Day 3: Mirrors
and reflections
Over the last few years, Olympia Small-Sonaram has earned quite the reputation for herself, built on barely there creations and a flair for the outlandish that usually sets tongues wagging. Her guiding principle has always seemed to be less equals more; a formula for success that has long been confirmed by pornography. Small-Sonaram did not deviate much from the formula in ‘Mirrors and Reflections’, the new collection of lingerie and swimwear that closed the show on Sunday night. Everyone sat up at attention when the models began to walk out, wearing small mirrors pasted on to their clothes and their bodies. Among them was a carefully sculpted mountain of a man who ambled down the runway with a line of small mirrors pasted along his abdomen, settling on his bulging crotch. It was the apotheosis of the high-fashion spectacle that is so inane and yet morbidly fascinating all at once.
Fashion, like all art, is a way of looking the world. But it is also a way of getting away from it, of breaking free from the boundaries that are put there to ensure that you conform to the status quo. It’s the difference between say, the man who decked himself in his chic, but conservative, Sunday best and the youth who turned up in nothing but slacks and body paint. (Although if you must insist on wearing paint on your upper body, you should make sure you have an upper body to begin with.) And yet, by the end of the night–which truly featured some stunning collections by powerhouses and newbies alike, including designers like Derek Moore, Donna Dove, Marcia DeSantos, Maxi Williams, Alana Bidding and GFW CEO Sonia Noel herself–it was difficult to feign excitement about any of it. That is to say, somewhere between the steady accumulation of beer bottles (courtesy of Carib) and the overpowering smell of fried chicken dinners (Church’s or NP, you take your pick) that filled the air, the mystique that one normally associates with a high-fashion extravaganza had long dissipated.
What did the martial arts displays by the Digicel Black Hawks Martial Arts Management Network (whatever that means) have to do with fashion? I asked myself that question on all three nights, trying to forget fond memories of Mortal Kombat that they had conjured with the theme song from the first film. (The beer and the chicken eventually put it all into perspective: Sponsorship. Corporate. Sponsorship. Digicel certainly seemed to get a bang for its buck.) The VIPs seemed to have gotten the hint judging by the empty seats in the section enclosed by the runway. When the MC asked that they be filled, it looked like a game of extreme musical chairs as a crowd of people made a beeline for them, hoping to get a closer look at the mirrors. Maybe they were trying to see themselves.
