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Harry Armstrong

Who's Tod? And First Impressions of Portland Fashion Week 2024

Updated: Oct 29

Once upon a Monday night, in the magical land of Portland, the grand opening of Portland Fashion Week was about to begin. Not to be confused with Fashionxt, a well-loved favorite in the kingdom of fashion, this event had a certain air of mystery about it.


Now, first impressions, dear reader, go a long, long way in the world of style and glamour, so when I saw a message on Threads from the lovely model Kierra Brown offering free tickets to a fashion show, I knew an adventure awaited! Never before had I ventured into the enchanted world of fashion shows, so I eagerly messaged her. To my delight, she told me that the opening night of Portland Fashion Week was open to the public. My heart fluttered with excitement, for I was intrigued by the chance to see such wonders. I invited my dear designer friend and artistic companion, and off we went, little knowing the surprises awaiting us.


At 8:00 pm, we arrived at the grand palace of the Mercedes Benz Car Dealership, where the show was to be held. My designer friend, who had heard whispers of controversy about this event, warned me of tales she had encountered while working at Fashionxt. But I wasn’t about to let her stories cloud my judgment, for I was on my first fashion quest and wanted to make up my own mind.


As we entered the showroom, to my surprise, there was no music playing. The models weren’t on the catwalk but mingling with guests, practicing their walks, and taking selfies in front of shiny carriages. The air was filled with chatter instead of the fashion excitement I had imagined. Could it be that the enchanting music I had seen in fashion show videos was just an illusion, added later by magical hands?


As we wandered further into the room, a man with a long, wizard-like beard, much like the legendary Rick Rubin, approached us. “Are you one of the models?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye. I smiled and replied, “No, just a guest.” But this curious man tried to guess my origins, declaring, “Fijian? Polynesian?” I laughed and said, “No, I’m from the land of the Philippines.” I sensed the industry’s focus on appearances, and my designer friend, growing more annoyed, rolled her eyes at the odd conversation.


At 8:30 pm, we finally found our seats at the front of the runway, just in time to meet a model who complimented my artistic friend’s outfit and insisted they take a picture together. The crowd seemed to be enjoying the evening despite its unusual beginnings, even my skeptical designer friend.





Then, at 8:45 pm, the magic began—sort of. The MC took the stage to perform his song, She Bad With Swag, accompanied by a troupe of backup dancers. But this was not the fashion spectacle I had expected. It turned out the show was not really a fashion show but an evening of art performers. There were no garments to dazzle the eye, no runway drama. Next came a speech by Ms. Oregon, Amber Rosenberry, who spoke about Oregon's new stalking laws, followed by an enchanting performance by an Italian opera singer. In between, the speakers spoke fondly of the mysterious Todd, though no one quite explained who this Todd was. I was intrigued—who was this elusive Todd everyone seemed to admire?


But the final act, a comedian who had the crowd laughing as hard as my designer friend had been scoffing earlier, left us wondering: where was the fashion?


At 9:10 pm, still craving a glimpse of designer garments, I ventured into the back rooms, determined to find a fashion creator. And there she was—Ashlee, a kind designer from the faraway land of Nevada. She revealed her bridal collection, spun from upcycled fabrics like vintage lampshades and bed sheets, transformed into breathtaking gowns inspired by powerful women from history. I gasped at the daring and elegant designs, but it was her single suit for a groom, androgynous and ethereal, that truly took my breath away.


As we marveled at her creations, the mysterious Todd appeared once more. This time, he wore a cowboy hat, his braided beard giving him an even more mystical aura. Could this be the same man who had guessed my origins earlier? Was he the Todd everyone revered? He strode into the room, muttering how quiet it had become upon his entrance, grabbed something quickly, and disappeared just as mysteriously as he had come.


And so, dear reader, though the evening did not unfold as I had imagined, it was filled with curiosity, laughter, and a little mystery. The fashion I sought may have been scarce, but the night’s strange magic and encounters made for a tale I will not soon forget. As for Todd and the rest of Portland Fashion Week—well, the show must go on, and perhaps the answers will reveal themselves in the days to come.

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