 "Photo: Jason Sweeten | Daily Texan Staff")
 "Photo: Jason Sweeten | Daily Texan Staff")
When I was asked to be on a panel of celebrity judges for the Cream Vintage fashion show, I scoffed at the notion of me judging fashion. But most of all I was confused by the "celebrity" label. My 15 seconds were emceed by a fabulous lady in drag, complete with girls kissing, boys kissing and free malt liquor - the kind that comes in 40s and requires that you drink it with a paper bag surrounding it. This definitely wasn't your high-end fashion show. But my favorite part of the evening had to be going on stage to proclaim, once and for all, that Jorge had the best bulge. "And the winner for 'Best Bulge' goes to Jorge - Where are you, Jorge?"
The man, the myth, the legend, the pantless man called Jorge strutted down the runway in nothing but his green briefs to the sounds of hoots and hollers only Vince Young could truly relate to.
It was a ridiculous affair from start to finish, but in a way worthy of the Austin counterculture. My evening began with the free drinks, but the official event began with a band, to use the term loosely, called Automusik. They were more like a revolution - if only in their own minds. Their "musical numbers," which ranged from songs about their outrage that Justin Timberlake is still alive while Kurt Cobain is dead and what they like to do with hammers, were accompanied by a visual show on a TV which followed along with their bizarre accusations. The crowd was getting excited as these robots with flying goggles made fun of the audience and things all of the "hipsters," as he called them, stood for. At the end of the performance, the lead robot asked the audience, "Who here is in a band?"
When a third of the audience raised their hands, he said, "Of course, because everyone in Austin is in a band. From now on we are the only band in Austin."
The second band hit the stage to a tipsy audience, and I took my place at the judges' table. It was the publisher of Rare Magazine, a fashion columnist from the Austinist and myself, ready to judge the models as they walked down the runway. Originally we were supposed to rate the models and choose a best overall critic's choice. Instead we decided to spice things up a bit in support of the campy tone of the evening with new and improved categories including "Best Bulge" for the males, "Best Rack" for the females, and "Best Ass" and "Best Overall" for both the men and the women.
As each of the models came down the runway and flashed us their best seductive look or threw their top at the audience, I feverishly wrote down small details such as "Guy with dark eye make-up and tight pants has an ass that just won't quit" or questions I'd like answered like "Why does the girl with a fro insist upon licking her lips every other step?"
Throughout the night, the clothes became less and less important and the eventual winners won our vote because they were completely outrageous. In the first round they did a fake slap and in the second they kept up the story line as they "made up" on stage. Shirts came off, tongues were flown about, and my eyes wandered over to the two 12-year-old girls in the audience to see if they were shocked - I wasn't.
The evening ended with the three of us judges going on stage and announcing the winners, who were given gift bags and bragging rights. Before the show on Saturday, I realized I had no business judging fashion - but luckily, I didn't have to.
Be the first to comment on this article!