As you might have guessed by now, I am not what you would call a “club kid,” so perhaps I am not the target demographic for the Custo Barcelona men's and women's show on Sunday night in the Tent.
The music was a floor-shaking David Bowie remix, with “Dream Genie” heavily featured. This was apropos, as a few of the outfits looked like cheap I Dream of Jeannie knockoffs. Designer Custo Dalmau likes to call his fabric “yarns,” which translated into endless bathing suits with brightly colored crochet-look ponchos over them. There was more fringe on that runway than a herd of 1960s go-go dancers. Go ahead and call it texture if you like.
The male models were all exceedingly handsome, if handicapped by their clothes. There was one interesting suit in a mottled pattern:
One poor juvenile had to wear an outfit with fringed sleeves and wide fringed gaucho pants that reminded one of nothing so much as a maraca player in a 1930s Spanish musical. And I am by no means a fan of the newest trend of male clam diggers, as dear darling Mama used to call those strange mid-calf pants (as distinct in style from cropped pants or flood pants in that they have no inherent style).
During a lull in the day’s activities, an IMG employee remarked to your faithful correspondent that she has never seen the models as thin as they are this year. Given that they normally look like they had been released from Auschwitz hours before the shows that is quite a statement. But it is true; some of the models’ thighs, seen close, are absolutely painful to see.
Backstage, before I was trapped next to the diminutive Mr. Dalmau (cf. my earlier post) I watched the male models being posed ala New Kids On The Block; they were quite adorable in their own clothes, if a tad on the underfed side. This sign hung by the entry to the runway:
Now at least I know why models never smile...take a look at the sign on the right side. However, the rest of it is quite inspirational, in a vapid sort of way.
Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog
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