Good taste versus bad taste

And didn't we see a lot of bad taste in the past few days.

On one side LA trash half-heartedly trying to stop a wardrobe malfunction, but not averse to displaying her wares to to hotel staff, whilst on the other side more trash, source unknown, actually brought here to display everything she has, but for an itsy-bitsy bikini. Well, maybe not so itsy.

I'm the first to admit that I don't get Fashion Week. But then, I'm a straight male. None of my gender nor sexuality remotely do. We don't understand the weird walks, the weirder clothes and the view that goodie bags are an end in themselves. But most of all, we don't understand the pretension. The cultish view that fashion is worthy of exclusive veneration, and that the more unwearable the garment then the more watchable it must be. In fact, the only bit we actually got were the size 16 models in the Carpenter's Daughter show, because that's exactly what our wives and girlfriends look like.

Michael with the silent 'h' sums up how I feel about the week.

It was entertainment and as divorced from the average wardrobe as Chelsea Charms is from your wife

This week's entertainment was just that: A lesson in poor taste.