Making its way around the globe fasting than a communicable diseases, Fashion Week now sets its sights on Paris, where God knows the locals are obsessed with the art of the clothing, often wearing their favorite outfits several days in a row (I kid, come on, France, I kid). For our purposes, Fashion Weeks means two things: super hot celebrity women and the ever-present and delightful spectre of wardrobe malfunctions.
For me, as with most international conventions of the sextastic, Paris Fashion Week begins when Miranda Kerr arrives. The first woman of the sexy catwalk, and a certain contender for 2011 New MILF of the Year Award, the ridiculously hot Aussie with the enhanced-by-mamahood body, arrived at some designer’s fashion palace to make him look like a genius of some sort by looking hot in whatever silliness he draped her in, because she’s Miranda Kerr, she’s look amazing in a garbage bag with holes cut out.
Another week, another Fashion week, more hotness meant for women we intend to steal for the guys. Enjoy.