Kruse's Friday

– by Alexandra Kruse
Kids are the new handbag. It has become a totally commonplace to see them adorning the laps of front row guests, or taking bows on the catwalk like Leyla Pieyadesh‘s daughter, baby Lou. Her mom‘s show was so good that I immediately wanted to buy the entire collection. The final jacket, a Berlin realization of Michael Jackson, was particularly covetable. From this I suffered a medium hormonal rush that could only be quelled by immediate intoxication.
The mother-son act at Wunderkind was soaked in Pimm’s. I’m not ready for the responsibility required for wearing Wunderkind’s caliber of art – the probability of me spilling a drink on the fine silk or tripping into a pile of glass shards is just too big. Luckily glasses are never empty during fashion weeks. At worst they end up shattered or placed on the curb Münzstrasse – another indicator that a lot is going on. You even have to wait on line to get into American Apparel – you can either take a number or change into your Berlin-Mitte uniform. I can‘t see another pair of leggings, except for my own, which happen to cost about ten times more than Lurex. For that money they dont shine. They‘re made up of chafed black tears. The effect is somewhere between Catwoman and a ninja. This outfit, plus a 20-pound handbag filled with press info, plus ninety degree weather makes for a Bikram sweat experience. You feel the flab melting away. The last thing I could remember eating were three strawberries, so I was delighted when I was served Currywurst in the Mercedes-Benz Sponsors Lounge. Suzy Menkes enjoyed one as well. I got hungrier and the events got more stressful, but I managed to employ my last bit of energy to look at a wonderful pair of Kostas Murkudis shoes for Flip Flop. Then I made it across the street to Mädchenitaliener. My savior. I sat there all lined up with my friends like pearls on a necklace– each one cuter than the last. We were talking about having babies when it began raining outside. The trigger: a bunch of toddlers jumping in the gathering puddles. They were ignorant of fashion, wearing folded newspaper hats.    ◊

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