Fashion Week is a momentous occasion; essentially, it's a merry-go-round of back-to-back runway shows enticing audiences with what's yet to come for the next season in major metropolises worldwide. And for anyone who cares, if just alittle, about what he or she puts on his or her back, it's kind of a big deal.
Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week Swim is just as paramount as its bigger and older sister shows. So what if we have less fabric to work with? Swimsuits to a Miamian are what a floor length, down jacket is to a Bostonian in the middle of January - a crucial necessity.
Even more important than its runway shuffles and invite-only parties, however, is its introduction.
Last night was the kick-off party of the swimsuit-clad extravaganza. And instead of being stuffed with a nation of hungry fashionites poolside at the Raleigh, the night was fairly breathable -- a little too breathable. Like, where the party at?
Even considering the stifling humidity, the body-to-body ratio was astonishingly low, making things even more uncomfortable than the dense weather that night (and the sweat-staches it created). Are Thursdays just not happening nights anymore? Or are people not as interested as they have been previous years? We scratched our heads in bewilderment.
Though the turnout of guests was mighty scarce, the party started out promising enough. On 18th Street, between the Raleigh and Surfcomber, models dressed in drapey, silk beach cover-ups, posing like fembots, ready to strike a pose for the countless fashion photographers and networks covering the evening's festivities. Behind the nymph-like models, draped in kaftans, were two rows of Mercedes-Benz cars, ranging from A class all the way to E. And just like the models standing before them, they also came dressed up for the occasion.
For every model cloaked in floral or painterly prints from one of the designers showcasing at this year's event, there was a matching Benz identically tatted to mirror its more slender and smooth-skinned companion.
The set-up of the wheels and girls was that of a museum installation of some sort - the initial eye-grabber of the night. One model, baring golden, curly locks contrasting her bright green eyes and equally flawless golden skin, even challenged the stereotypical model-protocol of sit-there-and-look-pretty and actually opened her mouth to the public stating, "I have a voice too, you know?" The sassy remark was probably due to the droves of foreign men scamming on the models and inquiring with hungry eyes, "If I buy the car, you come with it?" True story; we were there to witness such creepy behavior.
Once the camera-snapping of Mercedes Model Ally stopped, we finally made it into the Raleigh's "backyard," and sniffed out the open bar -- instantaneously. The lines for the bar were a cinch. And that's with the majority of the party's attendees clumping around its proximity, because the bar proved to be the lone source of entertainment for the night. Though tasty, the drinks distributed that night were of diminutive stature, and appropriately titled Yellow Polka-Dotted Bikini. The size of these things was infuriating, but they were free, nonetheless, leaving no room for complaint.
Around the entrance/main bar area, sauntered servers with finger foods such as the Lemon Meringue Bread Pudding Bites.
Leather lace-up heels overwhelmed the poolside, as multi-colored, floating balls lit up the lagoon-like pool only mere steps - or strokes, rather - away. The sight proved entertaining enough, but really how long can you stay staring at floating balls? Next.
Of course, at any event like this, there was a step-and-repeat, meant for humble-braggers and accumulative Instagram likes galore, where people who didn't make the cut to all the shows VIP lists gathered round and displayed their Swim Week spirit through dozens of selfies taken.
Tragically, around 10 o'clock, the already scant amount of people who did show face to the "party" dissipated, never to be heard or seen from again.
And, sure, while the finger foods were great and open bar was appreciated, what was really lacking at this alleged kick-off party was enthusiasm.
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Are we Miamians really not stoked to have been picked by one of the world's leading luxury car-crafters to host a five-day, mega fashion event? This is Miami, for crying out loud, the city whose foundation is built on house-music and ostentatious nightclubs. Shouldn't we be celebrating well into the wee-hours? We know the invite said from 8 p.m. - 10 p.m., but come on. We're not a city that's keen on following the rules, and even if we started caring about rules, why do it that night?
While we were disappointed by the volume (or lack there of) of attendees at the party whose sole purpose was to hype up this weekends activities, we still have hope, yet. Maybe there weren't enough half-nakie models to keep the partygoers attention long enough? Hey, sex sells, you know?
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