Catwalk skirts the mullahs

Tehran — FIRST, a text message arrived. The brief note invited recipients to call about the location of a secret meeting. A cryptic phone conversation followed. "Who referred you?" a woman asked. "Who do you know?"

A man drove up in a Korean hatchback and dropped off a coded slip of paper. The directions led to a bland apartment building in the north of this capital.

There, men and women draped in coats and head scarves entered the lobby, their faces sullen. A young man examined their documents for signs of forgery before allowing them to pass down the staircase to the basement and into a sea of bare skin and perfume.

Amid air kisses and gossip, techno and hip-hop music thumps. The guests slide out of dark overcoats to unsheathe daringly low-cut dresses and open-slit gowns, form-fitting sweaters and go-go boots, skin-tight T-shirts and acid-washed jeans. Skinny, long-legged models giggle as they slip into outfits of satin and silk. A red carpet serves as a runway.

A clandestine Tehran fashion show glitters gloriously to life.

"Everyone is putting on a show," declares Azita, a 46-year-old designer attending the show with her 20-year-old daughter, giddily taking in the swirl of lights, music, perfume and colored fabrics. "All the ladies have gotten into the fashion business. We love it so much because the clerics hate it." She and others taking part and watching the show asked that their family names not be published for fear of retribution.

Economic troubles loom here as the United Nations tightens sanctions against Iran, trying to coerce it into suspending its nuclear program. The country seems on a collision course with the United States. Dissidents are tossed into jail and newspapers shuttered.

But this season in Tehran, despite a public crackdown on men and women showing too much flesh in public, fantasy and funky fabrics are in. For the mostly young crowd attending this show, politics are, like, so 10 years ago.

"I'm aware of the nuclear issue, and I know what's happening here in Iran," says Sami, a lithe 23-year-old model appearing in the show. "Of course, I'm worried about it," she says. "But I can't do anything about it. So I live my life. I love Iran. I love my boyfriend. That's why I live here."

Since the beginning of the Islamic Republic 28 years ago, those who opposed Iran's Islamic system have carved out sanctuaries from its restrictions. Those islands have become more and more elaborate. They include outlandish liquor- and drug-soaked parties, art exhibitions, showings of banned movies, hip-hop concerts.


<< Previous Page | Next Page >>
 
 
World