Notes from Fashion Don’ts Week in Milan

I’m in Milan! Woo-hoo!! Vice sent me here to “cover” the spring Fashion DON’Ts collections and I think I just spotted Dustin Diamond being mobbed by wealthy hipsters! Every December, the bad-taste-makers gather here in Milan, sponsored by resale shops, magazines, and unknown benefactors (rumored to be hipsters). They are in pursuit of the “perfectly wrong,” the type of clothing that has grown the Fashion DON’Ts industry into a multi-billion-dollar market. At the show, ironically celebrated celebs ruled: Eric Estrada couldn’t keep up with the invitations, neither could David Liebe Hart or The Guy Who Used to Be Yahoo Serious. I was lucky enough to get to spend a few days with Kip Lagerfield, whispered to be the second cousin of Karl. Kip was in the middle of prepping for his Fashion DON’Ts show, sponsored by the Salvation Army. In his trademark black bike shorts, calf-high white socks with red stripes, black dress shoes, broken glasses, and Christmas sweater, Kip is both the touchstone and cutting edge of the ironically worst-dressed world. Before getting a sneak peek at his collection, I had to sign a confidentiality agreement with a “no-LOL” clause appended (laughing “out loud” at bad fashion is considered “boorish”); however, it was also explained to me that I was required to smirk. Sipping Yoo-Hoo like it was mother’s milk, Kip was a whirlwind of enthusiasms and inspirations, as he searched for clothes that were in his words “perfectly wrong.” Kip’s Fashion DON’Ts collection this year, sponsored by Vice, was held in a public bathroom that had been “shitted up” by the designer himself. Last year, he famously introduced flip-flops married to legwarmers and it was a smash, putting the new industry on the map and igniting a firestorm of delight in the spoiled hipster community. Kip spoke in emphatic declarations about the elusive “wrongness” he was searching for. “Inappropriate leggings is sooo last year,” Kip declared, but quickly added, “However, stained thermal underwear will never go out of style.” He said that he looks for stains that “could be urine, especially around the collar!” “A metal beer-can hat is my guiding light this season! I am trying for a train wreck! I want nothing less than a ten-car pileup!” he shouted at no one in particular, and then, quick as a fart, his thoughts shifted and he screamed, “I want to see tiny clothes on fat people! Now!” In a calm-before-the-storm moment prior to his show opening, Kip was in a reflective mood: “I want to go past ludicrous, deep into troubling,” he wished aloud. “I want people who see this year’s collection to say, ‘Nooo way!’ and try to tear out their eyeballs.” Then he exhaled and calmly stated, “I can’t… I won’t… settle for just plain ‘fugly’… It’s not in me.” He didn’t have to. Kip’s collection this season was greeted with warm applause and snide remarks in equal measure from a small crowd that included Cor Bancalli and Doke Munstrew, two wealthy bitches from New York who have super-odd names. His showing was dubbed “fuckin’ insane—a stunner” in the New York Tittler. For me, the high point was a pair of herringbone slacks topped by a faded Laker’s jersey, which the website Look at That Douche dubbed “unbefuckinglievable.” Finally, the coup de grâce: On the way out of the show I overheard a fat guy in a Speedo and deck shoes with kneepads on his bare knees say it was so wrong that it almost made him want to quit trying to look like a dumbass forever. High praise, indeed.