Zack: Let's break this sucker down, Dave. It's a man, I think, who has beads on his face. And he is wearing boots. That have straps and fur. And a buckle. I can't believe this guy. And what is that a stole? Some sort of vestmant? What's that about? Who is that for?
Dave: And, I mean, look at how many individual segments he has just on his leg armor things, dude. Let's just count how many. That's one, two, three, four, maybe even five distinct segments, and that's on his legs alone. This borders on preposterous, my friend, and I assure you that I've just barely scratched the surface on how many individual costume details I am about to point out.
Zack: I see at least seven. It's out of control with the segments. I mean he is ALL segments. There are segments with segments. This guy, with the segments I mean...sheesh!
Zack: Is he a guy?
Dave: Dude, you know that popular song where the person claims to have racks on racks on racks? Well, this fellow-- if indeed he is not just a big homo girl, based on certain details-- has segments on segments on segments.
Zack: I think it's a girl.
Dave: Yes, and to the people at home, I invite you to look upon his feminine countenance and not conclude that he is a mondo queero gilro deluxe.
Zack: This is what girls look like. In your face girls!! Maybe your man would respect you if you weren't so into segments.
Dave: The man's reliance on lavender flourishes calls not only his masculinity into question, but alas, also my own.
Dave: And, I mean, what's with the segments?
Are you concerned that you may be a character trapped in a Tom Waits song? Be smart and learn the warning signs before it's too late. Also, it's too late. It has always been too late.
I'm haunted by a recurring vision of a skeleton flipping me off. To avoid seeing this terrifying image in bumper sticker form, I pay someone with a blank bumper to drive in front of me at all times.
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.