The Beasts in the Beauties

Five years later, much has changed and much remains the same. There are more designers, better infra, quality clothes and a suitable profile of international buyers (mainly two charming gents, Albert Morris from Browns, London, and Michael Fink from Saks Fifth Avenue, New York). But what hasn’t changed is Attitude. Not confidence, sass appeal and pizzazz, but the ‘I’m-a-VIP’ Syndrome that the capital is renowned for.

The hotel lobby is full of pretty people. Delhi Dames with fat Louis Vuittons, Bombay Babes with bottle blonde hair, politicians (Subbirami Reddy), corporates (Lalit Suri) and Fashion Flunkies galore. Mumbai’s Powder Puff Pack is here too (Queen Bee Dhody and galpals—Anju Taraporvala, Sheetal Mafatlal, Haseena Jethmalani and Rhea Pillai) lending much-needed glitter to shows, despite sniggering snides questioning their cross-city purposes. All are here to support their favourite socialite dresser—Mumbai girl Monisha Jaising. Though they’re only too happy to decorate other Snob-Valued Shows as well.

But if the press only tells you about Front Row Rows among socialites and politicos, let my frat hold a mirror up to itself. Freelance fashionista (un-popularly called The Ass) is having a fit. A seat on the Press Row 1 is occupied by a staffer of a newspaper The Ass freelances for.

“How dare she?,” she storms, accent curlicued and cleavage booming, into the Poor PR office. “I’m not going for another show,” she threatens, until the ‘erroneous’ reporter obligingly moves to the back from then on.

Goan designer Wendell Rodricks has a hugely successful show, after picking ‘real people’ from the hotel’s lobby (Where? We didn’t see any), drowning them with vodka shots and sending them on the ramp wearing his clothes. Pseud Socialite runs to him post-show, saying, ‘‘I really want that white dress.’’ ‘‘Sure,’’ says Rodricks, and sends it to her room, bill attached. The bill never got paid and the lady embarked on a Rodricks-bashing spree in The Whiskey Bar private lounge, where I’m allowed only because an IMG organiser has a crush on me.

Delhi designers Vijay and Shobhana Arora won’t be seen for a while now. Not after they mistakenly thought LIFW stood for Lakme India Flower Show and stitched zillions of bleeding mogras on every inch of their garments. Maureen Wadia yawned, Sabina Chopra held her head in frustration and models Fleur Xavier and Mridula Chandrashekhar couldn’t desist from cracking up on the runway.

The models were the saddest lot. While Upen was hot and Sheetal was not, the rest went about their routine bored. Many male models (after being given no food/room/respect/money) stormed out before the week began. Designer Ashish Soni fights with Viveka Babajee and throws her out of his show. Elite model Ignatius is made to apologise for cussing on stage (though designer Kiran Uttam Ghosh had instructed him to). Delhi’s Rohit Gandhi manhandles choreographer Aparna Behl for abetting colleague Manish Arora to use an A/V for Arora’s theatrical show.

At Gautam Singhania’s party (of course he’s here, he needs hands-on knowledge to run Be:) models Karan Sood and Nitin Singh brawl over a lesser-known girl and show up next morning with stitches. Gawd, can’t wait till next year. Only for the clothes, I promise.