Patrick McGinlay's Internet Tendency

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March 31, 2003

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CHIC South Yarra Cocktail Party & Parade
Thursday, 7pm, Lotus Bar


Unfortunately the fashions this year was very disappointing, my mum wears half of these things! Way too familiar for me. Anyway jackets are big this season, leather, full length and fitted almost like a second skin. Possibly good if you have a good, lean figure but unfortunately the general population aren't size 6-8. The world is not a cat walk. j/k nah, the viewing was good to see what was up and coming and to see different styles trends even though it is a spin on the old stuff from the back of the wardrobe. not surprised if you could dust off the cobwebs... The brands were a tad on the expensive side and more suited to older (not old) women so the interest level was at a low because it's not the kind of clothes that I myself would wear.

jess is a moron and she wears slippers like an old granny. ha de ha u stink.


Designer Salon Show - Charles Parsons featuring Jenny Bannister, Nevada Duffy, Melissa Jackson, Lui, Misho, S!X
Friday, 7:30pm, Sofitel Melbourne


I know it's cliché to say so, but I'm going to say it: I do not find fashion models attractive. When I look at a girl as a sexual being, the first thing I consider is whether or not she looks like she could bear children. Hey, that's how the whole thing works. I want to know that the girl has the faculty to sluice out a slimy larvae chock full of my genetic good 'n' plenty. Most of the girls on a runway don't look to have the uteral capacity to squeeze out a tennis ball with my name and phone number on it.

I know what you're thinking: "White-boy who's listened to Baby Got Back one too many times pretending he likes big booty". You're wrong. I have nothing against skinny girls. In fact, I'm quite fond of the pale, small bodied, malnourished white trash look (i.e. Avril Lavigne and that chick who's doing that guy from That 70's Show) because at least they look like they'd be fun. In the constant battle between the lizard and mammal parts of my psyche there's the mammal saying "She looks like she could be a good mother" and the lizard saying "She looks 14, dude. 14".

Back to fashion models. See, as part of writing for a Caulfield-renowned media outlet like McGinlay's, you get free entry to events so that you can write about them. Sometimes you get stuff you want (free tickets to movies) and sometimes you get stuff you'd just as well use as Kleenex (media passes to the Melbourne Fashion Festival). Originally, I wasn't even booked to review the damn thing: Pat sent Dave and Paul to do the write up and Paul showed up late. I waited with Dave for him to show up, and when he didn't, I couldn't find an excuse not to use the pass. Eventually Paul did show up, and we all got in. S'funny. One useful thing we discovered while waiting for Paul is that if you look around the city quickly while the other guy plays jazzy riffs on a kazoo, you can fool your brain into thinking you're in an American Express commercial.

We got to the show a little bit before it began, looking appropriately annoyed and bored, which is a must if you're ugly and poorly dressed at a fashion show. If you've got a media pass around your neck people tend to give you that leeway. Another good way to fake that you're a real media person is to eat as much free food as possible. We tried, but there's only so much warm sushi covered in fingerprints that one can stomach.

After 4 or 5 days we were shuffled from the lobby and into the…I dunno, "fashion room" or whatever the fuck they call it (the place with the runway and chairs) and settled into the back with the other fat people with cameras. To my dismay, the chairs filled up quickly and I didn't get a gift bag, which I'm sure would have contained valuable coupons I'd never use. I tried to grab a spare but some tall gargoyle from the Herald Sun beat me to it. But I digress.

Paul showed up just as some big guy started making painfully unfunny jokes about his ridiculous, faggy jacket. Then this guy who kinda looked like Saddam Hussein made a boring speech about BMW's contribution to the fashion show and the shared mission statements of the blah blah blah and the rest of the yadda yadda yadda. It was almost a relief when the eerie, spooky dance music started.

So then the models come out. What I couldn't get over was how amazing they weren't. Sure they were attractive, but in the way the Krampf from IKEA is attractive. You couldn't imagine actually having sexy-sex with any of them. The other thing is how weird your perception becomes after just a few minutes: at the end of the first display a dwarf-woman with tree-trunk legs and comically large breasts came out, and it took a second before I realized a) this was the designer and b) this woman was of perfectly normal proportions. It's like when you turn on the lights as you stumble into the toilet, half asleep, at 3:42 am.

The show started to drag, and we all prayed for some faux-hip-hop music so that the things would walk down the white thing faster and we could all go home that much quicker. Of course, there were at least 2 displays where they played slow string music as the girls walked down in diaphanous robes displaying their tushmeat and making vaguely erotic lesbian movements towards each other. It was like when you're watching your favourite show and you have to take a desperate shit -- you want to leave but you know you're gonna kick yourself if you miss it.

Now the clothes: do you remember that scene from Stripes when Bill Murray and the others are ironically singing the Army recruiting song while they trudge, exhausted, up a hill at the end of a long day of training? That kept going through my head with the words Ready To Wear. None of it was ridiculous, but it was all pretty stupid nonetheless.

Maybe it's because I just don't get fashion. I can't imagine devoting what little brainpower I have to something as trivial as what I'm going to wear. I realize there's an art and a discipline to the art of designing clothes: working out cuts, colours, the industrial index, the situation in Iraq -- It's the hanger-ons, the speculators and pundits that drive me up the wall. I made a vow once and I make it again now: If I ever come across Lillian Frank, I'm gonna punch her in the cunt.

We left the way we came -- through the door. The highlight of the night was a tuna and cucumber sandwich that didn't suck.



I'm not sure there's much I can add to Adam's assessment, except to say that we decided "Tiffany" smiles a lot not because she has a lot of personality or is stupid, but because she's a camera whore.

However, I do wish to point out that Adam just said he did not find the models attractive in a "sexy-sex" way, and then compared watching their quasi-Sapphic diaphanous erotica tushmeat to watching his favourite TV show even when he has to shit.

Hypocrisy, I cry! HYPOCRISY!

Oh, and Paul said he would be arriving to the show dressed in a bathrobe, Hef-style, and didn't.



Clothes. To wear or not to wear. Well, haute couture is the emperor with no clothes on of the fashion industry, in this man's opinion. Clothes are made to be worn and to be worn they must be practical. None of the clothes on display in this exhibition bar the wedding dress was practical. Wedding dresses are never practical and as such it was a winner. Someone told me that fashion shows such as these are 'art'. Well, even as 'art', these clothes made Jackson Pollock look like Da Vinci. As we all know, Pollock merely threw paint at the canvas which is still more thoughtful than these fashion designers. One final note - to the model who was Zoolandering down the catwalk - the Zoolander walk is funny because it makes you look like a dick, you cokehead. I was laughing at you not with you. Dogs walking on two legs do it with more style and grace than you could ever hope for.


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