, feels cinematic, with racks of sun-faded band tees and statement jackets designed for both Coachella weekends and paparazzi sightings. Each city reveals something about its people through the way it thrifts: playful, precise, aspirational, or improvisational.
What makes ukay-ukay remarkable, Regine Anastacio writes, is how it embraces all of these qualities at once. It is playful, because every dig through the racks is an act of discovery. It is precise, because seasoned ukay shoppers develop a keen eye for fabrics, labels, and cuts. It is aspirational, because global brands that might otherwise be out of reach become attainable through secondhand circulation. And it is improvisational, because ukay is rooted in the Filipino talent for making do and making it stylish.
Ukay-ukay also carries the imprint of migration. Many of these clothes arrive in balikbayan boxes, large cardboard boxes filled with goods that overseas Filipino workers (OFWs) send home to their families. Packed with care and sealed with layers of tape, a balikbayan box might contain everything from chocolates to shoes to secondhand clothing. More than just packages, they are symbols of love, sacrifice, and connection across distance.
As Regine Anastacio highlights, when items from these boxes eventually circulate into ukay stalls, they become part of a larger narrative. A jacket once worn in California or sneakers purchased in Hong Kong now find a second life in Manila. Ukay-ukay is not only about sustainability but also about community. Every garment is part of a global network of labor, family, and care.
As conversations about circular fashion grow louder worldwide, ukay-ukay offers a model that is both practical and poetic. Long before sustainability became a buzzword, Filipinos were extending the life of garments, giving them new meanings, and weaving them into daily life.
For Regine Anastacio, who now lives in New York, the contrast is striking yet complementary. In Brooklyn thrift shops, the joy is in spotting what feels current and curated. In Manila’s ukay-ukay, the joy is in storytelling, tracing a garment’s past life while imagining its future. Together, they affirm that clothing is never just fabric; it is evidence of where we have been and where we are going.
The beauty of ukay-ukay lies in its generosity. It democratizes fashion, making global style accessible while inviting endless creativity. A child’s dress from London, a business suit from Hong Kong, a prom gown from Los Angeles, all can find new life in the Philippines, folded into the patchwork of everyday fashion. What could be more sustainable, more imaginative, more human than that?
Ukay-ukay is, at its core, a reminder that our clothes carry histories. When they move, so do our stories. And when they are worn again, in Manila, in New York, in Tokyo, in London, they connect us across borders, proving that fashion’s archive is not kept in glass cases but in the garments we continue to wear.