Dr. Thorpe:She's bedazzled all to hell.
Zack:This is pretty much a case study of what was wrong with the 1980s. Forget Iran-Contra, we're talking lace and beads and tassels and drape pulls all stitched onto a giant denim monstrosity.
Dr. Thorpe:She looks like she's wearing the military regalia of the Punky Brewster army. "I got this medal for inventing the doilies-sewn-on-my-butt look."
Zack:She looks like she ran through a denim warehouse, slipped and fell in glue, and then rolled across one of grandma's tables.
Dr. Thorpe:Either she's padded or she's got shoulders like a linebacker.
Zack:Shoulder pads were so ubiquitous in the 80s that I'm surprised they didn't have implants. The stacking shoulder pads of multi-layered outfits would make women look like the McDonald's logo.
Dr. Thorpe:Her hair looks like how you used to draw girls' hair when you were like five years old. Just a big row of loose curls encircling the face.
Zack:It's like a Lion's mane frozen in the middle of a hurricane.
Dr. Thorpe:She's so stonewashed that it's surprising that she doesn't have bruises all over.
Zack:That's Biblical level stonewashing. Her outfit committed adultery.
Dr. Thorpe:Her outfit is still committing all sorts of unspeakable sins. God, what a Melissa-Rivers-caliber joke that was.
Zack:Sometimes we end up imitating that which we hate most. Like tomorrow you're going to wake up in something suspiciously similar to this.
Dr. Thorpe:You mean the clothes? Or do you mean we'll wake up still inside one of these things that we picked up at a seedy bar? Hold on, I need to go splash water on my face symbolically and then stare at myself in the mirror like in movies.
Zack:Look back over your reflection's shoulder and see the denim still splayed out across your rumpled sheets. Like you ate a pair of Levis and a bucket of bric-a-bracs and then threw up on your bed.
Dr. Thorpe:And some stones. I had to work the whole outfit through my gizzard.
For fans of meaningless awards, these awards are extra meaningless.
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.