Look don’t touch.
I’m as unfashionable as they come.
I thought the aim of fashion parades was to sell clothes.
This appears not to be the case.
Perhaps you can decode this unusual business practice.
It was a balmy night.
The parade was in a restored, century-old pier warehouse.
Outside, beautiful people were thick as flies; possibly thicker.
But with 30 girls for every guy, it was fun to take notes.
Object of the Game
We were there to witness six new designer ranges.
This wasn’t the insane haute couture you see on TV. Fonnie assured me there’d be items she could actually buy and wear.
Her excitement was infectious as we entered the twinkling interior.
This lost its potency when I found the bar closed, our seats tiny and the temperature raised.
We perspired among the preened as the show didn’t start.
Twenty minutes later, it did. Quite well, with a phalanx of golden beams rendering every face in detail.
Spotting two DJs and a pleasing array of bass bins, I looked forward to an uplifting anthem to put everyone in a buying mood.
What we got was …
I’d always associated this song with suicide.
So, apparently, had the set designers.
And the models.
Cold, harsh beams replaced lambent lights.
The models slouched into view, thin as World Vision brochures and with an attitude of utter ennui.
I looked to the wall screens, but they simply relayed what was happening in black and white!
I asked Fonnie what was going on.
She postulated that the down music, sad models and cold lighting were designed to make you look at the clothes.
As my restless eye settled back on the outfits, I realised this was working.
But it sure wasn’t fun.
At length, a couple of really nice sparkly outfits appeared.
Fonnie thought so too and jabbed my ribs.
‘Cool!’ I thought. ‘Not a total loss.’
I pictured clients snapping these up online via jewel-studded iPhones.
But this wasn’t the case at all.
When we got home, neither of the nice outfits was for sale on the designer’s website … or anywhere else!
No grog. Crap music. Cold lights. Miserable waifs.
And items not available for purchase.
I’d do the exact opposite. Hell, I’d flog frocks in the foyer.
A fashion show seems a very odd way to do business.
Can you please explain it to me?
Paul Hassing, Founder & Senior Writer, The Feisty Empire