Dr. Thorpe:We here at Fashion SWAT realize that haute couture is supposed to be flamboyant, ridiculous, and thought-provoking. However, while this may explain the actions of fashion designers, it does little in the way of excusing them.
Zack:This time around we appear to be reviewing a collection of Lord of the Rings characters filtered through early 20th century London from beard-obsessed Italian fashion label Etro.
Dr. Thorpe:Yes, they recently released a collection of outfits so dazzlingly ridiuclous that we simply had to acknowledge them, for fear that others might perpetuate such horrors.
Zack:Etro is Italian for "beards".
Dr. Thorpe:That's really not so much a beard as it is a filthy horseshoe of red pubic hair surrounding the top of his head. Maybe that's what Etro means.
Zack:This hirsute chap is sporting an outfit coordinated to blend into his surroundings. He's like the Predator as long as his environment is a 1960's kitchen wallpaper collection with a grease fire roiling at head-height. He also appears to be throwing gang signs, no doubt to a collection of cockney accented miscreants.
Dr. Thorpe:To me, he looks more like he's displaying the smug countenance of the constabulary. "Dear me, I believe I've spotted some trouble in the park!" I wonder if this guy's girlfriend tells people she's dating a model. He looks like a playing card. The Jack of Plaids.
Zack:The mirror image only adds to how much this outfit terrifies me. It makes him look like some hairy two-headed Irish caterpillar that fell out of a Scotsman's kilt and rolled around in a puddle of whiskey. Just squealing "tut-tut" in this high-pitched drunken gnome voice.
Dr. Thorpe:Yeah, this cat definitely escaped from inside a pocelain statue on somebody's lawn.
Zack:He's a lawn golem. That pointed hat was like prison garb. He shivved the Guatemalan groundskeeper, ditched his pointed hat in an alleyway, and mugged a cartoon hobo for his clothes.
Dr. Thorpe:Imagine the day when Etro found him face-down in the gutter and said "hey, want to be a model?" He must have said "Oi, but I got sausage fingahs, guv'nah!"
The singer dove off the stage and crowd surfed in a sort of reverse funeral procession where the person being carried is the only one truly alive. Touching him I felt religious ecstasy and started speaking in tongues and requesting songs that didn't exist.
There's no easy way to put this, so I'll tell it like it is. Bouillon is died. He went missing before the weekend and yesterday I found his skeletonized remains at the bottom of the #3 soup vat during one of my swims. I thought the cream of mushroom soup had an especially nourishing taste, and a lot more clumps of fur and skin than usual.
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Fashion SWAT... the fashion industry is obsessed with impracticality. We know that what designers create was never meant to be worn by the grimy masses, but that doesn't somehow diminish how ridiculous many of these costumes are. Make no mistake, they are costumes, and like a Halloween prize pageant we will turn our discerning gaze on the grievous fashion misfires of Paris, Milan, and New York. We're not pulling any punches, and we're definitely not interested in making any friends. We're Joan Rivers without Melissa Rivers to temper our screeching. We're the Fashion Police in jack boots. We are Fashion SWAT.