Zack:Someone drank a little too much at the lanes and is puking up his dinner of beard on his way back to the car.
Dr. Thorpe:He looks like a crazy drfter who ripped the golden ringlets off the scalp of a little girl and pasted them to his face. He's even got the junkie jacket and "don't fuck with me" glare. His beard is like his face: fierce and defiant, yet soft and feminine.
Zack:It's like light spearing gloriously through a part in storm clouds.
Dr. Thorpe:I'm getting the chilling feeling that these are exactly the sort of things that Etro wants us to think. Have we played right into his hand?
Zack:Man, if this guy ever forgot his jacket at a party they'd never be able to figure out which one was his. "Yeah, the one that looks like a homeless guy's parka. Yes, I know I am wearing a rhino skin suit"
Dr. Thorpe:It's as incongruous as a beard on a woman.
Zack:I bet his bowling ball is plaid.
Dr. Thorpe:When you spend all your money on expensive suits and extravagant beard weaves and plaid bowling balls, sometimes you have to skimp a little on the jacket.
Zack:"The wind just cuts right through rhino skin."
Dr. Thorpe:The way he's standing and the look on his face are really sort of menacing, but it's hard to be menaced by a skinny Italian fashion bowler. Even if his suit is made from the skin of one of nature's least friendly creatures, and even if he just devoured goldilocks.
Zack:He would probably pull some absurd weapon on you and threaten you with it. Like a harmonica or a three pack of pudding cups.
Dr. Thorpe:I don't think I'd need to worry about him. I bet he would consider fighting a man without a beard to be beneath him. "You have no beard, you have no honor."
Zack:That just means he would do something terrible like crush you beneath the wheels of his huge plaid carriage. Or call over the plaid constable to have him beat you to death at his leisure. And he'd pronounce it "leh-joor"
Dr. Thorpe:Or hypnotize me with his strange powers, and when I came to my senses I'd already be breezing down an Etro runway wearing a pink plaid tuxedo and a three-foot beard.
Zack:That's how they hoodwink you. Mesmerize you with their hypnotic plaid patterns and swaying beards. No time seems to pass. One minute you're ordering a frappuccino the next you're on your back with a trident in your solar plexus.
Dr. Thorpe:I wonder if you see these guys all over Italy, like some horrible cult. When you get into the country, the police pull you aside and say "Hey, you American... stay away from the beard guys."
"Really, Holmes!" I dropped into my seat, shocked. "You are remarkably tall! What are you, six foot six? Six foot eight?"
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
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.