When the family cosmetics business shut down in 1980, Dioceldo Sy did not immediately become a founder. What he became first was a hustler—selling whatever he could, wherever demand existed, simply to earn a living.
After years of learning the business from the inside, the collapse was abrupt. “Pero within four years, nung 1980, nagsara yung business kasi ang daming utang,” Sy says. The shutdown left him without a stable footing, despite his deep operational knowledge. “But I knew the ins and outs na of the business,” he adds. Knowledge, however, did not automatically translate into income.
So Sy did what many entrepreneurs do when structure disappears—he sold. “So I had to do my own thing,” he says. There was no single product, no long-term plan. “Kung ano-ano binebenta ko—bra, bag, T-shirt, mga stocking.” The marketplace was Divisoria, where speed mattered more than branding. “Kasi nagbebenta ako sa Divisoria.”
He did not rely on one stream of income. “Madami akong sideline nun,” Sy recalls. At first glance, the setup worked. “It’s okay naman,” he says. But cracks quickly appeared. “Kaya lang hindi siya sustainable.”
The problem wasn’t effort—it was structure. Supply dictated everything. “Kasi kung walang supply, wala rin ako eh.” When products were available, prices dropped. “Minsan pag may supply na madami, bagsak naman ang presyo.” When supply tightened, he had inventory but no buyers. “Minsan I need to keep the inventory, hihintayin ko munang tumaas.”
In between, income stalled. “Eh walang naman transaction, so walang income.” The volatility was exhausting. Sales depended on timing, not control. Sy was reacting, not building.
This period taught him a painful distinction. Selling products was not the same as running a business. The work was constant, but progress was unpredictable. Every day depended on external factors—suppliers, price swings, demand cycles—that he could not influence.
What made it harder was that the hustle required capital to stay afloat. Inventory had to be purchased before sales happened. When goods moved slowly, cash got stuck. When prices fell, margins disappeared. The cycle repeated, offering activity without stability.
After two years, Sy reached a turning point. “Then after two years, I said, why should I sell all these things?” The question wasn’t emotional—it was practical. The hustle had kept him moving, but not moving forward.
The answer came from reflection. “So I realized I should go back to the industry that I know, which is cosmetics.” Unlike the Divisoria trade, cosmetics was familiar territory. He understood margins, demand, and consumer behavior—not because of theory, but because he had grown up inside the business.
The hustling phase gave him clarity about what he didn’t want. He didn’t want a business where income vanished when supply disappeared. He didn’t want price-taking roles where markets dictated margins. And he didn’t want to be stuck waiting for prices to move just to earn.
Selling bras, bags, and T-shirts taught him something no classroom could: sustainability comes from control. Without control over products, pricing, and supply, effort alone wasn’t enough.
This realization marked a shift in mindset. The hustle had served its purpose—it kept him alive financially and sharpened his instincts—but it could not be the foundation of a future. He needed something that allowed consistency, repeat demand, and ownership over outcomes.
Importantly, Sy did not romanticize the hustle years. He spoke of them plainly, almost clinically. There was no nostalgia in selling “kung ano-ano.” What mattered was the lesson: short-term income is not the same as long-term viability.
By the time he decided to leave Divisoria behind, he wasn’t chasing opportunity blindly. He was returning to an industry he understood deeply, armed with firsthand experience of what instability looked like.
Dioceldo Sy’s years of hustling were not a detour—they were a filter. Selling everything from bras to stockings taught him that activity without control leads to exhaustion, not growth. The experience sharpened his understanding of sustainability and forced him to ask harder questions about what kind of business was worth building. Before Ever Bilena existed, Sy learned a crucial lesson the hard way: survival keeps you moving, but only focus and structure allow you to build something that lasts.
This article includes quotes from an interview originally published by Esquire Philippines, authored by Henry Ong.
