The Improper Bostonian Fashion Show

Step One: Wear to Office
Step Two: Profit!

Last night Crispy and I went to see The Improper Bostonian Fashion Show at a posh spot in Chinatown. I know that pairing "posh" and "Chinatown" seems odd, given its history as the infamous Combat Zone (Porn! Strip clubs! Murder!). But changes, they are in the air, and on the streets in the form of new luxury high-rise buildings for young professionals seeking an overpriced domicile while they rat race away.

The event was full of promises, encapsulated first and foremost by the three blonde goddesses who were standing in the lobby to indicate via their beauty that, yes, there is a Beautiful People Event occurring in the premises, are you lost, ma'am?

Once on the proper floor, the two of us zeroed in immediately on the food offerings, which were plentiful, if in microscopic amounts. Imagine a large man's hand. Now imagine his pinkie fingernail. That was the size of the foodstuffs proffered.

There was the requisite buffet table, and there were also servers who wandered about with trays of delicacies. As the evening wore on, they learned to recognize my round face shining at them from across the room as I spied their delicious cargo. I helped myself to plump mushrooms stuffed with Parmesan, slivers of asparagus in the delicate embrace of whole wheat wraps, an apricot pretending to be a clam, and three helpings of something puffy that must have originated from nature at some point.

After our bellies were mildly satisfied, thus rendering us slightly less homicidal, we walked back into the room and shamelessly ogled the models outfits on display along with the people who were special enough, like us, to be invited to this super sikrot event. 'Twas a veritable who's-who of Boston's downtown office drones. We spotted many a finance type: tall, sleek, impeccably attired in business suits. The women were exquisitely garbed in fanciful skirts and dresses. There were some Olds as well, trying not to look too nervous at all the staring Millenials.

There was only one rapey guy who was stage-whispering his plans for taking a model home, and he was dressed like this:


So, yeah.

Apparently, the alt-fashion types had come in first, all tatted and dyed and spiked and studded, but got bored and wandered out for a while. We encountered them coming back in when we were on our way out.

As for the fashion show itself--there appeared to be six models doing shifts on three pedestals. They usually needed help getting off and on 'em, mostly because of their toight, toight outfits. My favorite, of course, is the one pictured above: the Backless Sideboob Jumpsuit. I had many earnest conversations with my coworkers today about how versatile this outfit is: you could just slap on a blazer, wear it to work, and then whip the covering off the goods at five o'clock! Such brilliant.

In conclusion: I need more clothes.

This post brought to you by almonds. Almonds: what morally upright people stuff into their (sobbing) faces instead of Cheetos!