Fashion, Turn to the Left

"Every year the women of New York leave the past behind and look forward to the future....this is known as Fashion Week." - Carrie Bradshaw, Sex and the City


Yup, it's that time of year again - pretentious bullshit, filled with cunts, fags and snobs too elite for the average person who just isn’t as “Fabulous” as their exclusive club.  Of course, I love it! 

If Anna Wintour is the Dark Priestess of Fashion Week, Andre Leon Talley is the 80 year old Grand Duchess of some small European country circa 1899 trapped in the body of Grimace from McDonaldland.  Dressed in her finest safari graduation tarp, Andre held court with next level shoe designer Manolo Blahnik, neatly dressed like a lemon leprechaun at an outdoor southern wedding, and it was all I could do not to gag on the glamour these two exuded.  More like pass out from the damn heat in the room.  For the prices Rizzoli charges for books, you'd think they could afford air conditioning.  Fuck!

And what's Fashion Week without models?  While the malnourished robots played clotheshanger on the runway and compared Leonardo DiCaprio sex stories backstage ("He gave you anal on a yacht in St. Tropez too?"), supermodel Beverly Johnson made the rounds peddling her memoir. Beverly is from Buffalo, New York and is my homegirl.  We shared stories of surviving brutal winters, eating legit Buffalo wings (which she promptly threw up afterwards), and getting drugged and raped by Bill Cosby.