Picture an old, empty warehouse. It’s big. Sports field big. Its ceilings high, held up by metal pillers scattered symmetrically across its well worn concrete floor. A bright light, headlights perhaps, fills it. A roller door raises and the sub-zero Copenhagen wind sweeps in as rain lashes across the front of the lighting. This is how Terminal 2 opened during Copenhagen fashion week, filling this old dockside warehouse with nothing but cold air. Pity me not dear fashioniser. Pity the blonde who just walked past wearing hot pants so short you’ll find them stocked next to bikinis – if I’m feeling the cold, she must be feeling positively arctic right now.
This is down, it’s dirty, it’s street wear, and I really wish someone would close that bloody roller door.
And so they do. But not before someone has driven a late model Thunderbird onto the catwalk and, err, girls have come out to clean it. So practiced are their movements that I’m questioning whether or not I’m going to have to tip them for the privilege of viewership. Oh, and there are models still on the catwalk. They may or may not look as displeased as the ‘serious’ fashion editor sitting front row a few seats from me. How I’ve ended up here, I know not. But hats off to the organisers: they wanted to reach a demographic of liberal minded youth and, from the catwalk’s smoking blonde model (you can read that in both the sexual and the cancer-causing sense) to a model with her perfectly formed derriere exposed above jeans worn to purposefully show off her thong, they may just have achieved it. That is, of course, if anyone looks past the theatrics and notices the clothes.
Oh, and, in case you were wondering, the car is in worse shape now then before it entered the warehouse – recommend the car cleaning services offered tonight I cannot.
You can see the entire show
