Folks, I have witnessed first hand the depths of hell, and it is Fashion Week at the height of dubstep popularity.
I haven’t listened to mainstream music in years. I gave up on music television aeons ago and some time after that, did the same with radio. To be honest, for all my love of music, I haven’t really listened to much of it recently. That relationship has stagnated. I love the songs I’ve always loved, and a few hits from recent times, but if music was a physical muscle of mine, it would be well and truly atrophied today.
On my trip to Sydney in July I listened to the Grammy Award nominees’ album on the plane. I gathered that country pop is the new thing. That’s cool. I can handle that. What I can’t handle is dubstep, which is what all the really cool kids are listening to. Particularly at high volumes. There is talent in (some) rap. There is talent in screamo (I certainly can’t make my vocal cords contort like that). I don’t believe there is any talent in dubstep.
To the point: I suffered through a group collection show at Fashion Week, and three of the four designers had throbbing dubstep as their background tracks. I had to try very, very hard to block it out and distract myself by staring at the impossibly polished blondes in the very front row beside the walkway, and alternately, at the super cool alt types with green, pink and purple hair alongside them.
The soundtrack was terrible (I wonder if it’s difficult to walk at an entirely different speed compared to the music’s pace/tempo?) and to be honest, so were a couple of the models. I get that they are merely glorified, easy-on-the-eye coathangers. But one in particular stuck out in such a dreadful way with her awkward, swaying, pelvis-first walk (and another to a lesser degree with her gigantic nose, which gives the rest of us all hope. Modelling is about so much more than the face). And why are the shoes always so damn ugly?
Fashion Week, in the past, always meant a hellish five days for me at work – dozens of galleries, hundreds of photos, staying all day and once missing afternoon classes to keep up with the deluge. The extra money was nice, though.
Now as a guest I get to see the other side, and it’s painful in another way. Namely, it’s boring as hell. 90 percent is standing around (or sitting around) waiting. The shows are over in a snap, and I’ve never had an interest in clothes anyway. I suppose like most things, the glamour is all illusory.
You also need bloody good self esteem if you’re going to make it through. I’m not fashionable in the least – I know it, and I don’t care. (BTW, I don’t care how stylish you are: leggings as pants are still not acceptable. SO. MUCH. ABUSE.) At least as a skinny boobless Asian, I fit in with the dominant body type. However, even if you’ve gone through your whole life being envied by the typical chesty, pear-shaped Pakeha, you will feel positively gigantic in comparison to the Fashion Week belles.