This week, dull people in suits will be attending Fashion Week at the Lincoln Center in New York to look at people wearing stuff. As a result of this, the No 1 Line subway will be called the “The Fashion Line” (I can see what they’ve done there) and it is expected that about 230,000 will attend.
In advance publicity it has been described as one of the world’s most eye-catching events but I might like to take issue with that. A stray javelin is potentially more eye-catching.
One hopes there’ll be a few nice frocks for us to gawp at, but let’s face it, we’ll be lucky. Once we’ ve marvelled at a dude wearing the leaning tower of Pisa and the stick-thin model notable for her plastic penis earmuffs, we’ll probably pop off for a quick bellini and a chit-chat. Yah, mwah, yah.
So what can you make of all this then?
The short answer is, not much, because anything that you do see on a catwalk has, um… a cat’s chance in hell of making it into the shops. The argument here is that these garments, inspired by an evening of Guinness mixed with Prozac, help to inspire a sense of creativity.
That’s as empty as a Dale Winton thought. Why do you need to attach a dustbin lid to your head to come up with a nice wedding hat? Just design a nice wedding hat that won’t offend the in-laws and that doesn’t sound like Stomp’s doing a turn every time it rains.
Anything that appears on a catwalk is not fashion, but a nice little earner for people who have French- or Italian-sounding surnames*. The reality is anyone can stick a 1930s telephone on their head and call it art – it’s just we don’t want to.
How handy is that?
*This was a creation by Timotei Baudelaire, assisted by Roberto de Vinci.