By the time a House of Musa garment reaches an international runway, it has already passed through many hands.
A banana farmer harvests fruit. Workers strip fibers from the harvested pseudostem once it has been left to rot in the field. Inside the Correctional Institution for Women (CIW) in Davao del Norte, women patiently weave those fibers into handwoven cloth. Seamstresses cut and stitch garments. Indigenous artisans fashion accessories. Designers transform natural textiles into contemporary fashion.
Then, thousands of kilometers away, another pair of hands lifts the finished garment — not to sell it, but to wear it.
Those hands belong to people House of Musa calls model advocates.
They are teachers, entrepreneurs, retirees, artists, government employees and professionals from the Philippines, the United States and Canada. Unlike professional runway models, they are not paid. Instead, they buy the garments they wear, shoulder their own travel expenses and help cover production costs.
In doing so, they become the market that keeps an unlikely agricultural livelihood alive.
In an industry where designers typically pay models to wear their creations, House of Musa reversed the equation.
Every garment purchased means another weaving order. Every weaving order means more banana fiber transformed into fabric and another livelihood sustained. What began with discarded banana pseudostems has grown into an agricultural value chain that stretches from Davao del Norte to fashion capitals around the world.
The market behind the mission
Long before House of Musa appeared on runways in New York, Los Angeles, Paris, Milan, London, Tokyo, Canada, and Bangkok, Soo realized that teaching people to weave was only half the challenge.
"Many livelihood projects stop after the training because there's no market," she said. "The challenge is finding buyers."
Fashion became that market.
Even during the COVID-19 pandemic, when fashion events around the world were canceled, Soo continued buying handwoven banana fabric from women inside CIW because their families depended on the income.
"I couldn't stop," she recalled in an earlier interview. "Their families were waiting outside."
She also began sharing the women's stories online. The videos drew attention from supporters abroad and eventually opened the door to New York Fashion Week in 2022.
The first show relied largely on friends and supporters willing to become advocate models. Instead of receiving professional modeling fees, they purchased the garments they wore.
The approach evolved into House of Musa's sustainability model.
House of Musa USA director Cindy Mac said every purchase helps fund future collections while creating new weaving orders back home.
"We get these models to help shoulder the costs of the shows," she said. "That's how we're able to sustain the advocacy."
For the House of Musa, fashion has never been the destination. It is the bridge connecting banana farmers, prison weavers, artisans and buyers across continents.
Why they keep coming back
For San Diego-based Jocelyn Kulia Ragonese, joining House of Musa started with a friend's invitation.
Mac told her the runway represented something much bigger than fashion.
"It isn't just a runway show," Ragonese recalled. "We're helping people in the Philippines."
Already active in medical missions and community service, she immediately embraced the advocacy.
Over the years, she has participated in about 20 House of Musa fashion shows, paying her own travel and production expenses because she believes the impact reaches far beyond the runway.
Her appreciation deepened when she visited Davao del Norte.
Inside CIW, she watched women patiently weave banana fiber by hand.
"I only tried weaving two lines," she said with a laugh. "It was already difficult."
Seeing the painstaking process transformed the garments she wore into something deeply personal.
"I'm glad I joined because I know I'm helping," she said.
California-based advocate Kaye Lovely, a native of Zamboanga City, experienced a similar realization.
After walking in seven House of Musa shows, she finally met the women who made the garments.
"This was the highlight of my trip," she said. "Now I know who made the clothes."
Knowing the people behind every piece changed how she viewed every runway.
"Every second they spend weaving so we have something beautiful to wear on the global stage — that means everything," she said.
A runway without barriers
House of Musa has also redefined who belongs on a runway.
Its advocate models include senior citizens, first-time models, and persons with disabilities.
"You don't have to be tall, young, or a professional model," Soo said. "Anybody can become an advocate."
For Joseph Japson "Yok-Yok" Solis, a Tagum City government employee and person with disability, joining House of Musa became a lesson in self-acceptance.
"It's not just about modeling," he said. "It's about accepting yourself, supporting others and representing inclusivity."
Financial adviser Agnes Caharian Dacono, 63, admitted she still gets nervous before every show, but she keeps returning because she knows every garment supports persons deprived of liberty and indigenous artisans.
"The experiences, the lessons and the happiness I gain are worth far more than the money I spend," she said.
Vivian dela Cruz echoed that sentiment.
She continues joining what she calls "runways for a cause" because even a small contribution helps create opportunities for communities that need them.
Retired educator Dr. Erlinda Rongcales Salac perhaps summarized the advocacy best after becoming House of Musa's first senior international runway model in New York.
"It wasn't simply about modeling," she said. "It was about helping families."
She now describes every show with a phrase that has become synonymous with House of Musa:
"Modeling and traveling for a cause."
More than one livelihood
As the House of Musa grew, so did the opportunities it created.
Inspired by the same handwoven banana fabric, entrepreneur Belle Verano founded Musa de Aretes, transforming textile scraps into handcrafted earrings made by Kagan artisans in Madaum, Tagum City.
What began with three artisans has grown into another livelihood community rooted in indigenous craftsmanship.
Among them is Norfa Colas.
She joined the project shortly after graduating from senior high school and used her earnings to help finance a degree in fisheries and aquatic sciences at Davao del Norte State College.
"I realized Musa wasn't just about fashion," she said. "It was fashion with a purpose."
Today, Colas trains new artisans entering the program.
"It didn't just help me financially," she said. "It shaped who I became."
Behind the scenes
As House of Musa expanded internationally, the work behind the scenes also grew.
Lucia Diaz joined the organization in 2023 as a virtual assistant, but when Soo fell ill later that year, she unexpectedly found herself coordinating international fashion shows, supplier transactions and outreach activities.
"It stopped being just a job," she said. "It became a calling."
Now serving as president of the Davao del Norte Association of Musa Designers, Artisans and Seamstresses (Damdas), Diaz helps coordinate production whenever international orders arrive, ensuring more local seamstresses and artisans benefit.
Still, one memory stays with her.
A woman inside CIW once thanked the advocacy for helping her buy daily necessities through weaving income.
Because her family rarely visited, the monthly outreach programs became something she eagerly anticipated.
"She told me we made her feel remembered," Diaz recalled. "That we became like family."
For Diaz, that moment reaffirmed why House of Musa is much more than work.
"It's a mission."
More than a fashion show
When California-based visual artist Marconi Calindas first collaborated with House of Musa, he thought he was simply contributing his artwork to a fashion collection.
His paintings were later transformed into textile prints for House of Musa's New York Fashion Week presentation, where Joy Soo unveiled an executive-chic collection inspired by the banana plant.
"I was blown away," Calindas said. "The garments were beautifully made."
But it was only after visiting Davao del Norte that he understood the heart of the advocacy.
Inside the CIW, he met the women who patiently wove the banana-fiber fabric used in the garments shown on international runways.
"I immediately thought of my mother, my sisters and my nieces," he said. "What if someone I loved were in their situation?"
Thinking of the women who weave despite the limitations of prison life changed his perspective.
"They're still trying to rebuild their lives," he said. "They're creating something beautiful."
The visit transformed his role from artist to advocate.
"It stopped being about showing my work," Calindas said. "It became about collaborating with people who are doing good for people who need help."
Before leaving, he bought handcrafted bags produced through the correctional facility's livelihood program.
"The quality can compete globally," he said. "The work deserves to be seen."
Shared purpose
Freelance visual artist Rene B. Milan has collaborated with House of Musa since 2022, contributing artwork to collections showcased at New York Fashion Week and Thailand Fashion Week. He continues volunteering his talent because the advocacy mirrors his own #ProjectLikha, which supports children in conflict with the law and Indigenous communities through art outreach.
His most memorable experience came during his first House of Musa visit to the Correctional Institution for Women.
"I came in worried about my safety," he said. "I left inspired by how grateful the women were, even for the smallest acts of kindness."
"That's what makes House of Musa special," Milan said. "It's not about money, fame, or returns. It's about the welfare of the beneficiaries."
Mission before commission
For Floreces Logronio Tadla, House of Musa reflects the same principle that guides her travel business.
"My mindset has always been mission before commission," she said.
As director of House of Musa in Hong Kong and South Korea, she believes advocacy and enterprise should work together to create opportunities for communities that need them most.
"When advocacy and business work together, more people benefit," she said.
That philosophy also drives Cindy Mac, who has spent the past five years producing House of Musa fashion shows across the United States and other countries.
She estimates she has organized nearly 30 presentations, yet insists the work has never been about building a fashion brand.
Instead, she views every show as another opportunity to create livelihoods in Davao del Norte.
"Everything comes from Tagum," she said. "The garments, the earrings, the hats, the bags."
Although organizing international fashion shows demands significant time and personal resources, Mac continues because she believes every collection creates another weaving order back home.
Even after surviving breast cancer, undergoing a kidney transplant and managing a heart condition, she remains committed to the advocacy.
A community sustained
House of Musa has grown far beyond the vision Joy Soo first imagined when she searched for a market for handwoven banana fabric.
Today, it connects banana farmers, fiber extractors, women weavers inside prison, seamstresses, indigenous artisans, designers, artists, volunteers, and advocate models across several countries.
Each contributes something different.
Farmers provide the harvest.
Workers recover fiber from what was once discarded.
Women weave opportunity from every strand.
Artisans add culture and craftsmanship.
Designers create products for a global audience.
Advocates become the market that keeps the work alive.
Together, they have built more than a fashion label. They have created a sustainable agricultural value chain rooted in compassion, craftsmanship, and community.
For Joy Soo, the lesson has remained unchanged from the beginning.
A livelihood survives not simply because people know how to weave. It survives because someone chooses to support what they create.
Every purchase keeps another loom moving. Every runway introduces another buyer. Every story shared gives another community hope.
Outside the CIW, banana growers across Davao del Norte continue harvesting fruit.
After every harvest, the pseudostems are cut down, their purpose in the field complete.
For most people, that is the end of the story.
For the House of Musa, it is only the beginning.
A harvested pseudostem becomes fiber.
Fiber becomes fabric.
Fabric becomes a livelihood.
Livelihood restores dignity. And dignity ripples outward—from prison workshops and indigenous communities to international runways—through people who choose to believe that nothing, and no one, should be discarded.
As long as those people remain behind every thread, somewhere in Davao del Norte another loom will begin moving again. MLSA