What’s in the tote bag of a Filipino performative male?

Ivan Howard Sumauang

In the cafés of Katipunan, the gig spaces of Cubao, and the side streets of Poblacion, one figure is instantly recognizable. He’s wearing slightly oversized linen, his Docs scuffed but intentional, and on the table before him sits an oat milk matcha latte—₱280, “worth it for the craft.” Slung over his shoulder is his tote bag. Not just a bag, but a thesis: unbranded canvas, printed with the logo of a bookstore in Hong Kong, a film festival in QC, or a local NGO.

The Filipino performative male does not simply carry a tote. He performs it. And inside, the contents are equal parts utility, identity, and curated vulnerability.

The paperback: always half-read

There will be a book. Sometimes Nick Joaquin, for heritage points. Often Murakami—never Norwegian Wood, too obvious. Perhaps Ocean Vuong or Sally Rooney, annotated with underlines in pencil. The book’s purpose is rarely to be finished; it is meant to be glimpsed beside his matcha, a conversation starter disguised as literature.

The notebook: 95% blank

• Leather, Muji, or artisanal Filipino brand. Its sparse entries reveal:
• A draft of lyrics for a song he insists sounds better on acoustic guitar.
• A three-bullet list of “start-up ideas” (all variations of “Spotify but ethical”).
• A scribbled quote: “Love is like EDSA traffic…”
• The rest: untouched paper, waiting to be filled—waiting to be aesthetic.

The earphones: tangled with taste

Music is not just leisure; it is currency. His playlists bear names like “existential uwian sa jeep” or “rainy night panghatinggabi.” Inside:

• Ben&Ben, UDD, Ang Bandang Shirley.
• The 1975, always—his badge of millennial sensitivity.
• City pop, to prove eclecticism.
• Hyperpop, because he read a thread that called it “the sound of late capitalism.”
• And, buried but undeniable: Taylor Swift. Unironically.

The reusable bottle: covered in slogans

Hydration is never neutral. His Stanley or Hydroflask is plastered with layers of identity: a feminist collective, a defunct OPM festival, a faded 2022 campaign sticker. A dent near the rim proves “it has history.”

The matcha and its receipts

Somewhere in the tote: a crumpled receipt from a café in Makati or QC, proof of his loyalty to the slow-drip, oat-milk, artisanal matcha movement. He will call it “healthier than coffee” while simultaneously offering you a Kopiko Brown candy from the bottom of the bag.

The emergency snack: ironically curated

Snacks are symbolic. Ube pulvoron, for softness. Vegan banana chips, for credibility. Imported dark chocolate, pasalubong from a tita abroad, to signal connections beyond the archipelago. Even hunger is staged.

The phone: cracked, like a poem

• His phone is permanently cracked—aesthetic imperfection. In his Notes app:
• A draft tweet: “The jeepney is disappearing, and so are we.”
• A grocery list: suka, tuyo, oat milk.
• A stanza written at 2 a.m.: “Between neon signs and Katipunan rain, I almost loved you.”
• Screenshots of memes double as reference material, waiting to be transformed into irony at the next barkada inuman.

The sentimental item: hidden, always

At the very bottom of the tote lies proof of his interiority:

• A dried petal from last year’s Lantern Parade.
• A concert stub from an Ang Bandang Shirley gig.
• A polaroid with someone who is now only a situationship.
• When asked about it, he will sigh and say: “Long story.”

The tote as performance

To call the tote a bag is to miss the point. It is theatre. It swings on jeepney rides, rests beside iced matcha lattes on reclaimed wood café tables, and hangs carelessly at gigs—never quite unnoticed. Its contents are curated fragments of a persona: cultured, eco-conscious, political, ironic, and tender, all at once.

The Filipino performative male’s tote is less an accessory than an autobiography in progress. It tells us not only what he carries, but what he wants to be seen carrying. It says: I think. I feel. I am soft but aware. Please notice.

And in a Manila where the line between sincerity and performance grows thinner every day, perhaps that’s the most honest thing about it.