When most PR’s see Nicki Minaj heading their way at Fashion Week, they immediately issue a CODE NO which includes the following steps: turn off the lights and hit the “in case of Nicki” button that shuts the door of the venue and throws up a “Cancelled. Designer Died. No Collection To See Here. Etc.” message.

So I can only assume the person who let Nicki and the toxic fumes that waft off the poisonous spider legs glued to her eyelids sit next to Nuclear-Wintour….was an INTERN! *cue thunder-cracks and lightening*

Nicki Minaj and her amazing technicolour nightmare of an outfit turned up on the frow of Carolina Herrera‘s show at NYFW (yes I said Carolina and Herrera, I KNOW?!), and Wintour had no choice but to put on her trademark shades in order to protect her soul-nibbling eyes from the clown’s-outfit-BARF sat next to her.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a bit of “Super Bass” at full blast in my car as I do all the dance moves in my seat while not realising the blue light following me for getting a little too excited with the gas pedal. But let’s be honest here, if you put a Rainbow Brite doll, a Siamese cat’s head shot, a Donald Trump beehive and some gobstopper’s into a blender, mixed it until it liquified, and poured it into a cocktail glass…..Nicki would come dribbling out.

I thoroughly believe that glamour and fashion should hurt, but not this much. You’ve also gone way too far when you forgot that deal you made with your wardrobe, the one where it cried for days about being a fluoro-free zone. And what happened to Nicki’s head providing a bed for all those homeless candy pink pinata wigs out there huh? Somewhere a small child is still whacking the hell out of fresh air with a stick on his birthday……blindfolded.

Kate Lawson – Fashion Editor

Follow Kate @katelawson_