It was two hours past midnight. I was hiding in tears, cooped up inside a shabby van brimming with clothes for a soap opera. I was only 23 then, and even though this happened more than a decade ago, I'm still breaking out in a cold sweat and palpitating as I type this—to be fair, it could be the caffeine as I take a sip of my third cup of joe for the day, but for the sake of argument, I'll chalk it up to the anxiety of reliving an old memory that I've stowed away in some clandestine corner of my brain.
Why I Quit Being a Stylist
I started my career in fashion as an assistant stylist. While working in publishing has always been the dream, this forgotten era of my life was how I got one foot in the door. Styling celebrities would be like playing dress-up with dolls, I thought. But the chick flicks in the aughts made it look more glamorous than it actually is in real life. Turns out, being a stylist—especially in the TV and movie industry—is quite the opposite of what one would describe as a fabulous job.
In my brief stint as an artista stylist, I've had the chance to work on a number of films and teleseryes. During which, I lost count of how many times I went down on my knees to assist an actress in strapping her heels right before a scene, lugged garment bags bigger than myself, and anxiously paid for "damaged" merch that my measly paycheck as an assistant couldn't afford. Still, there was something euphoric about seeing the outfits that I put together on screen. Never mind that this mediocre shirt-and-pants combo that took a couple of hours to plan and required even longer to get approved would likely only be on air for less than 30 seconds. After all, I've had worse days, like being urgently asked to provide two identical looks because the star I was styling was supposed to be thrown into the pool or get into a car accident. One would have to be clean and pristine while the other's a wet or bloodied version of it. You see, continuity is a crucial form of art in this business.
Days flew by unnoticed whenever I worked on a project. But after thousands of hours grinding it as a stylist, it only took me one second to decide to quit.
Looking back on the chain of events that led to that fateful night when my budding styling career went down the drain, it was all a blur. Was it the wrong outfit style? Was it a bad choice of color? Was it an inappropriate look for the scene? What was so terrible about it that I found myself being humiliated and berated at two o'clock in the morning? I stood there in front of everyone, shell-shocked, while the director of the teleserye I was working on furiously screamed at me and hurled me names. While I can't remember exactly why, the one thing I can vividly recall in excruciating detail was how I felt right then and there as I was on the receiving end of this verbal attack. My face burned while everyone (at least a hundred people, I presume) looked at me as if I was either stupid or pathetic or both. I wanted to drown and fade into the abyss.
It wasn’t the first time it happened, but it was the wake-up call that led me to a life-changing decision. Cramped in a run-down van, I teetered on a dangerous edge: Either I allow this to become a habit or I quit right now. I chose the latter.
The Vicious Cycle
More than 10 years later, here I am in some cafe in Ortigas sitting across from an old friend from my previous life as a stylist. He squeezed in an interview with me today despite his packed schedule, which involves being the head stylist of an ongoing primetime teleserye. I could only last two years in the TV and movie industry, whereas he's been doing it for over two decades. I've had a devastating encounter with a brilliant albeit verbally abusive director once and it scarred me for life, but that must pale in comparison to the countless versions of that he's had to endure throughout his career.
Since I already had too much coffee, I ordered a glass of watermelon shake before we dove into reminiscing. "Some people kasi, hindi nila nakikita 'yung [verbal abuse] as a toxic thing because they're used to that. Some people naman, they see it as toxic because it's not normal for them... [They probably] came from a good family and a good school... I'm not saying na 'yung nakaka-accept nun 'di galing sa magandang family, pero they must have a high tolerance for toxicity," he deduced, trying to make sense of the often-brutal system that has become a norm behind the cameras. "Pero eventually, kakainin din sila nun. I see a lot of people na they're okay with the toxic culture [and] toxic environment. But after a few years, ganon na din sila or nag exit na sila."
Listening to this old friend (who requested to remain anonymous), his words struck a chord. When people choose to condone wrongdoings or adapt to survive, they reinforce a system where toxic behavior becomes the status quo. Over time, even those who resisted start to mirror the very same patterns they once rejected. What was once unacceptable slowly becomes the norm. Abuse turns into a vicious cycle—one that strips away personal boundaries, distorts values, and creates an environment where toxicity is not just tolerated but expected. The more it goes unchecked, the more it mutates; until everyone is either complicit or completely worn out. Eventually, the entire system becomes poisoned.
Midway through our conversation, he mentioned a recently enacted law that has prompted significant changes in the productions he's involved in. "Before, [the abusive culture] was normal, pero now kasi bawal na. 'Yung duru-duruin ka or pagalitan ka tapos murahin ka? Bawal na ngayon... Simula nung na-pass 'yung Eddie Garcia Law," he shared, much to my astonishment.
The Eddie Garcia Law
Cong. Christopher "Toff" de Venecia was a principal author of House Bill No. 1270, now enacted as Republic Act No. 11996 or the Eddie Garcia Act. "I was deeply involved in crafting and advocating for the Eddie Garcia Act. I was elected chairman of the technical working group in the 18th Congress that extensively deliberated on the merits of the bill and consolidated varying provisions from several versions that were filed, including my Artist Welfare Bill," said Toff, who's always been a staunch advocate of Filipino creatives.
The legislation was filed shortly after the tragic death of legendary actor Eddie Garcia, who passed away in 2019 after tripping on a cable while filming a soap opera. His untimely death exposed the urgent need for improved safety standards and worker protections in the entertainment industry. Five years later, on May 24, 2024, President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. signed the Eddie Garcia Law into effect.
Recognizing the gaps in existing laws that protect creative workers, particularly those behind the camera, Toff worked closely with colleagues in the House and key industry stakeholders—including Aktor, the Directors Guild of the Philippines, the Philippine Movie Producers Association, and various labor organizations—to drive the passage of the bill they had fervently championed.
"Many of these individuals face precarious working conditions, long hours, and insufficient safeguards. The Eddie Garcia Act institutionalizes clear standards for work hours, workplace safety, and security of compensation, ensuring that these workers are treated fairly and with dignity," the congressman explained, reaffirming the bigger meaning it holds for the industry as a whole. "By protecting these workers, we are not just safeguarding their rights but also investing in the long-term growth and professionalism of the entire creative sector."
The Eddie Garcia Law is a watershed moment for the industry. It guarantees essential protections like regulated work hours, standardized contracts, and secured compensation. Section 14 of R.A. 11996 also explicitly mentions that workers must not be subjected to any kind of abuse, such as physical violence, harassment, or actions that degrade their dignity, including verbal abuse. This protection aligns with the "Safe Spaces Act" (R.A. 11313) and other existing laws. Employers are now obligated to establish anti-harassment policies, with violators facing fines ranging from P100,000 to P500,000 for repeat offenders, in addition to penalties imposed by other laws.
While the Eddie Garcia Law might not be enough to eradicate verbal abuse in the creative industry, it's a start. Legislation alone cannot undo the deep-rooted issues that have persisted in certain environments for far too long, but it serves as a crucial first step in igniting a broader movement to break the cycle.
Breaking the Culture
One random Saturday evening, I was binge-watching the third season of The Bear with my husband. For the uninitiated, the series stars Jeremy Allen White as Carmen, a young chef who struggles with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) after enduring years of verbal abuse from a toxic head chef portrayed by Joel McHale. In their pivotal confrontation scene, the latter coldly remarked, "You were an okay chef when you started with me, and you left an excellent chef. So you're welcome." Carmen, seething, fires back: “You gave me ulcers, panic attacks, and nightmares.”
I didn't expect this exchange to hit so close to home. At that moment, I found myself recounting my own experiences with verbal abuse, wondering how the trauma I carried for years had shaped me. The realization then hit me like a truck: It never made me a better stylist. On the contrary, it drove me to quit being one.
For too long, verbal abuse in creative spaces has been excused under the guise of passion. We tend to romanticize it as a necessary evil to achieve perfection. Some call it "creative outburst" while others argue that it's "part of the process." This mindset, however, is not only fundamentally flawed—it's also profoundly dangerous. Because abuse does not build resilience; it erodes it. It does not foster excellence nor does it motivate people to push boundaries. Rather, it creates a culture of fear and anxiety.
If I hadn’t become a Preview editor, I might have walked away from fashion for good. I consider myself lucky to have had the chance to reset, take another shot at the industry I love, and find my place in a more nurturing environment. While my teammates would be the first ones to argue that I'm not exactly the coddling type, I am afforded the privilege to hone a new generation of creatives that would hopefully never find themselves bawling in some dark corner, perpetually haunted by an ominous voice telling them they would never amount to anything. Because no creative output, no matter how brilliant, justifies dehumanizing those who bring it to life.
When we normalize abusive treatment, we forget that respect should be the baseline, not the exception. Lashing out isn’t a testament to someone's artistry, but a reflection of unchecked power. If you can see past smoke and mirrors, there lies a cold hard fact: Such a "creative outburst" is nothing but a poor excuse for unprofessional behavior. There is no glory in suffering for the sake of one’s vision. True creativity thrives not in hostile environments but in spaces where people feel safe, valued, and supported. Abuse—verbal or otherwise—should never be part of the equation.
When a so-called "culture" is toxic and abusive, one should neither bear it nor condone it. Even worse, you do not romanticize it. Instead, you break that culture. You stop the cycle.
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About the Author
Marj Ramos-Clemente is the Editor-in-Chief of Preview. She was an Economics and Public Policy major at San Beda University, although her first love has always been fashion journalism. Eventually, she pursued a fashion course at the School of Fashion and the Arts and finally dove into a career in publishing. She's never looked back since.
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