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Or so I thought, Mumbai’s glamorous preferred to stay away, catching up on their much needed beauty sleep before the week, while the designers, models and organisers were happy to bend elbows after a finishing off their finishing touches.
Wendell Rodricks came with Nikhil Gupta, a cutesy restaurateur from Paris. Hunky model (or not), Asif, accosted Rodricks with apologies for showing up 30 minutes late for his fittings, natch, Rodricks threw him out of the show. Asif may be Hemant Trevedi’s BF, but professionalism is just that and Rodricks taught him a thing or two about the trade. Needless to say, he disappeared soon.
Artist Payal Khandwala came wearing a trad sari, she’s just returned from a pre-wedding honeymoon in Devigarh with her investment banker dish (the slag, he’s also eight years younger), looking so pretty it hurt.
It was work as usual the next morning at the venue, the grand purple-carpeted NCPA. The buzz and the hype are saved for the evenings; let’s talk about the clothes, yes?
Somebody tell Neeta Lulla net and fishtails went out of the fashion market even before Aishwarya Rai went off the marriage market. Her badly finished ensembles made for a terrible opening show. And trust these Bollwood types to try grab attention in strange ways. I mean I would love to watch Sandeep Soparkar move on the dance floor, but having him pop up out of nowhere and dance on ramp? Really Neeta, what was the point?
Abhishek Dutta has never really done very impressive work, but as a follow-up to Neeta, his collection wasn’t half bad. As smooth as the Lindor, I popped after lunch. Especially the men’s jackets. I was about to heave a sigh of relief as I watched models strut in Nalanda Bhandari’s white ensembles, but then came the monstrosity, a leopard print and peacock feather dress that made me afraid to open my eyes again.
Some of the garments by Arshiya Fakih Eappen were eye-catching, chic clubwear that works for the season, if not the next. But rest of the collection was as boring as the expression on Ranvir Shorey’s face, which only lit up as girlfriend Konkona Sensharma walked the ramp looking like a sweet doll.
Nikasha’s dhoti pants with T-shirts and angrakha blousons with bare legs made an attempt at globo-local but only superficially. Her Klimt prints, ecru chikans and fuchsia and peacock colours were tailored so poorly, reminding me that a good design is best left on paper if you can’t swing a sewing machine.



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