Fashion Show MC

I showed up at Salon de Sade around 4:30pm on Sunday and walked into what could have been mistaken as a giant game of dress up, were the fashion stakes not so very high.  Kathleen and Joyce were shepherding five beautiful women to and fro while they tried on various outfits and ate Thai food.  I could have gawked, but this was business and I had to get right to it. 

The critical success factors for being a fashion show MC include a steely eye for detail-- "is it appropriate to call those 'ass chaps' or is 'chaps' sufficient?" (it's the later, btw)--and actually knowing who is wearing what and in what order the models will appear.  These details, my friends, cannot be ignored.   Of course as of 5:30 or so only about half of these details has been established, so I took my leave and over a pint of beer patiently inscribed index cards with sparkling copy that really pushed my imagination to the limit, like: "Nadia is wearing a vinyl catsuit by Catherine Coatney."

I also prepared some crowd pleasing material such as: "Did you hear about the practical joke at the Ladies' Cotillion?  <wait for the beat> "yup, it was a ball gag."  Sadly, or maybe fortunately, I never used this ancilliary material.

At about 9:30pm I showed up at the venue, dressed in a suit, having decided that while the size 12 baby blue platform heels I had been made to try on earlier did fit, they would clash with my outfit and likely ensure a speedy dispatch the ER at some point in the evening.

Plans had changed, but I am nothing if not flexible and so I took these changes in stride, determined to provide Salon de Sade with their best fashion show ever. The odds were in my favor as this was their first fashion show ever.

Our fine and very talented ladies were preceded on the catwalk by a trio of poor women who's finely scripted show consisted solely of them standing in place in sparkly bikinis and turning, somewhat awkwardly, side to side.  While not a competition, I knew we would crush them underneath the sole of our collective black vinyl platform boot.

At 11pm, the crew from S&M Underground performed a set piece that involved a creature of unidentified, but presumably male, gender in a straight jacket and hood, a vinyl clad medical technician, an authoritarian figure with a cattle prod, and a hooded and winged archangel character whose sole job was to apply a grinder to a metal rod in order to frame the considerable, and to those weak of heart, distrubing, action in an arc of sparks.  Good fun.

And then we were on.  Or actually, the ladies of Salon de Sade were on while stood above in the DJ booth flipping through index cards, not seeing much of the show but doing my best to promote Salon de Sade, highlight the women and the various venues where you can catch them dancing and slip dollar bills into their g-strings (something explicitly prevented at this show), and call out the fabulous fashions they were sporting ("vinyl dress by Jenny Nitro!"). 

All in all I think things went very well as measured by the volume of hooting and hollering coming from the crowd.  (Between the trivia gig and my newfound skills as a fashion show MC I'm thinking of hanging out my shingle: Professional Talker for Hire. I have very competitive rates; just ask for a quote.)

Having just MC'd this fashion show, which involved burlesque-like performance, and having recently attended the burlesque show put on by good friends I think Ariel might be on to something when she commented last week, betwen sips of a rather ingenious concoction of tequila, lime juice, and soda water, that "burlesque is the new fire dancing."  I think she is correct.  But I must note that in my minds eye, the worst burlesque is far better than the worst fire spinning.  The world, my friends, evolves.

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