OK...picture this is you possibly can...as you are all aware the G-Star, Madster and I set off on our Italian Viaggio in early September still hovering at the fat god demeaning 100kg mark and having embarked on a new prescription medicines regime in the hopes of moving my metabolism into, well a slow crawl would be a step upwards come to think of it...after three plus exciting, food challenging and marathon walking weeks throughout bella Italia we were destined for the exotic, well perhaps not exotic but Parisian shores of gay Pari!!!
Paris was to be our blow out stop...our 'we are rock stars' moment blowing a considerable amount of savings on staying at a 4 and a half star hotel on the rue de Rivoli (which turns into the Champs Elise) across the road from the Louvre and the Tuleries...well you get the picture. So having spent three weeks on beds akin to travetine and marble, the luxury and decadence of Hotel St James and Albany was calling and unbeknown to us...so to was Paris Fashion Week!!!
Please try, for a moment at least, to imagine this...after travelling (not holidaying) for four weeks, living out of a suitcase in a range of average to very average hotels throughout the length and breadth of Italy, having trained, bused, walked, waddled (and yes at times perhaps even crawled) through a myriad of tourist meccas, out of the way villages, monuments, gondolas, vaporettos, taxis and possibly a horse or mule (just kidding but work with me here) we arrived in Paris DURING PARIS FASHION WEEK looking, well...LIKE WHAT THE BLOODY CAT DRAGGED IN!!!!
The fat gods were obviously at their finest during this time because it appears that our hotel of choice was one of the (if not THE) key hotels for the cat walk models, designers, buyers, lapdogs, try hards, wanna bes etc etc from across the friggin globe all there in the Parisian fantasy that is...the world wide fashion industry.
As they say (who they is I am not quite sure but I will go with it)...one 'man's' dream is another little fat ducks nightmare and so....ENTER MY NIGHTMARE!!!
(This segway is a little thought bubble so to speak, a personal monologue for your reading pleasure)...
I have never viewed myself as a bitter person...a fat person yes...at times a cranky person...si si....on more than one occasion a smart arse person..oui oui... but never a bitter person...Paris Fashion week has changed me 4EVA!!! Even my grasp of the English language seems to have been adversely affected...
I had never really given 'fashion' much of a thought previously. Perhaps as a fat person, 'fashion' actually, more often than not equates to finding something, anything that will fit and doesn't look like a mou mou. My 'dress sense' has a few staples, fat people's jeans, fat shirts (one's that hang like a tent but are truly like a warm embracing hug) and business attire - this part of my wardrobe can be summed up in one word...black. Therefore you can imagine my consternation, surprise, disgust, wonderment, incredulity, curiousness at what is the world of 'fashion' alla Parisian style.
Where does one start...with the emaciated models that look like stick insects and are, as the Madster so eloquently put it, glorified clothes hangers, should we start with the concept of an entire industry based on the premise of 'thinness'. The idea that a sack with a chain as a belt short enough to see the model's 'muffin' constitutes 'fashion', the obscene amounts of money spent by 'high class' fashion 'buyers' who will then go forth and...and what dictate to young girls and women of all ages that their bodies are vile and all wrong because they don't fit into a size 000 - which I naively thought related to new born baby clothing... (I did warn you people...bitter!)
Suffice to say, it was a bit of a stand out that the G-Star and myself were not, I repeat NOT part of the fashion contingent that had be felled Paris for the week...the fact that we were wearing the same clothes day in day out, washed in the basin of our bathroom and left to dry atop the towel rack...no we definitely were not 'fashionable'...
Speaking of so called 'fashion'...I had little to no luck in purchasing any additional clothing (other than shoes because as we all know tits and toes people...tits and toes...is where the weight has disappeared from!)... I think, whether fortunately or unfortunately, I have gotten to the point where attempting to buy clothes from anywhere other than Myer's Fat Peoples (read fat womens') section is a bit beyond my chubby fat comfort zone...so in essence...I don't even bother...once again I reiterate people...FAT AND BITTER!!!
So, Paris Fashion week was really the week that wasn't for fat little old me....my bitterness is only now subsiding 3 weeks AFTER my return from my Italian viaggio and Paris fiasco....but wait the next entry my rage reaches a whole new level....welcome back to Australia fatty....
No comments:
Post a Comment