Dr. Thorpe:Oh shit, more "GUYS."
Zack:GUYS love SWEATERS.
Both:Holy crap! That sweater has belt loops!
Zack:The sheer madness of that is staggering. Maybe it's full of iron pellets and keeps his sweater from floating away on a rainbow colored zephyr that breezes through the hallucinations these designers were having.
Dr. Thorpe:Plus he's got that thing on his neck. He spent all his money on a big sweaterbelt and couldn't afford to upgrade to the turtleneck model.
Zack:It's the mod male version of Isidore Duncan. It will be a tragedy on the highway with Zipper Joe over there.
Dr. Thorpe:If these four guys had a band, it would be the worst band you've ever heard. The top two are the singer and guitarist, the bottom two are the rhythm section.
Zack:What's with the guys in the banana sweaters in the hunting lodge? I think they're laughing because someone in khakis just shouted "whoa, come mister tally man guys, what the hell?"
Dr. Thorpe:There's a banana on the wall behind them, too. Weird.
Zack:In case you were wondering, here was my inspiration for these beautiful outfits: the majesty of the banana.
Dr. Thorpe:Combined with the modern flair of a malfunctioning television and the scientifical fascination of eye-melting moiré patterns.
Zack:Do not attempt to adjust your sweater. GUYS controls the horizontal. GUYS controls the vertical. I like the dude on the left and his sweater vest built into the sweater. Maybe if he's cold they'll just knit it to look like a parka on top too.
Dr. Thorpe:They should knit a girlfriend onto one side of it too, because this photo is a little too pathetic.
Zack:I'm pretty sure the guy with the sweater belt is the girlfriend. Did I say sweater belt? I meant "Deep Seas."
Dr. Thorpe:Is Nantuk Ombre some sort of Martian pattern genius who talks to trees and creates bewildering knits and ridiculous belt technology?
Zack:I think "In Nantuk Ombre" is Spanish for "The Sweater's Blood."
"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.