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Back in the office after a hellish day in the field.
But let’s get back to the lingerie. Something previously reserved for hookers and exhibitionists, Central Park now gets dressed up once a year to present two dozen waifs flaunting the latest in lacy unmentionables. This year approximately 3.2 yards of fabric were used for the outfits, up from the previous show which kept to an eyebrow-raising 2.4 yards (not counting shoes and the pterodactyl sized angel wings). Just shows what a rough economy can do to the fashion industry. Bush better get on the ball back home before they start strutting down the runway in ankle-length cotton nightgowns.
The Missus and I both watch the show, so it becomes less of a flesh fest and more of an abstract discussion on style and beauty. For the most part, I wasn’t impressed this year with either the models or the outfits. I’m long tired of the stick figure looks most of the women sport (note to fashion designers: bring back the full form of Bettie Page again! Please! The 50’s Sweater Girl works on so many levels.) Heidi Klum looks to be the heaviest of them, although I’m certain I’ve owned hiking boots that weigh more than she does. Too add to the horror, several of the models sport close cropped haircuts. John Lee Hooker said it for me the best: sure don’t want no woman whose hair ain’t no longer than mine. I’m staring at the screen thinking that I tapped into some sort of transvestite parade when they walk by.
And the outfits, feh. A lot of stuff and nonsense. The stuff part being largely in the bra region (how else can you be five foot ten, weigh 80 pounds fully clothed and have a B-cup top?). The nonsense was just everywhere. Ribbons that served no purpose (they were neither flattering nor functional). Robes so ruffled they looked like a pirate convention gone wrong. Baby dolls designed by Marsha Brady, if Marsha tried to make her own undies out of Alice’s used nightgowns. Generally everything looked overly lacy and overly whorish, like they tried to reinvent the can-can girl look for the new millenium. And if it didn’t look whorish, it looked well, European. Or at least very Flash Gordon. Sting was dressed in what I thought was a priest’s robe matched to a floor length skirt (Gordon, where did your bad ass Police roots go?) Mary J. Blige wore a dress that just made her look grossly overweight. Her thighs made it to the runway five minutes before she did. The only outfit I truly liked was this white bra and panty combo with black hot rod style flames on them. Something about it that was both tough and incredibly sexy.
The production was weak, too. Full of jumpy cuts from the stage to the back to a shot of a model’s shoe(?!) and back to the stage in a weak attempt to represent the drama and intensity of the show. Yawn. They included plenty of talk from the offstage mikes, with everyone sounding so damn keyed up it made you wonder how long they had gone without sleep. One model got her shoe caught up in a tassel and, based upon the microphone chatter, you expected Navy SEALS to rappel from the rafters, scissors at the ready. Add to it the Cirque du Solei atmosphere, the crappy music (they couldn’t come up with anything better than the Batman movie soundtrack?), the weird bits of costuming (who knew you could make angel wings from old hard drives?) and the sometimes downright ugly outfits. In total, you had a very nice bit of Eurotrash symbology regarding panties for your viewing hour.
(Sigh.) I can’t wait to see next year’s show.
posted by: Jiggsy at 11/20/03 12:00 |
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