I made out with Crazy

The crowd has, in the main, been very well behaved at Fashion Week this season--with a couple of notable exceptions.

Exhibit 1: The guy with the gold grille, red hair and the walking stick at BOXeight Downtown.

He was unmistakable if you saw him, a strange cross between Boy George and Jaws from Moonraker with his mouthful of metal. Picture him, walking around, looking crazy. As a good reporter I felt compelled to ask what the hell his deal was.

ME: "Who are you"

CRAZY, taking my hand in his: "Here's all you need to know. It's in your hands."

At this point I realized I was not dealing with any of the usual self-promoting Fashion Week bores, and put down my notepad.  But I coudn't keep my eyes off those teeth. I haven't seen many skinny red-haired white boys rocking that much dental gold in a long time.

ME: "Are they real grilles?" I asked.

CRAZY: "Yes, they cost me told $30,000."

Amazed, I asked if I could touch them, and he said yes - but only with my tongue, lips or face.

I will say, dear reader/s, that I rose to the challenge, and did indeed make out with the craziest man at fashion week, all in the name of Metromix and reportage.  And yes, the gold was for reals. I justified my actions to my boyfriend by describing the incident as less makeout, and more performance art.

I wish I had a photo of this special gentlemen (who was spotted peeing in the BOXeight garden not long after our embrace), but my camera had died.

I do, however, have a photo of someone who was almost as funny. Here he is on the left, having an Ed Hardy lovefest with some other guy at Smashbox.

This fruity-breathed Cassanova asked every single girl that walked past him for their card and number (including me, naturally I gave both). He was so over-friendly, he became a source of amusement for all around. He was the rep for a water company, and as one photographer asked him "are you sure that's all thats in that bottle?"