Once a Faux Pas, Always a Personal Staple: Fashion Week Edition

If you don't follow me here and here for the inexcusable reason of having more important things to read such as up-to-the-minute international politics and current affairs, then I truly advise you to continue what you are doing because I am about to discuss the benefits of wearing mullet silhouettes and bathing suit bottoms in public and you are likely to get much, much less cultured.

Just kidding. Maybe. Anyways, For this year's edition of Montreal Fashion Week, my mantra of dress revolved around the bringing back of fashion's Do-Nots and making them fashion Do-it-Anyways'. I was open to anything and everything. Except for nipple tassels. Those are never ok. 

Shall we analyze?

DAY 1:

The Mullet Dress: Mullets, remember those? Oooooh ya. Except this time I wore one on my ass.

The Fanny Pack: A little bit higher up to the hip level but equal in "What the hell are you wearing?" merit, I can  only be thankful that most of the men in attendance were biologically programmed to find me sexually unappealing anyways.

DAY 2:

The Swim Suit Bottom: High-waisted and shorts-like in appearance, I still bought these in the bathing suit section of Value Village. And then I wore them into a cocktail lounge. Can't take me no where.

TRAVIS TADDEO SHOW:

Skunk Hair: Because, if you would so kindly read the caption below, the Montreal Gazette thinks that I have "skunk hair." And ya know, there's nothing more subversive than mimicking your look to that of a foul-smelling and primitive rodent.

For more tom-foolery and counter-productive banter, read my MFW coverage so far chez Miss Sly.

Let's Get Nake...Dressed? Montreal Fashion Week #23

Oy, boys, girls, and undecideds, 'tis the season to be not only jolly, but also fully and hopefully fashionably clothed as per Contractual Term #1 of the Montreal Fashion Week Constitution which clearly states that:

"All attendees must wear the maximum amount of bodily apparel as is humanly possible in order to avoid nudity of any shape or form and to promote the diffusion of sartorial extremism to the lowly masses. This clause makes exception to nipple and genital protrusions witnessed at all runway shows and/or after-parties."

I. don't. make. this. shit. up.

So I deem it not only appropriate (not that anything I've said so far has been appropriate) but also NECESSARY to introduce my soon-to-be-released (note: soon is a very loaded word) new blog, aptly entitled Not a Nudist.

In lieu of this week's prescribed anti-nudity theme and its convenient but probably unintended alignment with my new blog, I promise to attend wearing nothing but...DA DA DAHHHH......CLOTHES! (Novel idea, I know.) But, when I say clothes I mostly mean garments which fall into the category of ridiculousness.

So what will I be wearing? To predict the future, we must look to the past:


Option 1: The Grandma-ma?

Option 2: The Woolly Mammoth?

Option 3: The Angst-Ridden Teen Who Questions His/Her Sexuality?

Option 4: The Hypothermic Winter Clown?

Actually none of the above. Follow to find out. And then check in here to get my post-show recaps. Consider me your election season anti-depressant. Overdosing allowed.

NNN at Your Own Risk: Featuring Radiohead

Conclusion from the review of the following photographs: My friends and I are REALLY SEXY PEOPLE. Ya know, especially that last pic down yonder.

Speaking of things down yonder, remember my last post, where I introduced to you the potentially revolutionary concept for summer attire, very literally dubbed Nipples, Navels and Nether Areas (NNN)? Well, last Friday, the NNN manifesto was put to good practice for my hot date with Thom Yorke at the surpassingly romantic Bell Centre in some denim short-shorts and a corset-bra for which I made the (possibly unwarranted) executive decision of conferring to it the status of a wearable top. And then I walked outside and realized that it was not, in fact, a wearable top and that I had become, in fact, a hooker. 

Whoops. 

           

My friend Carley, on the other hand, being a decent person, dressed with propriety in mind and as my accompaniment, was quite probably the only thing deterring passing motorists from asking me for a quote. But hey, that's what friends are for, right? 

Anyways, moral of the story is if you do choose to put NNN into practice in your own summer wardrobe, I can't promise that your family won't disown you, nor can I promise that you won't have to quit your day job for....errrrr.....higher employment. You've been warned. NNN at your own risk. And please don't sue me because I'm poor as shit. Thanks. Buh BYE.

See-Through and Cut-Off or how to be naked without being naked

Like This:

Step 1: A Bra. I wore one here, but if your sartorial expression is not hampered by social conventions and general nipple-aversion, by all means, BURN THAT BRA GIRL. YA BURN IT. If you happen to live in a cult or nudist colony of some sort, all the better.

Step 2: A top bespeckled in a conglomeration of intentionally-placed holes for scenic views made easily accessible.

Step 3:  High-waist short-shorts or any garment of a similar nature which requires a hyphen in between the words that construct its title. Options include booty-shorts, cut-offs, mini-skirts, bum-stunners, underwear-worn-as-outerwear, and chastity-belts (That last one doesn't actually get a hyphen, nor does it promote educationally-enriching sightseeing of any kind, so avoid it if at all possible.) 

The key is suggestion. Here I am suggesting that I am a bohemian flower child, which I am in fact not. I could (or could not) also be suggesting that I am naked, which I partially am, and partially am not. You see? This game requires zero commitment and full-on ambiguity. 

SO. Your motto for summer style? Repeat after me...Nipples, Navels and Nether Areas. The End.