Zack:Models were really scary back then.
Dr. Thorpe:Okay, seriously, how many of these guys are real? The guy on the left looks like a classic GI Joe villain doll or something. Look at the line of his torso and the sheen of his face. It's not natural.
Zack:Vertical stripes on that guy practically render him two dimensional.
Dr. Thorpe:The blonde guy is staring angrily at us for invading his privacy. He's just been caught humping the guy in white pants. There is no reason to stand like he is standing unless it's a preparation to hump. That's just the way life works.
Zack:He must be doing whatever that handkerchief in the other guy's pocket symbolizes. You know those gays and their secret codes.
Dr. Thorpe:I think a beige hanky on the right means "available for angry side humping."
Zack:I'm glad people stopped wearing white pants outside of the US Navy.
Dr. Thorpe:I'm glad people stopped wearing pants that look like the covers of Putamayo fake-world-music albums that you buy at grocery stores.
Zack:I think I see ancient runes on those freaking pants. Is he trying to contact the spirit realm?
Dr. Thorpe:I wonder if anthropologists from the future will spend years trying to decode the mysteries of those pants.
Zack:We're from the future and I sure as hell can't decode them
Dr. Thorpe:Maybe somewhere in these photos we'll find another pair of pants that could act like the Rosetta Stone. We need to look for pants that are translated into both English and expressionist quilt.
A guide to the loud, large men who will be filling our living room weekly.
He has unlocked the secrets of the universe and seen beyond the mortal plane, yet Doctor Strange can't believe how easy it is to eat an olive.
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.