Last weekend, my girl friend and I hoofed it to the South End to check out a trunk show. Living in this city, I have come to realize that: 1) The fashion scene is anemic; 2) Fashion-related events involve extremely pushy designers and sales associates; and 3) Everything looks better on the Internet.
Such is the case at this particular trunk show for NY-based designers Feral Childe. While the Web site presents an exciting, youthful collection, an interesting palate, and a Custo-Barcelona-vibe, on the hanger the pieces look sad. Not sad in a haphazardly sewn-together way, rather, sad in a “We regrettably don’t look good unless you buy the whole lot and wear us together” sort of way — the sadness confirmed after trying on a dress.
Here’s it is (Like I said, everything looks better on the Internet, professionally photographed, and lying in a beautifully coiffed lawn):
First impression: Stretchy cotton material that maintains its shape and huge pockets! Hell yes!
Reality: The stretchy material indeed keeps its shape, fitting around my bust but neglecting to come back down to earth at the neckline, wtf? You could use the me as target practice for an impromptu grape throwing contest. Oh, and the dress hits my leg at a horrendous point, making me look like a hobbit. I wouldn’t dream of dropping any kind of cash on this beast.
Immediately the designer throws in her two cents: “OH MY GAWD! That dress is made for you! It looks amazing! Doesn’t it look amazing (to some random shoppers)? I mean, it just fits you so well.” In my head I’m shouting, “Liar!” But find myself saying:
“Oh, heh, yeah it’s really cute. Very pretty. I like the material,” it’s all I can muster as I retreat to the dressing room and remove the sack from my body.
I wait as my friend tries on another piece, this dress really does look like it’s made to fit her body, but the price tag fits the bank account of a lottery winner. Nonetheless, the vulture-like designer inquires, “So how do you wanna pay for that?” Maybe I’m out of the loop, but I didn’t realize that trying something on and looking good in it meant you had to purchase it, too.
My friend, the queen of bluntness that she is states, “I can’t afford this, I don’t get paid until Thursday.”
Designer: “Oh, well (to the shop owner) how long do you put things on hold?”
Shop owner: “Never.”
“Oh, ok. Looks like you’re just gonna have to come back on Thursday and hope it’s still here.” Uh, sure lady, we’ll be back on Thursday, and hopefully by then we’ll have won the lottery and had our pay day.
Disgusted and thoroughly annoyed, we casually saunter toward the front of the shop and out the door, beguiling the hawkish design team et al. and avowing never to attend another trunk show in this town again.