Shopping with intention
I begin where summer always seems to make the most sense—with a seafood tower set down in front of me at Astoux et Brun, Cannes. The ice still crackling, belon oysters briny and cold, the kind of opening that doesn’t need embellishment. Around me, the familiar drift of the Croisette—the light, the easy movement of people who understand that style, at its best, is simply lived.
It takes me back to the years I spent attending the film and television markets in Cannes. Mornings that began with meetings and gave way to more afternoon negotiations outside. The Croisette was always cinematic. You learned to people watch—those just was passing through, who belonged, who dressed without ever appearing to try.
That same ease finds its way, quite unexpectedly, into Rustan’s Summer 2026 turn—"Beneath the Riviera Sun." Not as a literal translation of the Mediterranean, but as a sensibility. Something closer to memory than imitation.
It’s been a while since I last walked through Rustan’s. Long enough to come in without expectation and just take it as it is. And that’s always been its place in Manila. For decades, it has quietly set the bar—not by chasing trends, but by consistency. It’s where many first understood what good looks like, often without realizing it at the time—the idea that clothes should last beyond a season. Rustan’s was never about fast fashion.
Much of that traces back to the vision of Bienvenido Tantoco Sr. and Gliceria Tantoco, who opened Manila to a wider world of fashion and lifestyle. They didn’t just bring brands in—they introduced a way of looking at things.
A standard that, over time, became instinct. That continuity holds today through Anton Huang and the next generation, Nikki Huang. The same eye, adjusted for a new pace, a new audience—but still anchored in what made Rustan’s matter in the first place.
You feel that early on.
The summer clothes set the tone right away. Fabrics that breathe—linen, cotton, blends that don’t fight the heat. Shirts you can wear open or buttoned depending on the hour. Lightweight dresses and jackets that keep their shape without insisting on structure. Separates that move easily. Pieces that make sense the moment you put them on. You don’t rethink them halfway through the day.
From there, you move through the store the way you would through a day.
The Women’s Floor carries more energy—live jazz, something social in the air. People linger. The Men’s Floor pulls back into a quieter register, easier to read, grounded in pieces that hold across a full day. The Beauty Floor shifts again—ambient sound, a DJ set somewhere in the background, people taking a moment to reset.
The activations themselves are an ode to a Mediterranean summer.
A scoop from Venchi, cold and quick, taken almost without breaking stride. It brings back those long Croisette walks—finding a bit of relief, then carrying on.
Then the food makes its way around.
Happy Ongpauco’s catering—small bites, easy to take, no need to stop everything. And that’s where it connects. It reminds me of those quick stops up in Le Suquet, Cannes old town. Food that sits within the day, not apart from it. Something you reach for between conversations, then move on
There are other moments—Instagram-worthy settees, Instax stations, small customizations, styling sessions—but none of it interrupts your pace. You engage if you want to.
Up on the fifth floor, the fashion presentation is already in motion. No fixed runway. Models move through the space, close enough to see how the clothes actually sit. A sheath in motion. A shirt catching air.
I take a seat under an umbrella inside the store. And that’s where it comes together.
It stops feeling like a presentation. It feels familiar. Sitting under a parasol somewhere in the South of France, watching people pass, understanding clothes by how they move rather than how they’re explained.
A few levels down, The Style Edit: Le Soleil de la Riviera tightens the view. A considered selection—pieces that move from city to coast without needing to change their language.
What holds it all together is restraint. Sidney Yap, stylist du jour, understands this all too well. The Riviera isn’t treated as a look, but as a way of wearing things. All floors benefit most from that clarity.
And that’s where Rustan’s still matters.
Because it doesn’t try to reinvent summer. It builds on what it has always done—offering clothes that people return to, that settle into their lives over time. Not seasonal, not fleeting.
Sitting quietly while watching the défilé, I drift back to Astoux et Brun: the seafood tower has thinned. The light has shifted. Someone orders another round without asking.
Rustan’s knows how to throw a party. And you stay a little longer than planned.
