No, calling nepo babies’ clothes 'ugly' won’t save us
In the Philippines, some would say the devil wears a bit of Prada, but also a bright green Louis Vuitton jacket with a floral Zara set that doesn’t quite match. Sometimes it wears simple, plain shirts labelled with “Ate” and “Kuya,” exuding approachability, while giving a tour of their 28 luxury cars.
Based on our current conversations online, we remain steadfast in punishing the contractors of “ghost” flood control projects and their influencer “nepotism babies” who are direct beneficiaries. But it seems we want them to pay not just for allegedly pocketing government funds, which, to borrow internet lingo, “deserve,” but also the mortal sin of being tacky with their ill-gotten wealth.
On Wednesday, Filipino-American content creator Bretman Rock took to Instagram stories to express his frustration with “nepo babies using people’s money to buy and fund their lavish lifestyles and their questionable, ugly fashion choices.” He added, “I saw this video the other day […] where she was like, ‘They really need to invest in a stylist before they invest in this motherf*****g fashion stuff.’ I agree. I would be mad too. If I were funding these motherf*****g nepo babies’ lives and they’re buying ugly things, I would be mad.”
This has been a common sentiment long before Bretman's video. In fact, since the issue broke out in August, much of our attention has been on the ostentatious children of contractors. Perhaps it is partly due to these nepo babies building careers out of documenting flashy, name-brand outfits, international outings, and private jets; they rob us blind to fund their lifestyles, which they then brand as “aspirational” and sell back to us. Before deactivating, Claudine Co—daughter of Christopher Co, founder of Hi-Tone Construction & Development Corporation—had over 300,000 YouTube subscribers and 170,000 Instagram followers. She also had a separate account showcasing every garment in her outfits, complete with brand logos and price tags.
It’s safe to assume Co’s style is part of what catapulted her to online fame. It even landed her an invite to the 2022 Fendi Fashion Show in Paris, France. So why is it being lambasted as lackluster now?
To some extent, online jokes about nepo babies and their fashion choices serve a function in the discourse. Memes fly higher and farther than any news article could. It may reach people who otherwise couldn’t care less about the headaches of Philippine politics, their intrigue piqued by the sheen of Gucci and Maserati. Bretman's video was widely shared both by users and media outlets, partly thanks to its novelty (he is, after all, known not just for his makeup skills but his sharp humor).
Enrico Baula, faculty member of the University of the Philippines Manila’s Department of Behavioral Sciences, says our disdain for nepo babies’ “lack” of taste is part of our wider disdain for the nouveau riche.
The wealthy are often categorized into two: old money, for families with generational wealth, and new money, whose wealth is newly acquired. The former is never flashy; the latter often falls into the trap of showcasing luxury goods to prove their new social class.
“Ang criticism [natin] sa new rich ay, ‘Yes, you can afford the bags, but you’re [still] trying to convince the world that you’re rich, that you’re better.’ Status is so important to [them],’” Baula said. As the oft-quoted saying goes, no matter the wealth, one cannot buy class; and this, we believe, is the Achilles’ heel of the newly rich.
As such, we attack them where it hurts. Because we believe these nepo babies and their families are undeserving of their lifestyles, we criticize their taste in an attempt to put them in their place.
“We’re trying to tell them, ‘You didn’t earn the money. You’re not better than everybody else; you are like everybody else. You don’t look, act, or talk rich […] because rich people are never showy,’” Baula added.
In some way, it helps us take back some semblance of control in the longstanding issue of corruption, where we often feel powerless. Calling someone’s clothes “ugly” can never compare to buying said clothes with money meant to save people’s homes, jobs, and lives.
But understanding why we spend so much time on their style and taste doesn’t rid it of its dangers. I know the severity of the issue is not lost on those of us propagating the memes, but it can be easy to lose sight of the real issue when we keep going off tangents.
Through our logic, it’s like we’re saying our rage would dissipate had the nepo babies just dressed better, or if they put the money to better use — nevermind that the funds shouldn’t be in their hands in the first place. I’m reminded of how we often laud the humbler lives of Steve Jobs or Mark Zuckerberg, or admire billionaires like Warren Buffett or Bill Gates for being among the world’s top philanthropists. The goal is not to have more ‘good’ billionaires like them, but to have no billionaires at all.
On Tuesday evening, journalist Karen Davila said on TV Patrol that a Rolls-Royce—among the dozens of luxury cars owned by the Discaya family of St. Gerrard Construction—should have no place in a developing nation like ours. “Pwede mong either itaas nang sobra ang taxes na hindi na pwede [makabili ng Rolls-Royce], or frankly speaking, pwede mo ipag-bawal sa bansa ‘yon,” she added.
“Why would you have a Rolls-Royce in the Philippines?” Davila wonders on air. “Kasi may pera nga siya,” responds one of her co-anchors. Davila replied, “But that doesn’t make it right, appropriate, or conscionable.”
Baula said, however, that simply banning luxury items is not enough to dampen the excess spending of the elite. He explained it through the lens of conspicuous consumption: “When people buy something, it’s not just about the literal utility of the object. [It] can also show people our social position.” What we buy—luxury goods or not—very often signals who we are and what we can afford, a practice all the more relevant in the Philippines, according to Baula, because of the prevalence of social climbing.
“It doesn’t matter kung tanggalin mo ‘yung Rolls-Royce because people will find another way to make themselves exclusive,” he explained. “There are so many other ways the rich can signal to the world that they are rich. You could buy a plane, yacht, condo, even a whole building.”
“It’s not gonna solve anything. Focus on the corruption, on the issue,” he said.
For sociologist Ferdinand Sanchez II, the question is not whether it’s viable to ban luxury goods—it’s why we permit just a handful of people to accumulate the majority of wealth.
“Bakit mababa pa rin ang sahod, at hindi sapat ang diskarte para umahon? Babalik tayo sa ugat ng kahirapan, kasama ng pananamantala [at] korapsyon,” he said.
This issue, he said, is a mark of a worsening wealth disparity in the country.
And it’s true; the systems we have now are a zero-sum game. Every cent procured by the top 1% is a loss to the rest of us in the 99%. Perhaps it’s why the already frustrating issue of corruption is inflamed by nepo babies’ frivolous displays of wealth. It shows their fearlessness, their perceived invincibility. They have the gall to flaunt their stolen luxuries because they know, as proven by history, that they will get away with it.
