The Day I Lost My Faith in Humanity: Fashion Update

By Merton Sussex, Person of Interest

Right around the same time homo erectus shed his fur and started walking upright, early humans realized they needed clothing. So, they hollowed out a few mammoth skins in order to replace the thick coats that Charles Darwin had come along and so cruelly stripped them of, and everything was fine for awhile.

But eventually, humans also evolved taste. And at that point, we realized that clothes could be more than just protection from the elements, and against getting gored by sabre-toothed boars. And so it came to pass that clothing became something more than modesty-preservation with a built-in frostbite guard...It could also make something resembling a statement about the person inside of it. And so was born...

THE FASHION INDUSTRY.

Personally, I find the world of haute couture more amusing than anything. Reason being, it has about as much use for me as I do for it. In as much as we even acknowledge each other, it's with thinly-veiled disdain at best, and open contempt at worst. Ergo, most of the time, I dress in pretty utilitarian gear, more selected for comfort than appearance.

"Yeah...I know the invitation said 'formal wear.' That's why I'm wearing pants."

Yes, the world of fashion certainly is a hoot, what with its anorexic alien cat-walkers, hilariously impractical "that's gotta-be-a-joke" designs, and snooty devotees applauding every thrown-together getup in unison (as though nobody ever read them "The Emperor's New Clothes" as children). And yet, people still continue to take it seriously and treat it as though it matters. This, despite the fact that clothing has gotten so far away from its roots that the only homo erectus who'd be able to find a single thing to actually put on and wear is pretty much Isaac Mizrahi.

But occasionally, something so utterly ridiculous, so completely incomprehensible happens in that universe that it gets attention from even the most jaded of eye-rolling, over-it types. Something so bizarre that even Lady fucking GaGa would be taken aback...and she dresses like a scrapyard full of broken construction-site salvage and plays ringtones for a living.

She ought to be careful. Those things look like they could poke her face.

I know what you're thinking. "Is today one of those days, Unca Mert? IS it?!?"

But of course it is, my lovelies. Of course it is.

Recently, avant garde Spanish "fashion" designer Isabel Mastache débuted her new 2010 Fall line at a Madrid fashion show. And I WOULD say it got tongues wagging...but as you'll see, that may not exactly be an appropriate assessment.

Let's take a look at a few of her offerings, shall we? Oh, and as we go along, DO see if you can notice the one little over-the-top touch that was the impetus for this post. And don't worry if you miss it. Even if you do, I'll make sure you don't.

Meh. So far, so what? Buckethead can moonlight as a runway model if he wants to. His tie looks like it's suffering a slight allergic reaction, but whatever. A couple of Benadryl, and he'd still be able to hackey-sack on campus without drawing too much attention. Next?

Big deal. I've seen bath-mat jackets, teapot hats, and dresses made up of the aftermath of Christmas-morning unwrapping sessions a million times, lady. Bullshit's about as passé as balsamic vinegar. What else ya got?

Huh. And here I thought the Velveteen Rabbit was a carrier of scarlet fever. Apparently, it was actually leprosy. My bad.

Look, lady. I've got a schedule. Either you start making with something legitimately whack-a-doo, or I've got a navel that needs de-linting.

Okay, you're starting to get there. This guy looks like the product of an unholy union between Bob the Angry Flower and a Big Daddy. I guess that's just loopy enough for me to give you one more chance. So, hit me with your best shot.

This? This is IT? This is the best you've got? A beige suit with moldy pizza-hat and some wilted lilies? Are you even trying? I don't see -

Hey, wait a minute.

What the fuck?

Zoom in on those pants for a second...

Oh, sweet, bleeding mother of Christ. Really? REALLY?!?

So, it's come to this, has it? After a few centuries of clothing intended to cover our filthy, shameful genitals from open view, we're just gonna sew 'em onto the outside of our fucking trousers, now? Is THAT the plan?

Y'know, even in the Middle Ages, when dudes wore silver-studded codpieces their children could bathe in, and women wore corsets that pushed up their funbags higher than the Queen's net worth, the idea was only to accentuate the secondary sex characteristics for titillation value, not to rub them in your face. But if Isabel Mastache gets her way, you'll soon have to specify THREE sizes for your pants. Waist, inseam, and cockenballs. And what good is that? So much shock value, so little mystery.

Oh, and in case you think I'm making this up, I'm not. Here's the video. I'm not sure if this is safe for work or not. Guess it depends on where you work.


Sweet dreams, everyone. Try not to see that thing bobbing around in your face as you drift off.

Oh, and you're welcome.