The Phantom Fart At Federation

Federation / photos: Michael Ng

Fashion shows almost always start late. It’s not unusual to have to wait up to an hour or more after the expected start time so you get used to standing around before you get to your seat. Federation’s show was in Shed 1 on Friday. While most ticket holders were queuing in the main walkway, media, buyers, VIPs – anyone seated in the front rows basically, were ushered into a small atrium the size of a small lounge. It was heavily draped with thick cloth on all sides creating a sort of hot-house environment for the 40 or so front row ticket-holders to lurk awkwardly in before being taken to their seats. I was in said environment, patiently waiting for the doors to open when something unspeakable happened. A thick fog of stench appeared out of nowhere, rising from the ground up to envelop the entire atrium in the unmistakable aroma of FART. But this wasn’t your typical, relatively harmless little phut-phut fart, this was the full-blown military-grade Fashion-Week VIP motherlode. There was no escape. We were surrounded by heavy-duty floor to ceiling black drapes and this big, dirty, sloppy stench of a thing took over the room completely. Nobody escaped its evil clutches. I watched in horror as a wave of panic spread like lightening across the room. Everybody started looking around, quickly throwing accusatory glances at everyone else, a desperate precautionary measure to deflect any potential blame. People were scrambling through their bags to find some paper, an invite, some card, anything strong enough to fan one’s personal space in an attempt to hold back the fart’s evil embrace. It was no use, this thing just hung in there, growing in strength and power, intoxicating the entire room, causing much muttering, consternation and stomping of feet until after 5 tortuous minutes, the longest 5 minutes of anyone’s life, relief was at hand and we were allowed in to take our seats. Now, I’m reluctant to point the finger of blame but I do have my suspicions as to the origin of the FART. The beast seemed to rise from the centre of the room and out, and at the time of release, standing in front of me and occupying the central area was one Ms. Noelle McCarthy. I’m not saying that Noelle was the source of this thing, but to my mind, she seemed just a wee bit too eager to deny any involvement herself. Which I find highly suspicious. Oh well. The main thing is that there were no casualties and Federation presented a most fun show. Federation’s Fashion Week showing was sponsored by Resene. As the show began, different colours of paint slowly dripped down over a large white Federation logo while the models had the ends of their fingers dipped in paint. Nice touch that. If you ever find yourself in a small atrium surrounded in heavy drapes with Noelle McCarthy, my advice is: make a note of the nearest exit…

UPDATE: My buddy Guy who was working FW says: “It wasn’t poor Noelle,  there was a poo sucker truck outside emptying the portaloos at the time and some idiot had left the side door open to the other shed.” Woah. That’s just wrong. Apologies to you Noelle, I knew it couldn’t have been you…