The venue may change, but the madness remains the same: The chaotic crush outside the Richie Rich show on Thursday night, as with all his Heatherette shows of yore, boiled over with people hopped up on free cocktails trying to push, shove, or charm their ways inside. At least four skirmishes seemed on the verge of fisticuffs, and we were nearly trampled by a jerk who thoughtfully encouraged us to bite him when we complained about his roughness — and who then got into a shouting match with another dude, who practically had to be restrained by his girlfriend. Classy! The stabby aura stemmed from the fact that after a long wait to check in, still nobody knew quite where they were sitting, and were told different stories by different event staffers. Eventually a PR girl who sounded on the verge of hysteria explained that this season’s fancy new computerized seating system had broken. See? It’s just like the Terminator movies said: The machines are out to get us. And apparently they’re winning.
Once we popped out of the fray and into the venue, though, things got a lot more peaceful. Perhaps that was the soothing aura of rapper and actor Ice-T, who kicked it in the front row about as calmly as we’ve ever seen anybody in the midst of all those flashbulbs. As his wife Coco and her immense, brimming cleavage bobbed around to his left — her chest almost needed its own seat assignment — Ice-T happily posed for pictures with a series of fans, each of whom clutched him closer than the last (and at least one of whom appeared to be fondling his collarbone). He even took photos with some of the event photographers, who are usually the last people in the venue to get starstruck. What can we say? Ice-T is that cool. He oozes cool. His beard clippings are so cool you could indeed use them to ice your tea.
Oddly, we are three-for-three today with JoJo, who crept into the venue in a dark-blue strapless dress and appeared almost as confused as we were. In fact, we totally lost track of where she went, but she might have ended up down near the top of the runway with the two girls who looked an awful lot like the Veronicas. It’s hard to say. We were distracted by all the spectacular hairpieces in the building, including a pair of girls wearing matching purple wigs, and a drag queen boasting both a long, luscious Beyoncé wig and a full beard.
Presumably as a nod to Fashion Week’s posh new venue, Richie opened the show with a ballet display — including a pas de deux featuring a muscular, shirtless man in tights — and then a violinist sporting a tutu came out and rocked the fiddle to some dance music, contorting herself fully backward and using the bow so hard she broke its strings. Then Rich fave Tinsley Mortimer kicked off the clothing portion of the evening in a floaty pink party frock and electric-blue eye makeup, while waving at her sister, Dabney Mercer, in the front row. What followed was a series of surprisingly sedate dresses and some ruffled hot pants, framed by a runway backdrop covered with such mottoes as “Dreams Come True” and “Like a Virgin.”
So naturally, that’s when the sex slaves arrived. For about ten minutes, men and women in skimpy clothes accessorized with chains and leather — including RuPaul’s Drag Race standout Jujubee — trotted down the runway, grinding and growling and looking for all the world like a storefront window in Amsterdam. They even wore the same blasé facial expressions, right down to the kid in the assless pouch that concealed barely any of his personal goods, and certainly didn’t confine all of his pubic hair.
So naturally, that’s when the confetti cannons arrived. With a blast so loud that the girl sitting next to us let out a tiny scream, they exploded silver debris onto the runway after the models did their finale walk. And then into the sparkling cloud strolled a spiky-haired Ellen DeGeneres, clad in an iridescent silver suit tucked into white high-tops and capped off with a tiny hat-shaped fascinator. As she strutted down the runway solo, then did another lap with Richie Rich by her side, everyone went nuts and leaped to their feet. Well, everyone except Ice-T and Coco and Coco’s cleavage. All three (four?) of them were impassive throughout the entire bizarre show, as if they were watching a very long tennis match. We suspect if an orgy had broken out, they’d have kept the exact same stoic facial expressions. Apparently, the moral of this whole tale is, don’t play poker with Ice-T. At least, we hope that’s the moral. Dwelling on what we were supposed to learn from the skimpy sausage pouch is starting to fry our brains.
See more: Richie Rich Spring 2011 Collection
