This is a parody of Divergent. All names and places used are fictional and purely coincidental.
There is a rusty, cracked mirror in our house. It is made of recycled beer cans, glass bottles, and old gym socks. An ornate, decorative border made up twigs, berries, leaves, old branches, and Grandma's prosthetic metal limbs, a reminder of her time in Vietnam, make up the rest of the frame. Our fashion house calls this green chic and every day we're reminded of how this look is going to be the next trend for the season. Personally, I would prefer neon pink and blues but sea foam is not our group's color of this choice this year. Oh well.
I sit on the stool made of pine wood, acorns, and briar thorns and remind myself how much I hated the person from our fashion house for making such a ridiculous piece of furniture while my best friend Xtina Klensch stands behind me and shortens the ends of my dreadlocks with a pair of refurbished gardening sheers. She's in her early twenties but looks like a sixteen year old according to Hollywood standards by casting adults as teenagers. Though not an uncommon practice to have two of its protagonist to be involved in a teen romance, it only gets hairy when the love interests bump uglies, at which point, our legal team needs to be called in order to defend the statutory rape charges. In the meantime, our younger demographic believes our core cast are between the ages of fourteen to nineteen and we play along according to our studio contracts. I'm actually 21 and can drink moonshine straight out of a paint can but, for all intents and purposes, we're going to assume I'm sixteen. Hell, I even boinked one of the guys of One Direction but the producers are trying to market me as the ultimate goody-goody virgin and female role model.
As if!
"Oh, you're going to be the belle of the show!" Xtina exclaims in her fake British accent. She's wearing a potato sack for a dress that we recycled from crop farms of Idaho. It's both practical and environmentally friendly. Actually she is from Compton, California but ever since she got a recurring role on Downtown Abbey, she has decided to adopt a new dialect. Plus, she is the only minority cast member in an all Caucasian dystopian universe, not counting Maggie Q, but then again, author Veronica Roth painted a bleak picture where every person of color had been killed off. Xtina snips off several strands of my damaged reddish-blonde split ends that even Suave shampoo couldn't fix and grins, "You'll convince the judges, as well as the rest of the world, that Abercrombie is the number fashion house of the season!"
A voice behind her agrees. "Of course, dahling." My fellow fashion housemate Albert Lagerfeld steps up and waves his embroidered fan against his black sunglasses and wearing the same raggedy potato sack pantsuit. He's a sixty year old queen, with graying hair, but passing himself off as a seventeen year old. "How could our little Beatricetella not? She is representing the House of Abercrombie and the Versace name. Remember she is the daughter of the late, great Gianna Versace!"
I remember my dead mother for a moment. Gianna Versace was one the most respected fashion designers out of the five most influential fashion houses in the world. Beautiful, regal, she brought peace for a long time between the various houses until an obsessed fan ended her life by running her over with a recycling truck. Adding insult to injury, it wasn't even one of those regular-save-the-planet-kind but one of those horrible environmentally killing gas guzzlers that our organization has been protesting for decades. It was a bit of irony but it taught Abercrombie to be stronger and tougher in pushing for our aesthetic to be sold into the public marketplace-a feat that had yet to be embraced.
Flipping the long skirt of my burlap dress, I cross my arm and let out a sigh. "Do you think our house has a chance?"
Albert smirks. "Absolutely, dahling. I've read through the gossip blogs that the other fashion houses are also insecure about their looks this year. Abercrombie has a chance."
Let me explain how this works. In this world of pop culture, social media, and mass consumerism, five main fashion houses exist. There is us-Ambercrombie. Named after our founder, Mike Jefferies- Abercrombie, the blowhard, dirty old CEO who publically denounced any ugly person that wore our clothes and had created quite a buzz by pushing the envelope of kiddie porn by featuring naked underage models in our mail-order catalogs. Apparently, only skinny people are allowed to wear our brand.
We specialize in camping gear, casual outdoor clothing made of preshrunk cotton-wool blends, hemp and recycled fabrics that includes cargo pants, shorts, tees, and plenty of plaid button-up shirts. We're also are very green and support a hippy, agricultural, reusable lifestyle that includes protesting animal cruelty and a eating a strict vegetarian diet. Oh and we have to be always in shape and have abs. Don't ask me why but it's important that everyone in our fashion house to have a six-pack abdomen, especially the men. Apparently, the women have to be in background should the menfolk of our group need to be photographed shirtless at any time. Go figure.
Next is Pander. They're the celebrity obsessed house between the five. They use cheaply made materials from anything and perform a ninety percent markup on the wholesale cost. Using celebrities like reality whores Skim Kartrashian and Ferris Bilton, as well as all the entire cast of the Real Trophy Plastic Wives of Beverly Hills, they manipulate consumers into thinking famous people actually sew their clothes together. Actually, they have children's only sweatshop overseas that manufactures their clothes. Then they market it to the suckers who buy into their products. They even got into the urban demographic by recruiting hip hop artists and rappers like Conyay East and Shawn Poofy Combover. None of which signify that this particular group has any real credibility in the fashion world.
Then there is I'matitty, the Eurotrash of the five houses. I'll admit I love the fact that they use unique hand painted fabrics like silk and satin and incorporate a European flare of sensuality and style but many of them refuse to shower and love to turn up their noses on anything American made. Plus, they're really snobby and prefer to mingle among their own kind. I doubt they'll get any recognition this year especially when they continually snub the contest judges; something you never want to do. Yet, they wonder why they always come in last place.
Youradick is the fourth group. They're the more conservative type than the other houses. They love scratchy polyester fabrics and boring straight lines, shoulder pads, and dark colors. They're completely businesslike and worship Dynasty reruns and everything 80's since the Reagan administration reflected their overt extravagance and excess of their wealthy elite lifestyle of that era. None of the fashion houses trust them and with good reason: they want to rule everything.
Finally comes my personal favorite and most flamboyant of the five: Flawless. They follow a no rules or guidelines in the fashion world. To them, anything goes. Everything is fun, playful, full of glitter and glamour, boas, and furs. Their flare for the outrageous is seen as a threat to the fashion industry but I give them props for pushing the envelope. They were the first to take a political stance on the acceptance of gay marriage especially when their entire house is made up of the LGBT community. In their own unique way, they influence our industry with their individuality and I admire them for it.
Abercrombie, Pander, I'matitty, Youradick, and Flawless. Five fashion houses all competing on an internationally televised reality fashion contest show titled Experiment Trend International to dictate the upcoming looks for the new year; thus, gaining respect, honor and admiration for their clan. Each of us has something different to bring to the table; hence, there are much more at stake here than just simply making fun clothes. Our very reputations are on the line. None of us want to disappoint our individual fashion houses. It's either go big or go home!
I, Beatricetella "Tris for short" Versace am representing the House of Abercrombie and was chosen specifically to symbolize our green, camping aesthetic to the entire world. My homely appearance and average looking attire makes the perfect symbiosis for what our consumers want. I'm confident that I'm bringing home the final prize.
As dictated by our house motto, "Fashion before the Blood Red Orange trend for the season."
Okay, I'll cover how this motto came about. You see decades ago, our forefathers Mizrahi, Halston, Mossimo banded together and came up with the blood red orange trend one year. They spent billions using this color palate on shoes, handbags, accessories, and dresses. Sadly, the look tanked. None of the customers wanted to spend money on high end goods that reminded them of being in a penitentiary. Despite the innovative concept that orange was going to be the new black, no one bought into it and it nearly bankrupted the fashion industry. Since then, no one has ever decided to touch the blood red orange color and every fashion house has vowed to never use it within their designs.
This is the way it has always been and every house has stuck with the basics. For us, we've gone with the typical reds, blues, blacks, and tan colors and it was going to be the same this year. However, as the new rep for our house, I was going to mix it up a little.
You see I was tired of the same old reds and blacks when I wanted to use some pinks and purples. Even a little gold and silver would be nice but our house always vetoed my ideas. Well not this year. I was going to show them.
Tris Versace is going to be remembered for pushing the envelope for the House of Abercrombie! I'm sure of it!
Each of the fashion houses gathered in New York City in the middle of Times Square. A huge building had been erected for such a tremendous event during Fashion Week. Made of concrete, glass and white porcelain, the original architects wanted to create an art-deco piece inspired by the sewage system of the Big Apple which explains why the structure looks like a giant latrine and why the fountain in the front makes a huge flushing sound every couple of minutes. Still, it's an amazing piece of work and even the local bums agreed as they celebrated its erection by peeing and going number two inside the fountain.
Abercrombie as well as the other houses were ushered by the television crew into the studio. All the attendees our seats in the audience pit as the hostess of Experiment Trend International made her way to the front of the stage.
The lights dimmed, the cameras rolled, and the music played as English supermodel Jeanine Bunchen came striding up toward the middle ready to begin the proceedings. She's a famous fashion icon similar to Titanic's Kate Winslet with blonde locks who got her start by winning the modeling competition show Earth's Next Supermodel of the World back in the 90's. Strangely enough, her competitor, an African American model named Styla Stanks, died under mysterious circumstances when her huge forehead exploded. Doctors said it was due to too much botox but fashion circles gossiped that Jeanine implanted a bomb in Styla's brain so she could win the contest and be declared the winner. None of these claims were ever proven.
Wearing a plain navy polyester suit designed by the House of Youradick, Jeanine grinned at the camera and began the show.
"Hello and welcome to Experiment Trend International. The show that celebrates all things fashion. This year we have five fashion houses competing to see who is the ultimate designer for this year's trend. A representative for each of the houses will showcase their new designs and our judges will decide which among the give shall best represent the look for this year! However, before we do that, let's introduce last year's winners. The House of Flawless!"
Applause rang out inside the building. I stood up from my chair and clapped the loudest as the fashion house of Flawless came on stage. As usual, their flamboyant designs caught the attention of everyone. Feather boas, bright clashing colors, and tons of tulle, crazy printed fabrics, and glitter covered the platform. Their models stomped the runway and I became glued as a myriad of every color of the rainbow attracted my eye especially from the pair of its handsome designing duo, Erik Rasputin and Toe-Bias Dior.
Eighteen year old Erik, the blond one, had a sneer and looked like he was always constipated. He scowled at each of the models that swirled around in his clothes. Toe-Bias, on the other hand, had a sweeter disposition. In his early twenties, according to his character description but who, in reality was a thirty year old man, shot everyone his pristine toothpaste smile while his male model good looks won the hearts of adoring tweens with his piercing blue eyes and exotic brown hair. He was instantly given the nickname Four for being the fourth person on the list of People's Sexiest Men of the Decade next to Matthew McConaughey, Channing Tatum, and George Clooney. Sadly, Erik and Four were lovers so any chance of having Toe-Bias to myself was shot down by the fact that he pitched for the same team.
I return my attention back to Jeanine, who by now kept practicing smizing exercises with her eyes. She pressed her lips together and did her pageant wave in front of the cameras.
"This year," she declared. "We're going to do something different with our designers." Her hands kept rubbing together. "In years past, the ratings have gone downhill in favor of less quality shows like Which Bitch Wants to Marry a Billionaire Dog to The Ratchet Hoodrat Girls Club. In order to get us back on top, our producers have devised a strategy to make our fashion completion more interesting!" Gesturing toward the stage, the walls of the building moved backwards while the floor and ceiling connected to the platform to showcase a series of empty corridors, tunnels, and endless pits. "May I present to you, The Maze Ruiner!"
A collective gasp came from the audience. Everyone jumped from their seats and began to murmur amongst themselves.
Jeanine continued. "Each representative from each fashion house will showcase their designs inside the maze while dodging carefully orchestrated booby traps, scientific monstrous abominations, as well as battle each other into a fight to the death until one survivor is left to be declared the winner! The contestant that is left standing shall dictate their fashion house's trend for the season!"
Suddenly the protests turned to applause as each section of the houses shoved their reps onstage. I was ready to bolt and gathered up my burlap skirt and take off in my Birkenstock sandals when Xtina and Albert launched their hands on to my back and pushed me toward the platform.
"Good luck, luv,"Xtina smiled. "You'll need it!"
Albert ignored my pleas for help and continued to fan himself. "Don't worry, dahling. Just remember how important the House of Abercrombie is and that preshrunk cotton hemp blends will keep you alive! Don't mess this up!" He warned. Before I knew it, my body shot toward the stage. Damn.
I scuffled my feet, while me and the other worried contestants slowly marched up the stairs to our hostess. My eyes noticed Erik and Toe-Bias, a.k.a. the handsome Four, joining me but I was too wrapped up in my own head to lust after the dark haired hunk of burning love. I made my way toward Jeanine and dropped to my knees in mercy, hoping my ploy would work. It didn't.
"Can I ask someone else to volunteer as tribute?" I pleaded to her.
The blonde woman scoffed. "Are you kidding? The viewers want a bloodbath. It'll be good for the ratings. Now get up and pray that odds are forever in your favor."
My cries for help went on deaf ears. The front doors of the maze opened and all the contestants sprinted inside. Along the way, I gathered anything that had been dropped on the ground like a sewing needle, sequin glitter, and even a platform shoe-any weapon that might prove useful against the various traps and monsters inside our endless corridors.
A large television screen, the size of an enormous astro-dome, broadcast our every move. From my perspective, I watched as Jeanine danced around the stage while we waited for whatever traps we anticipated to come to our way.
We would soon find out.
"Ladies and gentleman, our first house to display their looks are from the House of I'matitty! Once again they've gone with hand painted silks and satins complete with an endless array of accessories from gold and silver bangles, necklaces, and earrings. All of which had been styled and created by their designer rep…Molly McButter!"
Upon being introduced, a brunette full figured gal with a bitch face blew several kisses to the audience while her models stomped around in nine inch stiletto heels and swirled around in sexy, soft fabrics while their jewelry jingled against them. I'matitty was the epitome of Eurotrash and Molly McButter personified her house to a tee. The models waved and pranced some more when the rumbling of something moving echoed in my ears.
My eyes glance down and I see a wall moving forward in front us that I alert the rest of my competitors of what's happening.
"Everyone! The maze wall is moving!" I yell. "Jump out of the way of its path!"
I took the initiative, when in truth I didn't want to die. I somersaulted like a Russian Olympian gymnast, thankfully from my years of hugging trees and swinging on tree branches in the forest, and safely managed from being squashed by a huge concrete wall. I looked and saw Four and Erik doing the same as did a few of the other reps from other houses. Sadly, the members of I'matitty weren't so lucky.
The heavy jewelry and accessories weighted down the models of I'matitty that they couldn't escape the moving block of concrete. They were flattened instantly until nothing was left but the twisted silk fabrics and the clinking of squashed gold and silver chains. Even the fashion house's designer Molly McButter met her demise when the moving wall fell on top of her. Her huge legs stuck out from beneath the rolling block and curled in some grotesque fashion like one of those party horns.
Adding insult to injury, the surviving contestants from the other houses gathered around her corpse in a circle and began chanting.
Ding dong the bitch is dead. The tub of lard is dead…
I, for one, took the mature approach and placed the platform shoe that I had beneath the folds of my burlap skirt and set it down as a grave marker. Then I said a silent prayer to my fashion house's pagan gods: Coco Chanel, Prada, Gucci, and Louis Vuitton and prayed that her soul entered into the afterlife of the Parisian runways.
That didn't last long as a boom came across the stage and Jeanine's voice took over the screen.
"I'matitty and Molly McButter has been disqualified. That leaves four houses left. Who shall win? Pander? Youradick? Flawless? How about Abercrombie? We'll soon find out in our next round of competition? The Griefer contest!"
"Griefer contest ?" I heard Erik whisper. "What's that?"
We instantly discovered what the next horror was.
A roar came from the back of the maze. All of us put a hand to the level of our eyes as three large shadows stomped out of the corners of the tunnels. It was horrible. It was insidious. It was terrifying.
It was the Kartrashians.
Yes, the trio of reality celebrity whore sisters who were famous for doing absolutely nothing. To the right, a dark haired annoying pregnant one shrieked in a shrill voice while tendrils of spider legs sprouted from her body. My guess was that she was named Skourtney. To the left was her equally dark haired sibling, the chubby one with a bitch face, the one called Skhloe. Finally was the worst of them all. The one with an inflatable booty, fake boobs, and annoyed the world with her presence. The Medusa of the group who became a trophy wife for the rapper Con-yay East.
Skim Kartrashian.
Experiment Trend International had taken the show up a notch by performing bizarre science fair projects on three of the Kartrashian sisters, making them even more hideous than normal to cause even more pain and grief. Hence the name, Griefers. The monstrosities roared as all of us ran for a safe place to hide.
"Take shelter!" Four screamed. "The Griefers are trying to blow up the internet again!"
Erik gasped. "The fiends!"
The Kartrashian sisters raised their spider legs way up high in the air. It wasn't very hard since they're use to being spreadeagle frequently. They attacked the remaining models of each of the houses especially the ones from Pander who couldn't escape from being mauled by the creatures due to their cheaply made fabrics that unraveled and became twisted around their ankles. Even their own designing rep, the one that looked like Maggie Q, Tori Spellingbeckham became a victim of the Kartrashian monsters. They reached out, ensnared Tori with their spindly limbs and devoured her in one big gulp.
I could still hear Tori's screams as she strangely called out to me before meeting her demise.
"Tris! You're a Detergent! Don't anyone know or they'll kill you…acccckkkkk!"
Down Tori went in the Kartrashians' throaty hatch. Yet Tori as their meal had not satisfied them. They roared again and this time came after me and the other surviving members of Youradick and Flawless.
With no time to lose, I collected my faculties and saw through the reality of our predicament. That's when I saw it. The shiny metal levels braced upon the wall. I pointed it out to my companions.
"Look everyone!" I yelled. "They've got ladders! Let's climb to the top of the maze!"
We did as the Kartrashians' spider legs had a difficult time trying to latch on to the metal steps. Without much success, they curled and shrieked as they remained stuck at the bottom of the pit. Another boom echoed across the screen.
"Looks like we have three designers left! Peter from Youradick! Erik and Four from Flawless. Finally, Tris from Abercrombie! Who shall be left standing? We'll soon find out!"
Jeanine cackled as the four us looked at each other and waited for the next challenge. So far so good, with only four of us left, one of us was bound to bring honor and glory to our fashion house and I was determined it was going to be me.
The contest continued, with the maze walls moving and more Griefers popping out from every nook and cranny of the labyrinth. Somehow I, Peter, Erik and Four managed to elude these obstacles and make our way toward the end of the maze. It wasn't hard especially when the exit sign flashed right off in the distance. We got to the door and got ready to finish this challenge when suddenly an ear piercing shriek wailed from the rafters of the building.
It was Jeanine who was the most startled. Her face turned completely white as she stared at the grotesque figure bungee jumping from the ceiling and on to the stage. As a Detergent, I could determine the reality of the stranger's features to notice that it was female, had a poorly sewn in hair weave that resembled a bird's nest-a bald eagle to be more precise with cute little hatchlings embedded within the strands of twigs, twine, and ratted up leaves; obviously, the stranger paid for the affordable look-and lastly, had a huge scar on her forehead that appeared to have popped open like an unsightly pimple.
"Styla Stanks!" Jeanine gasped. Her tight dress cut off her circulation and her high stiletto heels made it impossible for her to walk. She was frozen on the spot and became unable to move. Her voice wavered for a bit. "But…but you're dead!"
Former supermodel and smart businesswoman cackled. "That is what I led you to believe! I didn't die from that brain aneurysm that you inflicted upon me, Jeanine! In fact, I survived and had my best plastic surgeon patch me up so I could gather my army of rebels and start a mutiny in this bitch!" Her accusatory finger aimed at Jeanine's face as she gathered up her pile of papers and began shuffling through them. "In my hand, I have one photo. This photo shall represent who the mole is within fashion house organizations and has been working with me this whole time to take down this ridiculous world of trends and superficiality. The other who is not chosen must pack up her bags and go home, forever shamed by the fact that one person has ruined her chances of being in charge of the entire fashion houses since she conspired with Imatitty to take over the fashion industry. So who shall it be?"
A nervous Jeanine sweated through her designer attire as Styla Stanks pulled out the photo and showed it to the audience. A collective gasp erupted inside the room as all stared at the picture in front of them. The mole was finally revealed.
It was me.
"YOU!" Jeanine screeched. I could see a vein popping on her pristine forehead. "YOU'RE THE MOLE! YOU'RE TRYING TO DESTROY US ALL!"
"That is correct, madam!" I declared with confidence. I stood my ground. "I've been working with Styla and the rebels to put an end to this world of negative imagery and influence we have over the youth of our future. We have taught the world that looking a certain way is expected and that everyone is too ugly and fat to wear our clothes. Well, no more! Today begins a new day and everyone should be happy and proud to be who they are! I am a Detergent. I can see things clearer than anybody and I can cleanse the world of our dirty laundry! No more shall we be confined to the restraints of trends and enslaved to expectations of fashion! A new dawn as arrived! It's called self-esteem!
Jeanine's high heels stomped on the ground. "NO! THAT CAN'T BE TRUE! IT'S ANARCHY! IMATITTY MUST RULE OVER THE WORLD!" She called out to all the fashion police in the building and even a couple of the Kartrashian Greifers. "KILL THEM ALL!" Then she pointed to me. "Especially this bitch!"
Peter from Imatitty lunged at me first but Four from Flawless slammed into him and tackled him on to the ground. As they wrestled on the stage, Erik and his feather boa whipped around him as he frowned at his boyfriend rolling on top of another man, Erik hated to compete with for his lover's affections.
"Now Four!" Erik pouted. "You stop that! You're supposed to be my man!" His placed his hands on his waist to emphasize his point.
Four managed to knock out Peter before returning his gaze back to Erik. "I have a confession too! I'm not gay and have harbored a secret obsession of my love for Tris! We're destined soulmates according to author Veronica Roth!"
Taken aback by Four's confession, I was both pleased and disgusted. Pleased that I turned a gay man straight and disgusted because I honestly didn't know where Four's penis had been. Obviously, this did not sit well with Erik who just discovered he had been dumped by his former boyfriend.
"That's a lie!" Erik hissed. "You're still in love with me! I mean we had a relationship! Doesn't that mean anything?"
Four shrugged. "Sorry dude but I'm gay for pay. How else was I going to rise up the ranks of Flawless and be among the greats like Tom Ford, Halston, and Galliano (before he went all anti-Semitic, of course)? I wanted my design aesthetic to stand out. Hence, I only acted like I pitched for the same team."
Erik whipped out a gun. Not one of those zit removing kind but a real, cold steel Magnum .45. He waved it in the air like a madman. "NO ONE LEAVES ME!" He screamed like Glenn Close's character in Fatal Attracton. "NO ONE! I WON'T BE IGNORED!" His finger reached around the trigger and he pulled the pistol toward my direction.
"NOOOOOOOOO!" Four hollered in slow-mo. Leaping into the air like in the Matrix, he blocked the bullet in front of me, taking the hit and crashing to the ground in total agony.
Seizing my chance, I remembered the handful of sequin glitter in my pocket and tossed it toward Erik. He didn't know what hit him as the shiny, sparkling accessories temporarily blinded him as he dropped his gun and fell back into the awaiting mouth of a Kartrashian Greifer. The reality show monstrosity grew distracted by its meal, allowing me time to run over to a wounded Four and cradle him in my arms.
Blood drenched my poly-blend hemp dress as I slowly lifted Toe-Bias, a.k.a. Four, with my beautifully moisturized and manicured hands. Four coughed up some more blood which inspired me to create a dark scarlet dress for next season. (Don't judge me. I had to consider future upcoming looks.)
"Tris…" He gasped for air. "This is wrong. Sorry for all the spoilers but in this trilogy, it's you that doesn't make it in this series…But if I have to die…I'll die knowing that you truly love me…"
"Actually," I responded with some realization. "I'm kind of not that into you, Four. Sorry, to burst your bubble but, honestly, you're bit of a tool and conceited. I mean who lets their entire fashion house jump out of speeding trains and off rooftops to their deaths to prove their bravery. Talk about a lame attempt to describe dystopian personalities. I think I'll enjoy being single for a while or until I decide to set up my Tinder profile."
And with that Four died which was right on time as the fashion police duked it out with all members of the fashion houses. Even a couple of the Griefers found themselves being attacked by audience members with hateful comments online and embarrassing memes. Nothing harms a Griefer more than being the butt of the public's jokes.
Meanwhile, Styla Stanks and Jeanine were having an all-out ratchet, Bad Girls Club catfight with weaves, hair pieces, fake nails, and clothes came flying everywhere. Jeanine almost got the upper hand over the former dead supermodel when she slapped Styla with a bottle of her overpriced perfume but even I, as a Detergent, could see that Styla had special ace up her wig.
Within seconds I was right. Out of the shadows came a being of the most horrifying manner, a Leviathan of sorts, sent from the depths of fashion hell to destroy the entire industry and to bring all civilizations to its knees. It glided toward the stage, decked out in a beautifully tailored ivory gown and flowing dark brown locks and it sent shivers across the Kartrashian Griefers who cowered in fear.
It was more than deity. It was a goddess. Once a former male Olympian by the name of Truce Jenner, the being identified itself as transgendered and became a newsworthy story that stole all the thunder from the Kartrashian Griefers and took away all their attention.
This goddess was named Kaitlin Jenner.
One quick swoop of her fingers, the being known as Kaitlin made all the Kartrashian sisters disappear. The Griefers could not compete with the deity's ability to eclipse them with the shower of media attention. Then, she set her sights on the fashion police and made them vanish as well, since they could criticize her use of wardrobe without being deemed transphobic by the GLBTQ community. Seeing Kaitlin Jenner as their new muse of inspiration, all the fashion houses stopped fighting and bowed down to her.
Except for Jeanine Bunchen who wailed like a banshee. "NOOO! IT'S NOT FAIR! I'M THE ONE WHO WAS MEANT TO BE QUEEN OF THE FASHION HOUSES!"
Kaitlin winked at me and I got the message. As a Detergent, it was my job to cleanse the fashion houses of evil. Grabbing my last weapon of choice, a sewing needle, I quickly stitched up Jeanine's tight Imatitty dress even tighter until it trapped her in folds of corseted, constricting spandex fabric. She was now immobile, helpless and now in our control.
It was then that I made my official announcement.
"Fashion houses, please listen," I said with confidence. "For years, we have lived under the oppression of the industry dictating to us how we should look and dress while excluding the majority of population who don't have the same opportunities to dress as fashionable and trendy as the rest of us. Well the time for change has come! As a Detergent, I have been chosen by our deity, Kaitlin Jenner, to see the realities of our wrongdoings and cleanse the world of our superficial exclusivity by making fashion accessible to everyone! That means the impoverished, the working class, and middle income families!"
"Yes, it's true!" Kaitlin added. "The House of Abercrombie has decided to go corporate and join forces with middle income retail stores, including outlets, to create a line of clothing that will be both inexpensive and affordable!"
"We're talking stores like Wal-Farts, Targaaaay, KKK-Marts, and even 99 Cents Dollar Trees!" I beamed with pride.
A collective gasped echoed in the crowd, for they knew all the fashion houses would have to follow suit. No more would they be considered special. They would be considered ordinary.
"NOOOOOO!" Jeanine screamed as wriggled across the floor. "This can't be! You've ruined the fashion industry! Ruined us!"
Styla piped a burger into her mouth to muffle her. All Jeanine could do was cry.
"That's right!" I said proudly. "We're all the same. Everyone is equal. No one shall be ridiculed for their clothes or be considered less than by society. In short, fashion is for everyone. Plus, you can't beat out capitalism."
As I Detergent, I knew all this. I was right. You can't beat capitalism.
Especially when you're raking in billions for allowing some morbidly obese person use a size 0 designer dress as a bra top.
Oh and for the record, blood red orange is the trend this season. I don't give a damn what anybody says!
The End.