Yesterday the very first AUDI FASHION AWARD took place. So, after Mercedes Benz has established itself as a sponsor of fashion and the Berlin Fashion Week within the industry ages ago, the Ingolstadt car manufacturer follows suit. Oh well.
Students of the Hamburg fashion universities HAW and AMD presented to a jury (that among others bloggers Nike and Sarah from This is Jane Wayne were part of) and an audience of about 350 (friends, family hometown celebrities and drinkers) two designs each. Of course it was impossible to interpret even the faintest vision or red threat into any of them. Two is just not enough for that.
It was more interesting that a lot of the young menswear designers (about half of them) showed skirts and dresses for men. Apparently the guys have learnt their lesson from Rick Owens. However, next time it would be great to see a more independent outcome.
The seemingly most important story that evening was show host Janin Reinhardt though. For one, because the ex VIVA host was absolutely shocked when I was standing in front of her wearing an oversized bomber jacket at Mars Bar (quote Reinhardt: “If this is fashion I want nothing to do with it anymore”). Furthermore, there was a flaming discussion on the way home (in the super luxurious, show-off, epic massage-seaty Audi A8) between photographer Philip André and his girlfriend whether Janin Reinhardt is sexy or just plain wrong.
The discussion was concluded with the suggestion that Philip please just jerk-off to Janin once they got home. His girlfriend would be waiting in the bathroom until he’s done.
I continued onwards, let the two go at it (or not), cranked up the massage button for my seat and thought about Janin Reinhardt.
P.S.: if you take an extra close look you will find a Dandy Diary blogger in a SIGNUM shirt in the bottom right corner of the photo who was late for the show. In row two. Because front row is really way too last season for us, especially in Hamburg.
IGGY POP usually does not wear too much: skin-tight leather pants, with that his well-trained, plastic-like upper body. In case the rockstar Iggy gets cold, he puts on a leather jacket.
From now on, The Stooges front-man is going to be seen more wearing a vest. Because Iggy has designed a denim-vest with patches in cooperation with the label SAILOR JERRY. The punk-ish patches are delivered separately, so you can decide yourself which of Iggys hot patches fits you (the selection is: death, shall, triumph). A main inspiration were punks and especially the punkettes of the 70s in London and Los Angeles.
If you walk through the pedestrian zone in your home town, wearing an Iggy Pop THE FLASH vest, every Hells Angels member will freeze out of jealousy, promise. All in all there are 50 vests – each of them signed by hand by Iggy Pop personally. For one of Iggys vest you would have to spare 600 US Dollars.
The deal with Sailor Jerry has been arranged by Matt Sorum of Guns ‘N Roses. A band, which became famous in 90s for their extremely cool bandanas and stars and stripes leggings. The year before, Paul Simonon from The Clash has designed for Sailor Jerry.
Let’s see, which oldie-rockstar is in it the next time!
Next to the hard work here at DANDY DIARY, David and me are connected by many things: We were both into our black-haired economics-teacher and into Janine from the first row, we were both fans of BVB in the 90s, we both love the small 0,25 l Heineken-bottles and spicy vegan food, we both read the Spiegel on sundays and, and, and, and, and – there is much more. And: We both hate nothing more than rats.
Actually hatred is very understated. We have a huge fucking fear for them, that bad that David once jumped on the table of a restaurant, screaming, in Shanghai, because he saw a rat passing by, and I had to be aware of the attacks by my siblings, who would always kick against garbage bags in New York City and then rats would jump out, and most of the times cross my feet. Already looking at a rat causes a rigid barrier in us, even-though we are these hard fashion-guys, also high screaming, pure desperation and a few embarrassing jumps. One of us also has wetted himself once out of fear and shock. We will not tell who that was, out of fairness.
When we recently were in Mumbai (India), the, until now, hardest task, concerning rats, has come. About half of the 12 million inhabitants are living in slums, many of them without a solid house and therefore without water and without toilets. Big parts of the city are similar to a garbage field: Plastic garbage everywhere, junk, dead cats, undefinable brown puddles. And there is a frightening amount of rats. Very many. Brutally many. Disgustingly many.
While the people in Mumbai apparently have bigger problems, than taking care of all the nibbling rats in the corners, us idiotic, spoiled western-people were permanently anxious. We were frightened as hell by those beasts – our biggest enemies.
To give you an idea what we looked like speeding through the streets of Mumbai, anxious about meeting a rats, we made a video, which you can see here. In the video we are racing towards the only place where there are no rats: the ocean. There we stayed for three days and nights, close to dehydration, and had us picked up by a golden yacht of our trillionaire-friend, and flew back to the clean, cold and a bit less rat-sy Berlin.
During the rat-race we were wearing Converse Chuck Taylor “Rubber” shoes, David was wearing pants by Weekday and a shirt by Hugo Boss, I was wearing a wifebeater and hotpants by American Apparel.