By Dean Borok
Tired of the same old dreary celebrity programming on network TV? Who cares if J. Lo is double-jointed, or if Gwyneth Paltrow has a wicked backhand? Because out in Hollywood, where schlock never sleeps, they are developing a whole new generation of celebrity sports programming which promises to have something for everybody! Right now some joker with a Ph.D. in Brainwashing is sitting at his desktop, feverishly pounding away long into the night, his head swimming with images collected earlier that day, during an afternoon of shopping on Rodeo Drive. He wants to call it:
Designer Wrestling
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to DESIGNER WRESTLING. I'm your ringside announcer for the night, fashion columnist and wrestling aficionado, Clona Mononucleosis, speaking to you from the Christian Dior Memorial Arena in Palm Beach, Florida. There's an airborne shot of the arena, courtesy of the Fiorucci Blimp, which is hovering high in the sky above Palm Beach.
"Lemme' tell you something, folks. Designer wrestling has gone a long way since it was a fledgling sport practiced in a few smart salons on Paris' Avenue Foch and Manhattan's Upper East Side to where it is now, in the world spotlight. Some of the great champions of our sport, like Maulin' Madame Grès, 'the Dropkick Granny of Montparnasse, or Georgeous Georges Balenciaga, the 'Barcelona Brawler', have long since hung up their sequined capes and retired to Nice or Capri, and are totally unknown to today's new generation of Designer Wrestling fans, who only come to it through the marvel of cable TV. Now, however, these greats of yesteryear have been replaced by a magnificent new pantheon of luminaries, some of whom will be on the card tonight.
"I'd just like to say a word or two about the Christian Dior Memorial Arena, designed by famed architect and darling of the celebrity set, I.M. Pei. As you can see it's done in the neo-Roman school of architecture, sort of what Pliny the Elder would conceive of the Greek Parthenon being like if he were alive at ringside. The massive ring of marble columns which surround the arena, permitting an unimpeded view from the expensive seats, supports the 50% cotton, 50% polyester dome which is retracted when the stadium is converted into a polo field on Sunday afternoons.
"You'll also notice that the harsh lighting usually associated with sporting events has been done away with in favour of suspended crystal chandeliers and ornate silver candelabra carried by liveried footmen costumed to represent the court of Versailles during the reign of Louis Quatorze, 'Le Roi Soleil', by Zoomar Creations of Los Angeles, California, and are certified to be 100% reproductions by the accounting firm of Price Waterhouse and Co.
"Also, the food here is different from other sporting events. Nowhere to be found is vile swill like beer and hot dogs. Instead, we have dainty petits fours, chicken cacciatore and Perrier water being passed around by the cutest boys dressed only in satin tank tops and seersucker shorts. I can't tell you, ladies and gentlemen, how great it is to be here after all those years of covering those dreary little fashion events (actually, I can't sew a stitch, myself) and having to eat those rotten little egg sandwiches. I've finally made it into big-time fashion sports announcing, and I'm never going back, no matter whose butt I have to kiss!
"Now, before the first match of what promises to be a thrilling and eclectic night of designer wrestling, I'd like to present the colour commentator for this week's show, gossip columnist for the Newhouse chain of newspapers and former two-time champion in the Androgynous Bantamweight Class, the most insulting mouth ever to be punched on Seventh Avenue, Thomas Sneermonger."
"Hi, folkth! In a few seconds the bell will ring, signaling the start of the first match pitting Oscar De La Renta in the shrimp-coloured tartan plaid skirt and matching bagpipe hosiery against Sonia Rykiel, the 'Drag Queen of Knits', who is done up to resemble some kind of surrealistic Lolita. How would you describe her outfit, Clona?"
"I would have to describe her as being attired in the post-minimalist, ultra-nouvelle vague popularized by the hookers in the alley behind the fish stalls along the waterfront in Napoleon Bonaparte's hometown of Ajacio, Corsica. This is a look that would send Madonna and Grace Jones screaming into the arms of the Women's Christian Temperance Union. I don't want to say she looks slutty, but really, darling, a chain-mail halter top made from beer can pull tabs? And that automobile T.V. antenna hanging from her ear looks positively déguelasse!
"This has all the elements of a grudge match, wouldn't you say, Clona? After that atrocious scene they pulled at the Coty Awards dinner last fall, why Sonia would have pulled dear Oscar's hair out by the roots, if he'd had any!"
"You know what they say, Thomas, 'Time wounds all heels!' There's the bell! Sonia Rykiel jumps onto the ropes and springs head-first over Oscar de la Renta, who drops onto the mat and deftly rolls away. Now he's up and he's got her pinned down with his foot in the small of her back and he's twisting her leg behind her. She's pounding on the mat and calling him a second-rate stylist in that vulgar Roman patois she is sometimes accused of using at inopportune moments in cheap attempts to attain notoriety. Omygoodness! She's slipped out of his hold and now has him caught in a scissorlock, squeezing the breath out of him between her two deadly, powerful thighs! Oscar's head is turning a frightening shade of Dufy blue which almost matches his lambswool turtleneck pullover with optional earflaps. Now he's reached over and grabbed her in a hammerlock and is applying a knuckleburn to her La Coupe hairdo. These designers are sooo vicious!
"She's bounced off the ropes and she catches him in the chest with a flying dropkick. She's got his head twisted in the ropes and she's biting his knuckles. Sonia Rykiel started as a wrestler to pay for her tuition at the Milan School of Design where she majored in active knitwear. She briefly abandoned wrestling to promote her fashion house, but the call of the ring was too strong, and now she's regarded by many as a favourite to topple the current IFFW champion, Mary McFadden, at the Chicago Amphitheatre later this spring."
"My goodness, Clona, what an exciting match that was!"
"Not to mention the exquisite styling, Thomas. Now before the next match begins, we'd like to show you some videotaped highlights from a recent match between social secretary Muffie Brandon and Pat Buckley wrestling in a tub of mud specially designed by Vidal Sasoon, who personally scoured the four corners of Soviet Moldavia, searching for mud which contained just the right skin nutrients."
"Truly inspirational, Clona. Now in this clip we have social mouth Jerry Zipkin pitted against Zandra Rhodes. For this match Jerry has come up with an outfit which seems to have been inspired by the final orgy scene in 'The Story of O'! All the feathers and everything kind of resemble the San Diego Chicken, except he's showing a lot more flesh."
"Zandra looks perfectly darling in her pea-soup coloured Moroccan camel herder's leggings and shocking fuschia satin motorcycle jacket. She's really been training, and now she's walking all over his chest in her cleated mountaineer boots and berating him for always making such a spectacle of himself in public situations. Who does he think he is, really!"
"Sorry to cut in, Thomas, but we'd like to switch you back now in time for the next match between Claude Montana, shown there in the frilled peasant skirt, Navajo belt and hand-tooled cowboy boots, and Pierre Cardin, in the topless swimsuit with suspenders and wraparound sunglasses.
"They're circling each other. Now they're clenched in combat as Claude Montana slips down between Pierre Cardin's legs. Now he's got him up on his shoulders and he's spinning him around, givin' him the ol' helicopter. Oh! Did you see him hit the floor! The punishment these designers have to go through for the sake of art!
"Now Pierre Cardin is really mad! He's walking around the ring screaming like a madman. Now he's huddled in the corner with his financial advisers. He charges out, grabs Claude Montana by the hair and gives him some shot in the face! Referee Paloma Picasso comes over and breaks it up. She's telling something to Pierre Cardin, who apparently doesn't like what he's hearing. The fans are tensed for action! All cocktail conversation in the massive stadium is totally hushed as the smart money from three continents sits in total awe of these fashion immortals locked in brutal combat on the world stage. Actually, it's like something out of Kurosawa, or something.
"They're circling. Claude Montana bounds against the ropes and comes flying back feet-first, catching Pierre Cardin in the chest and knocking him over. Oh, dirty pool! Now he's got him pinned. Paloma Picasso is down on the mat inspecting the pin to make sure it's clean.
"And that's the match."
"And just in time for Pierre Cardin to get to the airport, Clona. Tomorrow he's scheduled to sign an agreement giving him exclusive rights to clothe the entire population of Western New Guinea. What a magnificent sportsman! Totally unfazed by his loss to Claude Montana, he's throwing designer chocolate kisses to the crowd and inviting them to the opening of his chain of Maxim's of Paris fast food franchises."
"Now we're ready to bring you the feature contest of the evening, a tag-team match between Ralph Lauren and his New York Dolls and Italy's Fabulous Flying Fendi Sisters. Ralph Lauren's having a little trouble negotiating the ropes in his drop-dead sequin cocktail dress and size 14 Cuban heels. He's carrying an adorable little clutch from Anne Klein for Calderon."
"What an inspiring designer, Clona. If, as they say, simplicity is genius, then Ralph Lauren is genius simplified."
"My sentiments exactly, Thomas. Now entering the ring are the Fendi Sisters: Larry, Moe and Curly. They're shouting insults at the crowd and daring them to show their designer labels. The crowd is responding in a like manner and showering them with martini olives and ice cubes. Here are the rules for the match: each team is issued a jeweled tiara from Bulgari Jewellers. Only one member from each team is allowed in the ring at a time, and he or she must be wearing the Bulgari tiara, which must be passed by hand from team member to team member, not thrown or kicked.
"And there's the bell..
"Curly Fendi, in the fringed deerskin jacket and gladiator sandals, and Ralph Lauren seem to be circling each other warily. Ralph Lauren's showing some fancy footwork, feinting and darting about. He pounces on Curly Fendi and gets her in a half-nelson. She spins around, giving him a jab in the ribs with her free elbow, bounces off the ropes, and catches him in the head with a dropkick. Now they're on the mat and he's up on his knees trying to get her on her side. In a supreme effort of will she manages to break free, hauls it back to the corner, and hands off the Bulgari Tiara to Moe Fendi in the striped pajamas and pith helmet. Moe Fendi leaps onto Ralph Lauren's back, and now he's riding him around the ring like a horse. This is CRAZY!! The crowd feels the same way. They're pelting the ring with Perrier bottles. The Fendi team is responding by throwing handfuls of chicken cacciatore all over the place!"
"Omigod, Clona, don't look now, but advancing down the aisle are Ralph Lauren's personal bodyguard and cheerleading team, including the whole 'A' table from Mortimer's, and they're brandishing what appear to be giant seam rippers. Oh no, they're using the giant seam rippers to snap the ropes like loose threads, and there's a brawl going on in the ring. CLONA, I'M GETTING CHICKEN CACCIATORE ALL OVER MY SATIN TUXEDO LAPELS!!!"
"Well, I'm sure this match can be covered just as well from upstairs in the press lounge. Ladies and gentlemen, this is Clona Mononucleosis, along with Thomas Sneermonger, thanking you for participating in another exciting evening of Designer Wrestling. Be sure to tune in next week, when we will present Kenzo battling Yojhi Yamamoto on the roof of the Diet Building in Tokyo in what wrestling touts and garment industry analysts alike are already calling 'The War of the Nip Fashion Titans'."