Dr. Thorpe:Okay, the first thing we notice about this is the fact that Paco here has six toes on his foot.
Zack:This man really needs to get a coffee table.
Dr. Thorpe:I like how they were really going for a concept with this outfit. You can wear it in the morning and in the evening. They're pajamas, but they're elegant enough to wear whenever. Never mind the fact that you look like you just stepped out of the gay dojo.
Zack:This ad is obviously trying to tell a story. The second glass siting on the floor. The fur coat tossed on the couch. The mysterious magazine holder next to a potted plant. He's as confused about what's going on as we are. He's looking out of frame to where his lady caller just shed her garment and revealed a ten-inch birthmark in the shape of an alligator.
Dr. Thorpe:And he's not even sure whether it bothers him.
Zack:These aren't regular pajamas either. These are science fiction pajamas.
Dr. Thorpe:They're also totally impractical. How comfortable would it be to wear a four-foot-long sash around your waist while you sleep? You'll wake up all tangled in the draping pearl necklaces your elegant ladyfriend wears to bed.
Zack:Not to mention what purpose is the sash serving? Is it holding closed his oversized silk t-shirt?
Dr. Thorpe:That's not part of the pajamas, that's a brown belt in deconstructionist interior design.
Zack:More and more I think that his space pajamas are actually fitting. I think he's on board some sort of 1960s deep space cruise liner. Those walls just scream "concealed bulkhead". Maybe there's some sort of alien trying to hammer its way into his quarters. I can just picture the green suede wall-covering distending under repeated blows.
Dr. Thorpe:I like to think he just took off that mink that's on the couch. It would go way too well with those pajamas. Pajamas alone and you're just a swarthy guy in a beige tunic, but add the mink coat and you're ready to hit the town and go bird-doggin'. Pajamas alone and you're a slob, pajamas and mink and you're an eccentric guy who's really got his look figured out.
Dr. Thorpe:I think the "HOM arrives in Great Britain!" message adds to the sci-fi element. Because I'm assuming it means "Humanoid Outerspace Module."
Zack:"Honey, can they get in here?" He sips his single malt scotch. "Not a chance, gorgeous. And if they do I'm ready for them. This sash isn't for decoration."
Dr. Thorpe:This cat's ready to buckle some swash, if need be.
Zack:Indeed, he's got a blaster hidden under that coat. Duke Planetar of the 35th Century in "Basement Apartments of Jupiter"
Dr. Thorpe:And I'd like to once again remind you that the motherfucker has six toes. Part alien? Who knows? God, look at that foot. He has at least six toes.
Zack:It's probably part of his secret agent kit. Like there's a spool of monofilament in his extra toes that he can string from doorways if he has to escape. The bad guys chase after him and it cuts them in half. This guy has probably heard the phrase "seize him!" more times than he has toes.
Dr. Thorpe:He's like one of those inbred kittens you rescue from a haystack. They're sweet, but they have way too many toes and they fucking wear pajamas all day.
Given our society's obsession with stalking and ridiculing celebrities, it's tempting to seek a life of anonymity. But beware: not being famous has its own hidden costs.
Mass Effect: Andromeda turns its nose up at the original trilogy's rigid morality. It boasts a more nuanced and intellectually compelling shades-of-grey approach in which a heart icon pops up when it's time to tell an alien to take their clothes off.
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.