I am sick, I am tired, I am cross, I am 'hangry', I am 'meeserable' and I am, quite frankly, almost disgusted.
I propose a fast food programme for some of the bags of ribs and hair that are parading around as models.
It is not entertaining, it is not attractive and it is not ... well, not any damn thing at all.
Scrawny 'mogels' have never been my cup of tea, but it really hit home hard when I covered the Battle of the Bands at Backyaad a couple weeks ago and there was some pre-decision fashion from a particular agency. At times it was painful to see the bags of bones that the clothes were hung on, hopping down the runway.
OK, so the women are supposed to show the clothes, they are supposed to be walking mannequins, I guess, but short of suspending the garments in mid-air and then doing some wire work like they do in the movies, somebody has to wear them. Get that? Some body.
These ladies have no body.
I am convinced that the decisions about what is fashion and what is paraded as women's beauty are, in large part, dictated by men who have no interest in women who look like women - if you know what I mean. There is also the matter of not really liking men who look like men, hence the barrage of tight clothes and pink that has taken some of the dancehall males down a long path to looking like girls.
It amazes me how much entertainment shapes those who go out for the fun and the excitement - they who willingly sway with the wind.
And speaking of swaying, some of those lasses who are modelling cannot be healthy. They look as if a slight breeze could blow them over.
Fortunately, women who follow dancehall music especially, seem committed to 'fattening' the eye of the male with real taste - strutting their non-skinny stuff with pride, 'tuck een yu belly' and all. It is a real treat to see them, especially after a dose of the scrawny models.
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