When LA Fashion Week Disintegrates, So Does My Integrity.

Shows in LA have always been notoriously dismal. Most everything is made out of some sort of jersey and can be purchased on Melrose. To clarify, it's all shit. So when IMG and Smashbox studios parted ways this season, it was no skin off anyone's back. And, as it turns out, all was not lost. Palm Springs would be hosting it's very own fashion week! Now, I know, the place doesn't scream fashion. The population is predominately near dead or gay, I'm not sure why the latter flock here en masse but they are all fabulously tan. Nevertheless the jobs were paying, and where the money goes we go.
Tyler and I wake up at 5 am for a 2 hour and 12 minute drive to Palm Desert. At some point I hold my right eye open with a cold finger to stay awake. We make it in one piece and arrive at one singular tent in the middle of a dirt parking lot. Glamorous. Our producer warns us that the show will be very "conceptual" and I realize what she means when the owner of the boutique hosting the show comes over and begins to break down the opening scene. The music chosen is "Bad to the Bone" by George Thorogood and when she tells us that we have to act "bad to the bone" she shimmies and shakes and bends her 65 year old knees in emphasis. On the runway she expects walk offs, pushing, and being "a bigger bitch than that other bitch walking toward you." This is somebody's grandmother. Aaron gets removed from opening the show because the woman "just doesn't think [she] can handle it."
The rest of the scenes continue in similarly ridiculous and anti-fashion fashion. One instruction is to prance with knees Hitler Youth high while Native American tribal music plays on in the background. Next, there is a literal interpretation of the lyrics to a song that this woman deemed fit for a strip tease.
"Baby take off your shoes"
The girls step out of their high heel shoes ON THE RUNWAY.
"You can take off your coat."
The black velvet Harry Potter velvet capes covering their fluorescent wunder garb gets thrown off the runway and into the audience.
"You can leave your hat on."
Guess what happens.
And after that imaginative creation finishes the girls dance down the runway to Phil Collins' rendition of "True Colors" because they are wearing...colors.
The entire event is laughable and we try desperately not to be overtly disrespectful to this woman's vision but bloody hell, this is some twisted 1950s dinner theater shit. I imagine this occupation is preparing me for greatness of some sort or there really is no God.