On Fashion’s Night Out and Social Darwinism

Unless you have been living in a cave for the last few years, you undoubtedly noticed that this past Thursday marked the third annual Fashion’s Night Out, a joint initiative by Vogue and the CFDA to help promote full-price retail by way of throwing lavish parties and getting revelers (including, but not limited to, industry heads, models and prospective everyday consumers) really, really fucked up.  Much like the Fourth of July, Halloween, New Years Eve, your 21st birthday and any other day whereby humans spend an inordinate amount of time and capital plotting a day of celebration, for most (read: those aforementioned prospective everyday consumers–industry heads and models always have fun) it’s a complete and utter let down.

Take, for example, the thousands of pathetic souls missing all sorts of chromosomes who showed up at that sorry excuse for a retailer “Dash.”  Really?  You didn’t think that shit would get shut down when there were thousands of you romping around SoHo, desperate to touch–nay, merely see–one of those talentless, frumpy, surgically enhanced Geico cavewomen?  You’re completely useless and reassure me that no matter how difficult life may get at times, I am going to be just fine.


Trunzo / NICE TRY, BRO

Weekend-warrior, SWAG-laureate, Mr. Slap Your Favorite Blogger

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