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Robin Tomas’s winning t-shirt design will be launched at a cocktail reception at Bloomingdale’s New York on March 19, in time for the Spring Season kickoff. The design, a v-neck tee in layered tonal Supima cotton knit, was picked from among 6 finalists in last year’s competition. The TOMAS t-shirt will be sold as a special edition shirt in Bloomingdale’s flagship store in Manhattan.

Founded in 1954, Supima (short for Superior Pima Cotton), is a sumptuous cotton fabric unique to the U.S. that is used by luxury brands. The design contest was inspired by the legendary Wool Secretariat competition that launched the careers of designers Yves St. Laurent and Karl Lagerfeld.

Robin Tomas is a graduate of Parsons School of Design in New York, and has interned for Anna Sui and Valentino. He is presently showing his Fall 2011 collection in New York.

Robin Tomas photo by Giulia Piccari

For more information: info@robintomas.com, or visit www.robintomas.com and www.supima.com.

There’s something about the season of peace on earth and goodwill to all men that brings out the worst in people. So I knew traffic would be hell and the taxi situation impossible. There’s some comfort in being right.

I needed prescription lenses for my new frames so I went to see my optometrist Nella Sarabia at UP Shopping Center. (Incidentally if you are in desperate need of signed copies of Twisted 9 and 8 1/2 they are available at Nella’s shop. Her number is 4355685.) My appointment took ten minutes; getting out of UP Diliman took over an hour. After waiting outside the shopping center for several minutes I figured I’d have as much chance of getting a cab if I walked around the campus as I did just standing there and getting bored.

So I took a walk. A long walk. I remembered Jon’s advice and ate a banana-Q before setting out (I didn’t have breakfast and it was past 3pm.) The campus felt abandoned (the Lantern Parade was held the previous day), the foliage was lush, the weather my favorite kind—cool and gloomy. I don’t know how long I walked, but I finished listening to Avalon by Roxy Music and half of Pirates by Rickie Lee Jones (I picked those two because I listened to them constantly in school). At “Traces of the Western Slopes” a taxi appeared, and the driver agreed to take me to Cubao Expo where I was meeting Noel.

By the time I got to Cubao I was famished so I went to Bellini’s, which is owned by the ex-paparazzo from Pisa, Roberto Bellini. Mr. Bellini is so vivacious he is sometimes asked if he starred in Life Is Beautiful (Roberto Benigni). “What will you have!” he cried. “What have you got!” I replied. “Fresh fettucini with clams in tomato sauce!” he said. “I’ll take it!”

The fettucini was excellent. I mopped up the remaining sauce with fresh foccacia, then I had a slice of Bellini’s classic orange cake and an espresso. Mr. Bellini reminded me that I had been going to their restaurant since they opened in 1999. “This is on me!” he announced. Good as my meal was, it tasted even better afterwards because it was free.

Mr. Bellini

Noel had had to cram into the MRT to get to Cubao. There was this cranky guy by the door of the train car, and every time someone came in he said, “Bakit ka nakikipagsiksikan?” as if the passengers had a choice.

We found presents for our friends in Cubao Expo, then steeled ourselves for the MRT ride back to Makati. But then a taxi materialized in front of us, and the driver overcharged but we figured it was worth it.

After dinner we had cake and coffee at our friend’s new apartment, and the view made us forget how tired we were.

And I swear it was not rigged.

Round 5pm I got a text from Noel: I won free graphic novels from the raffle at National Bookstore!

I said, Wow and you never join raffles. At that exact moment I was at National Bookstore in Glorietta 5 for the opening of Work Station, a new section dedicated to office equipment (computers, printers, scanners, cabinets, furniture) and the full line of Apple products.

Work Station is located inside National Bookstore in Glorietta 5, SM Calamba, and SM San Pablo. It also has standalone stores in Glorietta 3 and Market! Market! in Bonifacio Global City.

You want to know how to get 100 percent attendance at your event? Send out an invitation with a picture of the new MacBook Air and the word “Raffle” under it in block letters. I don’t deny that it was a major factor in my decision to go there.

Before the grand prize was announced, 20 iPod Shuffles were raffled off. I was standing next to Bianca from the Inquirer whose name was called just as she was eating an hors d’oeuvre. “Great,” she said, “I get called while my mouth is full.” I said, “If I get nominated for an Oscar the camera will zoom in on me while I’m stuffing my face. And stay there.” Then I popped an entire quiche in my mouth and my name was called. I won an iPod Shuffle!

My joy was tinged with sorrow because it meant I was no longer eligible to win the MacBook Air.

“Quick, eat something,” I told Bianca’s friend. And she won an iPod too. The MacBook Air went to Bea Ledesma. Damn you Bea you always win the laptop!

The light show at the Ayala Triangle Park.

Afterwards I walked to Ayala Triangle Park to meet Juan, Ricky and Noel at dinner. “I won an iPod in a raffle! I never win raffles!”

“Because you never join raffles,” Juan pointed out. Then again Juan is the one who will point out that if a runaway train loaded with explosives is coming at you all you have to do is fire a missile and take out the engine. End of movie.

Pandora?

But never mind rationality, I won a raffle! My new iPod will be delivered tomorrow.

To my shock and awe I have just realized that I am in the wrong profession. I should be running an extortion ring.

I went to the wish registry at Adora, picked out the presents I wanted, sent out the postcards to selected targets, and voila.

It worked. My friend gave me the Ray-Ban Colorized Wayfarers I had coveted but would not think of buying for myself because I am a vintage eyeglass frames-thrift shop-flea market snob. I have always known the power of emotional blackmail—my cats use it to control me—but this could have long-term effects on my weltanschauung (Avarice sounds more palatable in conjunction with something Teutonic).

Of course we know from fairy tales that wishes are fraught with complications and plot twists, so we have composed these ground rules for registering your wishes.

1. Only make your wishes known—that is, extort—from the people who know you well enough to appreciate the humor/irony of the situation.
2. Only extort from those who love you and find your acquisitiveness amusing because they know it does not define you.
3. Only extort from those you love because you are giving them the right to extort from you. When it’s your turn to grant their wishes you will want to do so freely and happily and not just because you owe them something. (Tit for tat is so bourgeois.)

And don’t forget to encourage your friends to put their wishes out there because you never know what’ll happen.

Note to readers: The notes posted on the items are not meant for you. You are not the target of my emotional blackmail/extortion campaign; that is for those closest to us. But you might consider doing this for yourself. Cheers.

I have always wondered why there are no gift registries for all occasions. You have to get married or to spawn in order to register at the better stores and have them post a list of the items you need or want. (Or in the absence of a partner, marry yourself or give birth to yourself.)

Even then, the loved ones and associates who peruse your gift registry tend to pick items on the basis of price. What do you have to do to make your wishes known without coming across as an emotional blackmailer or a corrupt politician?

I wish there were some kind of wish registry where one could publish a list of the gifts she desires, for the benefit of the wonderful people in her life for whom she intends to do the same.

My wish has been granted

Adora opens the world’s first wish registry. In the Philippine Star.

For too long I have bored you with the continuing saga of my quest for a hat that fits my head, specifically a bowler (see A Clockwork Orange). I have an extraordinarily large head. It is so big that when I was born, the doctor thought my mother had given birth to a head.

It is so large that it requires its own constitution and armed forces. I should be cast as the Navigator in Dune (or Shai Hulud). It’s not the hair, though that is massive, too. According to the tape measure, the circumference of my head (at the eyebrows) is 24 inches. Two feet. No wonder I had trouble finding a hat, my head needs pants.

This year a friend gave me a wide-brimmed hat that proved extremely useful in the summer, and in June I found a sun hat that kept me from combusting at Wimbledon. But my search for a bowler had turned up nothing. I tried on around 200 hats in Melbourne and another 200 in London, but as a shop manager solemnly informed me, I am an XX in men’s sizes and they would have to order one for me.

Then this turned up.

What is this obsession with men’s hats? I don’t know, I just want one. This hat is a fedora not a bowler, which means my quest continues. But with a new hope, since something actually fit.