Custo Barcelona...harder to enter than Barcelona.

"My BB is going bananas. I mean crazy bananas. Hello...yeah...YEAH...I'm in the middle next to the wall. I'm in the middle area behind the Grey Goose stand. Francis you're being a whore. I said A WHORE!" At this point I did what I never do and turned around and stared at her to which she immediately took her volume down three octaves. Standing in line to get into a show at fashion week is stressful but standing within three feet of this particular woman is a veritable javelin in the head. Fashion week is one big happy hour with queens of both the female and male variety. And if another male queen elbowed me in the boob I would have parked my nails in his cheeks.

Custo Barcelona was the show I attended this evening. One may ask why I put up with the crowds, the flashbulbs and the intensity of it all. I love theater and fashion. Introduce the two and you have the perfect marriage. However, strip the show of the lights, music and celeb action and you're left with the true star. The clothing. And if the clothing can't perform the show is essentially a flop. All the muscling, pushing and pulling to enter the theater leaves one to decide that if the clothes don't hold water, all of this hula-balloo would be for nothing. Just a huge waste of time.

Once we were ushered into the arena like cattle I found the five inch radius I occupied for the length of the show. Light's down. Music up. Light's up. Show starts. Models walk back and forth for three minutes and then we all go out for a night on the town.

I would describe the collection as the outcome of mixing Donatella Versace, Missoni and Mick Jagger. Not really my thing but standard attire for a provocative rock star. What made it all worth while were the mix of models employed for the show. Women of varying sizes strut the runway. Compare it to past shows and it was refreshing to see that models are now allowed to eat. Two seasons ago when I went to Ana Sui one model looked like she was in dire need of a sandwich...or at least some lettuce. Terrifying. That was the same season I told my dad about rumors that models were swallowing tissue paper to feel full without the calories. To which my wise father spoke from the bright side "at least they won't have to wipe after using the toilet". So true, Papa Shock. So true.