Kruse's Wednesday

– by Alexandra Kruse
Fashion Week doesn’t even make sense when it’s snowy and icy. In Siberian weather, what does one wear? Fashion Week without heels? New Years Eve already ended with me stealing a pair of snow boots – it just had to happen. Uggs at Bebelplatz? Watching the shows from inside a sleeping bag, filled with the highest quality goose down? Unthinkable. My dream look would be something between between Bernhard Wilhelm’s dinosaurs and the hardcore ski outfits he showed on giant swings. But, if I had my way, I would also grow a beard, and then take a shower in glitter.

Should I take seriously the fact that Berlin’s fashionistas are trying turn the city’s most renowned museums (Neue Nationalgalerie and Hamburger Bahnhof) into runways? What about those spray-painted cardboard boxes that will inevitably strut down the runway, to be sold for a million Euro as special editions? Will I end up gawking like the bloggers sitting in the front row? Will Vogue be looking for a new cover girl on the internet? Can Hugo Boss find one on Facebook?
It’s all Tavi’s fault, who, after gracing the cover of Pop magazine, surpassed everyone, summiting Olympus with her lesbian hairdo and random combinations of Comme des Garcons and Rodarte. Maybe I should just grab a cotton candy wig a la Louis Vuitton made of Indian peasants’ hair and wear it with a garbage bag a la Courtney Love, in order to make sure that I show up on all the street fashion blogs, whose prints hang mostly in dentist offices in New Jersey.

No, no I decided to flee the city and to entertain myself in Paris. Shit, the Ritz is fully booked! Maybe I’ll just sleep in a tunnel like Diana. Besides, Men’s Fashion Week sounds totally tempting: seduction in the form of plaid shirts and tight pants. Bloody young hotties with full lips – they can thaw my frosted hands immediately. With a side of macarons and other specialties (fois gras in Derriere?). Plus-size models are totally in now anyways. Whatever I eat will be washed down with Champagne. That’s for sure. Boys, I’ll be looking for you in Le Baron. And you know I get what I want! ◊

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