Michael Bastian Makes Uniforms for Douche Bags

Pics from MilkMade.com

You know what clothes make a guy look like a tool used to rinse out dirty vaginas? Girl sandals or spandex shorts tight enough to obliterate his sperm count or aviator sunglasses. There is only one exception to the aviator rule: your name is Maverick and you fly an F-14A Tomcat off the USS Enterprise. But what's actually worse than dudes rocking aviators and hot pants is when they don't have any pants on at all.

When I saw pants-less guys wearing long knit sweater dresses going down the runway at Michael Bastian's SS13 show, I had to wonder whether Michael was playing a little practical joke. The whole collection was horrible, sleazy, douchey, and hilarious all at once. I should have known what I was in for when the lights went out just before the show began and the photographer at the end of the runway said a little too loudly, “Everyone, please uncross your legs. The show’s starting…”

Maybe I have an adversity towards men on the Ready-to-wear runway—I tend to view them as if they were approaching me at a bar, asking what I’m drinking or what ethnicity I am. Would I talk to this greasy-haired dude in lime fleece man-shorts and a linen V-neck that goes down to his belly button? Hell no! His name is probably Guiseppe.

Even viewed objectively from the male perspective, the show was still pretty awful. If there were any well-constructed suit jackets with interesting and subtle camo prints (which there were), I was too distracted by the fact that every single look was accessorized with leather mandles. They ruined everything for me. I actually found myself looking around at all of the men in suits watching this disaster and wondering why I was the only one laughing.

Also, there was one woman in the show. Just one. And she walked down the runway in a fucking turtleneck—while the male models preceding and succeeding her were in speedos. I’m not going to idiot-proof this for you, but the feminist in me has a few things to say about Mr. Bastian’s gender commentary. All in all, I left Milk Studios upset that I had to take the L train to Manhattan on a Sunday to see this.

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