Call me jaded—but I sure did not have fun at the four-day Men’s Fashion Week fiesta which took place last weekend. So I’m not a exactly a fan of big fashion shows—you know, the type where tai tais and the style-conscious usually congregate over Champagne to talk about their fabulous new outfits that they bought just in time for said shows—before they saunter to their seats to watch beautiful boys or girls strut their way down the catwalks in next seasons’ collections, just so that they can get inspired to shop all over again for next season’s fashion shows (hey, someone’s got to make a living). After all, I’m far more interested in the clothes and their makers than talking shop with a bunch of poseurs who look like they’ve just stepped out from the pages of Singapore Tatler (boring), with no fashion irony intact.
When the invite landed in my email account to attend the opening gala dinner for the first ever men’s only runway show in Asia—the first thought that came to mind was “How bad can it be?” Well, let’s just say that it wasn’t very good. Although I did enjoy my first two hours there: Organizer F was looking dapper in his Hugo Boss BLACK ensemble (which was not incidentally, the fashion label to open the festival); I had my fix of free-flow whiskey before a great dinner featuring cod, beef and scallops; but most importantly, I had a great time catching up with some of my cronies. K was looking fabulous and practically beaming from cheek-to-cheek when 15-year-old fashion bloggers went up to her to compliment her sartorial sensibilities; S was her usual high-spirited self, catching up on gossip about the high society numbers attending the dinner (normal folks like us would never be able to afford a table to ourselves); and my little cigarette break and chat with shoe customizer M, one of the coolest kids on the fashion block, confirmed all my doubts about the festival, which we found to be decadent and out of touch.
First things first: The lineup. While the inclusion of edgier labels like UK-based Kim Choong-Wilkins and local upstarts like Elohim and Reckless Ericka were noble, none of the other shows generated much buzz among industry observers. Raoul, Shanghai Tang and a high tea session with tea brand TWG—seriously? Whatever happened to bigger and more contemporary names like Dior or even A Bathing Ape, which would have added more character to the proceedings? Even an overhyped David Gan hair show featuring clothes by local label Jason looked like road kill, which came complete with a cheesy tribal dance music soundtrack. And I don’t even want to talk about the hosts and after parties. But OK—if you insist. MTV VJ Utt and TV actor Julian Hee as the spokesperson for the festival were just plain wrong. Utt has as much style as a teabag, while Hee, who was supposed to be the “heart” of the festival, sounded more like “heartland” on stage as he struggled to pronounce “Karl Lagerfeld” (honey, it’s not “Led-ger-field”). And with major technical glitches that I won’t get into (I’ll leave that to show producer D to explain if you really wanna know) and has-been DJs and live acts (DJ Lapsap, West Grand Boulevard and Nathaniel Ho—gag!) headlining the supposedly cool parties, this million dollar baby failed to take off. Style has nothing to do with money but everything to do with perspective—period.
