I lost sight of the number of cars. I lost the number of sparkling leather chaps with fringes. I lost the number of butts that were hanging around.
About a third of the road through the Dsquared2 fashion show in Milan on Tuesday evening, I lost my ability to keep track of everything. This event, which celebrated the 30 -year anniversary of the company, was a fashion show whose pure Fashion -Careful Did not let me be able to form coherent thoughts.
Where to start? Perhaps with the DJ located in a gigantic disco ball or the Dsquared2-clad cheers that flanks the runway. Or perhaps the brick background, which I took as a kind of tribute to “West Side Story”, but of which a street board informed me help, was actually “fashion avenue.” My mistake.
My thoughts about “Wait, what am I witness?” grew when I saw the rapper NLe Choppa flashing to the audience with his puffer and did a model on roller skates a death drop. A woman came out with a butterfly tie that was applied to her back as a capsized Chippendales costume; The dress of another was cut the side and left nothing to the imagination. Tyson Beckford passed. Then Irina Shayk. Dan Alex Consani, Amelia Gray Hamlin, Naomi Campbell.
There were a few male models in leather boots, pants and flat caps – Pure Tom from Finland Drag. A model left a taxi cabin in New York City; Another, a pick -up; A third rolled on the hood of a convertible. I started to worry about carbon monoxide poisoning.
From a fur hat the size of a mini fridge and a leather string that was so abbreviated that it was essentially a belt. Pants were so low that butt cracks became banal. A golden pastry protected a model against a malfunction in the wardrobe.
Men wore glittery platform boots – perfect, I thought, for kiss. The second I thought, from three models with kiss makeup came on their faces. That was followed by a surrounded kiss-t-shirt. Dsquared2 is about as subtle as a platform on the face.
So much happened that because of the conclusion of the show I did not realize that it was Brigitte Nielsen, dressed as an agent in Skintight Leather Pants, who led the Dsquared2 founders, the Canadian twin brothers Dean and then Caten, are from a police car, are from a police car, Sirene Gilt and the runway for their bow.
You would think that would be the grand finale. Oh, please. Then the rapper Dechii, fresh from a Grammy victory, came to perform like the Caten-brothers, dressed in three-part suits and platform boots, danced with the models.
I was stuck but grinning. Can I find a coherent continuous line in everything I had just viewed? Not exactly. Would I endorse wearing most of these clothing? Probably not. Was this the most “solander” fashion show I had ever been? Certainly. And I was happy about it.
Fashion shows today, with their stone models, can feel primary clothing and indie-credit soundtracks. The Dsquared2 show was not that. (It is interesting, however, that this show was performed against a gloomy background. According to an e-mail that was sent in advance, the Caten Brothers devoted it to “Julie”, their muse that, so stood, the end of a decades of battle with Parkinson’s approached disease.)
The Catens have an unabashed skin bar, glamorous, good taste-flouting aesthetics since before someone ever heard from Britney Spears and certainly well before that look turned into fashion again.
In my eyes, this show found the Catens that start the criticism that, yes, all those surplus and porn logos and jeans and split stops and music and music that bangs as if Studio 54 were still open can be ridiculous.
But also, come on, can’t you admit that it is also a bit fun?
