the story
doce started in my room in kalibo.
it was 2020, and it didn’t start with just me.
everything was closed. a friend and i had time we never asked for, so we decided to make something out of it — shortening a shirt, rebuilding a collar, making one thing out of two. my sister was in it from the first piece. she modelled every single one, tried them on before anyone else ever saw them, and a lot of these shapes exist because she said make it shorter, or make it for girls my age.
when things opened up again, i was the one who couldn’t put the scissors down. so i kept going — thrifting, cutting, rebuilding. my friend backed every drop. my sister kept wearing them.
for about a year doce went out in kraft envelopes tied with yellow string, to girls i’d never met, in provinces i’d never been to. i wrote every name by hand.
then life got loud, and i had to stop.
i wasn’t gone. i was quiet. and i’ve been cutting again.
— the girl behind doce

























