Pamela Anderson wore, surprise, a bathing suit. It was unremarkable, but she had a good time on the runway anyways, dancing and cavorting with Richie Rich. Rich’s other swimsuits, on the other hand, were adorable. Yellow and black polka dots, or black and white mod print little numbers that the models wore with enormous, pastel bouffant wigs.
Much of his 60s inspired stuff was still modern feeling and wearable today. A Jackie O-esque green wool boucle was used for a coatdress and a jumper and both were really unusual, beautiful pieces. I was surprised that I was able to appreciate that with everything that was going on, but Rich’s clothes go beyond their flashy presentation. He’s designed the only jumpsuit I’ve ever seen that didn’t make even the svelte model’s butt look saggy and large. His tight silver jumpsuit was flattering, fun and ridiculous in the good way.
But enough about the clothes. The entire party was ridiculous in the good way. Immediately after the show’s uncomfortably long finale (which ended in a live performance that wouldn’t end) it was that friendly chaos again. “Someone get me a fucking drink,” said a model. Constantine Maroulis, who may have recently dated Tinsley Mortimer, seemed to be of the same mindset. PR people flitted about trying to direct people to the after party, but they were tiny instruments in a symphony of spectacle.
