Bretman Rock: Saying It Like IT Is
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PHOTOGRAPHY: FILMAWI / STYLING: CARA HAYWARD / CREATIVE DIRECTION: CHARLOTTE MAYUMI PHIPPS / SET DESIGN: LEONA JOHNSON / MAKE UP: MATTHEW FISHMAN / HAIR: KAREN ARECHIGA / WORDS: AMBA MENDY
The first thing you realise about Bretman Rock is that no one does Bretman Rock better than him. Online, he’s a maximalist, a meme, a walking soundbite. In person, the energy is still electric and dialled in. Less chaos, more clarity. He knows exactly who he is. And it’s not a performance. It’s a presence.
People think he wakes up screaming. He doesn’t.
“Honestly, I wish people knew I’m a little more chill than how I present myself online.”
Still, don’t mistake chill for soft. Bretman was born in the jungle in the Philippines before moving to the jungle of Hawaii at the age of seven. His upbringing didn’t just give him survival instincts. It shaped his entire lifestyle. He’s now got 35 chickens, six dogs, six tortoises, a turtle, a fish and one rogue peacock. “Plants and animals will never call you ugly,” he says, deadpan.
“My lifestyle has always been plants and animals. It just makes sense.”
It’s not curated. It’s not for content. It’s his calm. Between brand shoots and podcast tapings, it’s the grounding he needs. Because when you’re a one-name icon like Bretman, the noise is non-stop.
He’s stayed viral for nearly a decade. From slapping his sister in a now-legendary Vine lip-syncing to Beyoncé to shutting down LA with that Beyoncé birthday concert invite, Bretman’s not just a creator. He’s culture. And yet, none of it feels forced. He speaks like he’s in a group chat, not an interview. Stories tumble out of him. Sometimes loud, sometimes tender, always with a punchline.
“My proudest moment?” they repeat, thinking. “Going home to the Philippines for my book tour. Seeing that mall packed with Filipinos who looked like me... girl, I felt like Beyoncé. But also I was like, how do y’all even know me here?”
He’s said before that the internet was harder to break into back then. “Back in the day, it was once in a million to go viral. Now the algorithm is fierce. It’s easier, not in a braggy way, but facts are facts.” That early grind shaped him. He wasn’t handed influence. He earned it. And that’s why he guards his space so fiercely now.
“The less I’m exposed to people, the better. Because girl, I’m a fighter. Don’t try me.”
This is where the Leo jumps out. Loud and proud when needed, but also self-aware enough to disappear when it matters. They live on an island for a reason. “My family is there. If I have a broken tyre, my brother is 15 minutes out, (and) it keeps me grounded. I know my place. Nobody cares about Bretman Rock back home, which I love.”
He says the biggest lesson he’s learned is that no one’s thinking about you as much as you think they are.
“Nobody goes to bed thinking about your most embarrassing moment. Just be you. Nobody cares.”
That’s why he wears whatever he wants, speaks how he wants, and laughs loudly at things most people would whisper about. He doesn’t ask for permission. “Men’s clothes, women’s clothes, I don’t care. Whatever fits me, I wear it. Fashion was always there. But when I left the beauty space and stepped into fitness and fashion, it felt right. Right time, right wave, right energy.”
That same energy powers their podcast, The Baddest Radio. Inspired by Nicki Minaj’s Queen Radio and partly born out of hating podcasts until his friends started making them, Bretman decided he wanted a space to just talk his talk solo. No interviews. Just thoughts, chaos and commentary. “I love talking about me. I love talking, period. Why not get paid?”
Still, Bretman isn’t out here treating his identity like a job title. He doesn’t wake up thinking about how to represent the gay community he just is gay, effortlessly, unapologetically, and hilariously so. “People ask me how I represent gays. I’m like, girl, I wake up gay. What do you mean?” he says. For him, existence is representation. The visibility is in the everyday, in being loud, proud, and completely themself.
But when it comes to representation, he’s still mindful. Especially when it comes to platforms like the Met Gala, which sits high on his manifest list.
“Anna, hit me up. I already did Vogue Philippines. I’m valid.”
He says he’d want to go in a small Asian designer. Or a Peter Do, or Robert Wun, someone like that. And when he gets there, he plans to eat the girls up. Period.
There’s something poetic about how Bretman bounces between worlds. He can go from guinea pigs to Cleopatra’s tomb without missing a beat. From beauty guru wars to tracking his CrossFit phases like musical eras. “I did CrossFit for a while, then bodybuilding. Now I just do my boyfriend’s workout, and he’s built like a submarine.” It’s this shape-shifting spirit that’s made him last. Nothing is too serious. But everything is intentional.
He jokes about wanting to invent the wheel. “Everyone’s always talking about it. Why reinvent the wheel? Well, I already made it." And if he wasn’t doing all of this? He’d be landscaping. Or a vet. Or both.
“Plants. Animals. That’s me.”
The line between online and offline used to be blurry. Now, it’s not. He’s found his rhythm. He’s found his boundaries. He’s found his chickens.
He pauses, then adds one more thing...
“Only listen to people you want to be. Stop taking advice from losers. They’re losers for a reason.”
Bretman Rock doesn’t have it all figured out. But they know what feels good. And in a world obsessed with reinvention, he’s not chasing something new. He’s perfecting what already works.
