Paris Is The Place To Discover Fashion Rules (Or Lack Thereof)

I now know the difference between wide-legged hip-huggers and low-waisted trapeze skirts. I can tell you which colors any fashion-oriented person will be wearing next season and which colors will not be seen until the next retro-look springs forth.

I know how to use words like “salon” and “boutique” in their proper contexts. I can pick up any item of woman’s clothing and hold it without feeling like a pervert. I am able to get directions from a woman wearing nothing but a see-through plastic jacket and some underwear. I can do a pretty good imitation of that bouncy step and spin models do on the catwalk.

And I’ve learned that “Haute-Couture” is indeed just another pretentious French word.

That was just part of my education at the world’s largest ready-to-wear fashion show, the Pret-a-Porter (pronounced: PRET-a-por-TAY), held at a big convention hall on the south end of Paris.

Although it’s not as glitzy as the Haute-Couture show, I decided I should attend the Pret-a-Porter clothes parade because it has a major impact on world fashion and, well, it was happening the same day I was passing through Paris.

I spent my first hour in the Bureau de Presse, a little French journalists’ club at the convention hall, where, in addition to essential press aids like an open bar, you get a bag filled with heaps of - get ready - fashion literature.

Basically, the designers exhibit their wares (or should I say wears?) in booths like at any other convention. The main difference is there are jillions of drop-dead gorgeous women walking around in cutting-edge clothing with the surface area of a chewing gum wrapper. This makes the event much more exciting than say, the American Booksellers Convention, where overly attractive people are not even allowed in the door.

In my first two hours on the convention floor I fell in love at first sight 40 times.

The models were wearing things so revealing they looked more naked than if they just were naked. One had a top with a V-neck so low-cut it went down to her waist and a skirt cut up to her waist. Like a stalagtite and a stalagmite about to join, there were just a few threads around the navel holding the whole outfit together. A hairdryer set on low could have blown the thing off.

I think the trick to wearing and looking good in most of these clothes is to be born and raised a professional model. I don’t see how anyone else could possibly fit into them while maintaining normal circulation. The latest high-fashion trend is to wear clothing that’s about two sizes too small. It’s as if all the models confined their shopping to the Junior Miss section.

By the way, the Big Name supermodels wouldn’t be caught dead at this particular show because it features only ready-to-wear duds - the sort of clothing you can just walk into a store and buy (I didn’t realize there was any other kind).

Supermodels are only hired to “catwalk” by Big Name designers like Coco Chanel. And the Big Names only design Haute-Couture clothes. These garments are not sold in stores and to buy even the skimpiest boa you have to take out a mortgage on your house. Each piece is custom made to your size. Well, usually. You can buy an overpriced Coco Chanel bag without having it specially fitted to your particular arm; Big Name designers do sell ready-to-wear accessories within reach of the lower classes.

I watched two fashion shows on the convention’s larger catwalks. The first show was referred to as “normal” by the people standing behind me, who were wearing trendy lampshades on their heads. Most of the outfits I saw on stage could have been worn by Cher in concert, such as the bikini made from tiny green mirrors. The model wearing it had some green glitter sprayed around her navel.

The other show was “alternative,” meaning no one except space aliens and maybe Dennis Rodman would ever even contemplate wearing this stuff. All the models had tattoos, dyed hair and pierced everything. One female with a shaved head modeled an old T-shirt with a big hole in it that allowed one bare breast to hang out. She also had on a pair of well-used men’s briefs with a hole exposing one cheek. (I’m not sure about the copyright laws but I could swear this innovative design was stolen from a roommate I had in college.)

A male model wore a full-body Saran wrap jumpsuit. Another displayed a large pin that pierced his mouth completely shut - the perfect accessory to set off his faux-fur dress. Look for this hot new outfit in a few weeks on Main Street in Boise, Idaho.

As for my personal taste in clothes, thank God for my press pass, or I’d have been kicked out for a fashion violation. I came in a blue shirt, purchased on sale at one store, and some brown pants from a different store. I had no particular fashion statement in mind when I put together my ensemble, beyond covering my body. Unfortunately, the blue and brown weren’t mismatched enough to be fashionable this season. People with green hair, purple tights, pierced tongues and pantyhose shirts stared at me as I stared at them.

The style for 1997 is … beats me. I saw everything from sportcoats with vinyl lapels to shirts made out of shag carpet. Pick a fabric and you’d find it on the runway: sandpaper, toilet paper, origami paper. One model wore skimpy dresses with small words written all over them. They looked like a giant cheat-sheet for French class.

As far as I can tell, there are only two rules of thumb in the fashion industry. The first is, there is no rule of thumb. Second, everyone is trying to make a rule of thumb, which conflicts with rule No. 1.