Spring 2014 Menswear: Astrid Andersen

A strong woman playing dress up with her man dolls? This is my kinda designer, and my kinda collection.

Backstage at a Menswear show is the Playgirl Mansion. The most beautiful specimens of man (if like me you go for prepubescent boys with Bambi-eyes and baby faces) gather here topless. If backstage is the Playgirl Mansion, Andersen’s show itself is the strip club. She is hitting the crowd’s G-Spot. The models drip with sweat as they swagger down the catwalk in their peekaboo outfits, tantalising the crowd. They’re dressed in t-shirts with the bottom half entirely absent and a whole lotta man-cleav present; not so much T-shirts as ‾-shirts. Struttin' to Wu-Tang, the models' pace increases until

the sweat drop down my balls
to all these bitches crawl*

*Eastside Boyz's poetry. Alas, I cannot claim it.

This collection seems to have brought out something terrible in me. Turns out I become awfully misandristic, and downright (damnright) feral, when greased up models grind along the catwalk. It's not just the models, for a logo slut like me this collection is an Apple store; branded to within an inch of its life. The Astrid Andersen logo is everywhere. Surely designed on Windows 98 Paint; a few clicks of the Oval tool, type your name in WordArt, pop a ClipArt chain on it and you got a logo that'll last you your career. Which I’m hoping will be longer than the current nineties label-whoring climate lasts. Pipe the hell down Cara, it’s overkill, use your wide range of modeling expressions to show whether you’re ‘BALLIN’’ or ‘HOMIÉS’ or a ‘Supreme Bitch’, a ‘Cuntier’ (Seriously girl?) or ‘WHATEVER’. Or use speech.

It's Andersen's nonchalance, matched in her collections, that makes her clothes so desirable. The clothes are so easy to wear. Wearing that primitive logo printed on your tee, sweater or hoody means you're in Astrid's gang. You're sat on the backseat of the bus next to Chris Brown, whilst CL and G-Dragon and whole choir of other Korean musicians dance around you wearing brands it'll take you another year to realise exist. Stay chilled Astrid; let the clothes speak for themselves, just for God's sake don't let the models talk. They'll blow the illusion of their perfection with their Birmingham accents. NEVER let the model's talk.

Crawl for Astrid boys, for all these us bitches crawl.

ALL PHOTOS: STYLE.COM