Wisconsin Fashion Week came to Madison on May 19-23, with runway shows and parties. Now, fashion is outside the boundaries of this column, but hotness definitely is not. I've seen enough episodes of Make Me a Supermodel to know that high-fashion events are full of smokin' bodies, both male and female. These are subjects that Tell All considers worthy of further study.
So on Friday, I crashed the runway show at Urban Courtyard on West Washington Avenue - you know, in the name of journalism. I wanted to file a thoughtful report so that you, the reader, might understand exactly how buff and leggy the models were.
You're welcome.
I felt a strong sense of unreality as I walked past a red carpet and photographers with lenses as long as tennis-ball cans. "Toto, I don't think we're in Madison anymore," I thought, scanning the concrete courtyard. I saw good-looking male guests done up like Moby, with shaved heads and dark horn-rim glasses; and good-looking female guests in spike-heel sandals, their toes painted the color of raspberry Tootsie Pops. I was too polite to stare, so I scoped out the beautiful people with discreet sidelong glances.
A DJ cued up thumping music and the fashion show began. The most stunning dream girls I've ever seen sashayed down the makeshift runway, hips thrust forward, expressions haughty, stylish skirts hugging their curves to perfection. Each one posed and swiveled right in front of me, then headed for the exit with backside swinging like a pendulum. I was too polite to stare...until I realized that I was supposed to stare. The models kept reappearing in different sexy outfits, and I got the hang of scanning them from ankle to calf to thigh to hips to chest to face to lustrous hair.
Male models finally arrived to show off the casual Sconnie Nation collection, and by this time I'd become a shameless voyeur. I undressed each square-jawed hunk with my eyes, though their tight T-shirts and jeans didn't require much of my imagination.
As I left the show and walked back to my car, I couldn't stop myself from checking out every person I passed on the West Wash sidewalk. This time, though, I got dirty looks in response. I guess it's time to relearn my sidelong glance.
