Close Your Eyes

Lusting for FAT models: day II

At FAT the models move. There are no stiff shoulders, straight leg steps, or dead eye-stares. Instead they cartwheel down the catwalk, blow kisses at the cameras, crawl on all-fours, leap frog over each other, swing tennis rackets, and drag the next girl forward with hooks piercing the skin.

Fitting then, that the second night began with a dance by Lauren Weisz. In Sunday’s best black ties and simple sauntering dresses, the models lined up two-by-two. Women behind the men, they kicked their legs up over suited shoulders and spun in circles, losing dresses as swirled, revealing black lingerie underneath.

Opera boomed out of well worked vocal chords as a busty brunette led a procession of tightened bodices by Starkers Corsetry. Bombshells in sheer black skivvies followed, including a hot-and-heeled miss Carli Rothman, who I found backstage after the show with a slice of pizza in hand, undies and all.

Self proclaimed jetsetter and socialite Jet Phynx filled the gap between shows with his brand of fame and fashion induced pop. Later Phynx, who self designs his highly stylized stage looks, tells me he’s been hanging with Gaga and Kanye and is en route to Europe and Japan to continue his global takeover.

Evan Biddell, who must have spent many sleepless nights to pull off opening his first boutique and creating collections for both LGFW and FAT in a single season, opened the second set of shows. Biddell enlisted Magnet Creative’s Gail McInnes, former Phantom Pastel Supernova, and your favourite fashion writer Sarah Nicole Prickett, to walk in the show.

Then there were the style sluts, all wrapped up in latex, courtesy of Pippa and Fashion Whore. There was the terminarix with her tech-armour arm, Alice out of Wonderland, and a rubber red wonder-girl walking in heels so stiff she needed arm supports just to wobble. And finally a set of wedding-white balloons released at the runway’s end before the top was dropped for the fondling of a honeymoon hooker.

It ended with a not-so-subtle nod to Mr. McQueen as punks in plaid kilts were paraded to live bagpipes. The presentations blended into performances with one last towering black beautiful monster standing a story tall and followed by a crawling mini monster, all teethy with face paint, whispering to the model inside the way.

Then the lights went black and before the announcer could finish closing remarks I was out the door to find a beer and a boy for a birthday, and finally a bed.