Simon Doonan is never one to censor himself when it comes to, well, anything and that's why we love him!
In his column for Slate, Barney's creative ambassador-at-large talks about all the ridiculous things he saw at New York Fashion Week.
Here are some HIGHlights:
How much is that frock on the runway? Imagine spending a day looking at real estate or sports cars without having any price information whatsoever. Inconceivable, right? Not in the world of fashion. All manner of random information is provided to we show attendees (and wee show attendees like petit moi) on the line sheets that adorn each seat: hairdresser credits, models' names, arcane sources of inspiration, everything except the only tidbit which really matters: THE PRICE! Let's face it, if that party frock retails for $650 it's pretty groovy. At $4,678 it should be horribly ashamed of itself and screech its way back down the runway. Naughty frock!
Paging Helen Keller. The deafening, dismal, atonal music at fashion shows—it's so loud it makes my floral shirt-cuffs vibrate on my butch little wrists—would force normal people to cower under their seats and cover their ears. Terrified of appearing uncool, the fashion flock wordlessly endures this torture, while the last vestiges of its hearing are destroyed.
Hello. I love you. Oh! Hello again! At every show, attendees screech and air kiss even though they just saw each other half an hour before at a previous show. The fashion world convenes and reconvenes and re-reconvenes at runway shows in a way that can only guarantee the spread of malicious gossip and horrible germs.
Look! There's Gary Coleman's neighbor! What constitutes a celeb at a fashion show is so elastic as to be deranged. At some shows I am blinded by flashbulbs and deafened by shouts of "Simon! Simon!" whilst at others I am trampled by paparazzi as they try to get a shot of some chippy who has even less wattage than me and has yet to make it onto Gloria Allred's rolodex.
Wanna know what else Simon can't stand?
CLICK HERE to find out!!!
[Image via C Smith/WENN.]
Tags: bizarre, fall 2011, new york fashion week, simon doonan, slate