On Friday night, we went to the Andrew Charles fashion show in the Moore Building, the Design District base of Funkshion Fashion Week. Andy Hilfiger is Tommy’s brother and Andrew Charles is Andy’s sartorial ode to rock-and-roll. The show featured a lot of leather and leopard print, several scoops of rhinestones, and a full-volume soundtrack starring the Rolling Stones, The Ramones, The Clash, The Kinks, etc. Basically, it was a mid-life crisis in the form of a fashion show, complete with an amateurish performance on guitar by Andy himself backed by Tommy Ramone on drums. (That might sound cool. It wasn’t.) Lousy with would-be Real Housewives, red-faced philanderers, and impeccable dandies, the show was a makeup-stinking mess. Here are the photos.
Local portrait photographer Katia Hernandez captured these images at last night’s Funkshion Fashion Week Miami Beach event at the Bass Museum of Art. Hosted by Miami Heat power forward Juwan Howard, the show benefitted cancer research and featured the lucky progeny of various NBA players — including LeBron James, Dwayne Wade, and Tracy McGrady — as runway models.
“A fat man eating quails while children are begging for bread is a disgusting sight, but you are less likely to see it when you are within sound of the guns,” George Orwell wrote in Homage to Catalonia.
I recalled the line last night at “Flora and Fauna,” the Krelwear runway show at the Setai Hotel which kicked off Funkshion Fashion Week Miami Beach. Amid the several hundred beautiful people (see photos below), those words nagged at my mind as persistently as if Orwell himself were continually tapping me on the shoulder. While not within “sound of the guns,” in Orwell’s literal sense, I was well within mental range of the immense SNAFU that is Life On Earth at this particular moment and, to me, a fashion show at a South Beach hotel with wine flowing at the rate of a dollar per drop and an upright centaur in full makeup gamboling through the crowd brandishing a horsewhip — to me, this seemed like one hell of a succulent quail. And I was the fat man, from belly to bib, because I ate the goddamn thing up.
If it seems like the most spineless kind of penance to criticize an event after attending and enjoying it, not to mention turning it into fodder for a blog post, it is. But you know, I’m a writer, a writer bereft of the slightest insight into fashion (see: my closet), and this is what we call a “write around.”
Having blown my cover, I will advance this critique of “Flora and Fauna”: the models’ 7, 8, 9-inch heels forced them to walk down the runway in baby steps, or, in the worst cases, with the tense gait of someone on a grave search for the restroom. Hard to say why designer Karelle Levy would so inhibit her models, but the effect was to draw my attention away from her clothing and toward the seemingly imminent disaster in the ankle region — which, amazingly, never struck.