As we were filtering in with the dazzling, the disoriented and the dysphoric, I couldn't' help but notice how chic Lahore really is. I underestimate the pretentious potential of our people. What we lack in national knowledge, we make up for with our knowledge of London's High Street fashion.The event was fully equipped with ushers dressed in black, aptly armed with fake British accents (eat that Amreeka) and fashion icons donning the oddest fashion known to man (Maria B was wearing this big faux flower hat thing, I don't quite know what it was, but it was very "The Devil Wears Prada") - big chunky beads are in, sleeves are out, grays and purple are in, everything else in your closet is out (unless you weigh 90 pounds and have flawless skin and constantly blow-dried hair). Sprinkled amidst the "Fashion Family" were the socially inept and internally displaced who forgot to slap on a little cement to make sure their expressions were permanently frozen in the pose they look best. Perfect blend.
What I wanted to see was a designer, in a Shalwar Kameez, someone not trying that hard, someone being genuine. Maheen Kardar and Tia (Kami's partner) are the only ones I saw doing that; I'll appreciate class when I see it. The designers whose work I was fortunate enough to view, were whack (with the exclusion of Kamiar Rokni - I wish I could afford his creations). I don't think anyone would buy anything out of their collections, or have anywhere to wear them. Then again, I go everywhere in my pajamas's if I can help it, so what do I know. Dresses cut just short of knee-length got more stares from aunties in the first row (visibly praying to God for forgiveness) than they did from men. Crazy head-gear shimmered as the models leaned back, almost falling, and strut their stuff. You had the designers that used funky music or a different entrance to make a statement, which was good because it took attention away from the unnatural clothing they were trying to sell. Or were they?
I will give the "fashion industry" this: they're gelled. They get along with each other (and even if they don't, I didn't witness any cat fights) and support each other and help each other out; it truly was a family affair. That said, they need a new DJ. The music always abruptly changed and was obnoxious in that it was blaring so much that it crackled at times. It was also good to see the husband of one designer (the designer was wearing an abaya, but forgot to button it up so her armpit fat peeked out for its moment of glory) gaily escorting his wife down the ramp on her way backstage. He waved emphatically to the crowd and was more excited to be there, tindd-lashara-maroing et all, than anyone else I'd seen all night. Good for you sir, your five seconds of fame on the shoulders of your ill-dressed-designer-wife. Trophy indeed!
Lahore(ies) - thanks for keeping it (not real, but...) interesting.
