Blow-Up at Bad Binch Tong Tong
Avant-garde fashion goes against a core principle I have when it comes to clothing. Utility. To me, clothing should reflect use, often serving as a direct prism of one’s profession. As a reformed laptop jockey (office worker), that leaves me stranded. Many of my contemporaries gravitate toward athleisure and hypebeast stylings, which I find to be equally base and profane. Presently, I’d like to dress as a cross between a clerical 70s Parisian and Paul Newman. That’s my comfort zone, and shouldn’t clothing be comfortable?
But fashion is not mere clothing. And outside my comfort zone is exactly where I found myself upon arriving at the SS27 NYFW Runway to cover the fashion label Bad Binch TongTong. Led and founded by designer Terrence Zhou in 2020, the name Bad Binch TongTong was chosen, paraphrasing Zhou, to fit within content guidelines for social media use (Bad Bitch TongTong wouldn’t have flown). It’s that sort of lighthearted irreverence toward the industry that is expected from Zhou, who, for his NYFW debut in 2022, had models enter the runway through a massive doorway sculpted out of a 3D scan of Zhou performing fellatio.
Zhou is in that way, the opposite of what you would expect from someone with a background in mathematics, immigrating to the United States at 17 to study the subject. Engineering is harnessed in a fresh direction by Zhou, physically pulling garments to their absolute limit, birthing silhouette forms in his work that deeply understand physics first in order to break them. Imagine sharp outward protrusions emanating from the torso, retrofuturistic gowns that accomplish the dreams of Pierre Cardin, and tendrilous gowns that playfully transform the wearer into a spider.
Zhou’s infatuation with play and physical sciences made the selection of the venue, the Balloon Museum at South Street Seaport, a fitting choice for his return to NYFW. However, being that I previously thought of the Balloon Museum as a shrine to influencer culture like the Museum of Pizza, I was a bit skeptical upon my arrival. My skepticism immediately deepened after check-in. You see, when one thinks of attending a NYFW show, you think about showing up, hopefully a bit early, and then you sit down at your assigned seat and wait for the procession to begin. No such case for Bad Binch TongTong. Instead, attendees were ushered in first throughout the entirety of the Balloon Museum upon check-in. I found myself in a glass parlor, packed to the gills with green latex balloons five feet in diameter. I admit that I was close to bailing upon this being presented to me. I am glad I stuck it out, but I continued to enter several successive rooms after this parlor that were all balloon-themed.
In the corner of the next exhibit, I pull out my phone and learn that the Balloon Museum is, in fact, a real museum, with real artists like Lucas Zanotto and Marina Abramovic, dedicated to something called “inflatable art”. I don’t know what that means, but I think it has something to do with the machine blowing bubbles in front of me, sounding a deep, hellish foghorn at the same time. I move deeper inside.
I’m rewarded with an interesting thing happening. Zhou, in a way of establishing a pre-show, gradually introduces models inside the exhibits themselves. I walked into one room, in which I was greeted by a large translucent ball (inflated, of course) with rubber spikes protruding outward. The walls were bone white, and charcoal pressed into the tips of the spikes would strike the walls periodically. What engineered the striking was one model, in black dress and purple tights, throwing the ball against the wall. Upon my entry, the model gently tosses the ball toward me, and I then return the favor, covering my hands in charcoal in the process. I proceed into the next room.
Inside two models now stood, dressed in pink outfits resembling emptied spools of thread. They kept a militaristic patrol on the furthest extreme of the exhibit, which was a work by kinetic artist Boris Acket. Acket installed in the center of the chamber a large metallic sheet resembling a wing, which would gently wave from one side of the room to the other. The pink figures flanking the ghostly wing left a deep impression on me, both alleviating the awkwardness I felt upon arrival and instilling within me an almost cosmic sense of dread. A phantom dragon hovering over an alien castle. Very well done.
After watching the guards patrol their rampart a bit longer, I then entered a room that held a field of tall grass, artificial, and again inflated with air. Strands so high they reached the top of my chin with ease. I was instructed by an attendant to don a pair of headphones. Marina Abramović fills my ears, repeating alien phrases at random intervals. I was again in a state of unease that I was entertained by, and as I stood there, a flurry of white confetti falls from overhead like snow. Another model appears, enveloped in a shroud of white feathers the shape of a marshmallow, with long red sheer pleated skirt dangling beneath over heels. A cloud of blood-red rain in a field of grass.
This was the highlight of my experience. Standing in the way of my destination, I had to shimmy around the cloud, taking extra care as to not disturb the image. Green blades of inflatable grass hit the back of my neck as I pass by. I feel confetti collect on my shoulders. Marina Abramović shouts something that I do not understand in my ear and I am released, finding myself in the next exhibit.
I am instructed to remove my shoes. I do so without questioning why. You don’t ask questions in the Balloon Museum.
I step in with my disrobed feet into a padded room, suddenly self-conscious as to if my socks are dirty. I glance for a brief second at what appears to me as a dark field of snow before deciding that I am too exposed and begin promptly proceeding to the end of the exhibit, being sure to collect my shoes from the cubby.
I walk down some stairs, and soon arrive at my final destination - the show hall. At this point thirty minutes have elapsed since my arrival. I am greeted by two polite production assistants, who take my seating card and escort me to my own seat. I notice we haven’t left the Balloon Museum, and I am seated in a large circular chamber, with a stage seven feet across built in the dead center. We are seated in concentric rings around. Overhead, hundreds of lighted orbs are secured to winched lines suspended from the ceiling, and motors controlling the winches are synchronized to drop or pull the orb in a dance. Like a moth or another simple organism, I was amused by this for some time as the rest of the crowd filtered in behind me, no doubt sharing in the same journey I had upon my arrival. Some influencers, speaking Russian, sit to my right, a journalist to my left. Many around me are wearing jeans and T-shirts or wrinkled Rick Owens. The show begins.
The opening look is appropriately daring, with a model walking out in a pale pink dress, the skirt of which impossibly billows outward three feet in all directions. Strong design holds it aloft in the air, like holding a wine glass upside down over a kitchen counter. The model wears a helmet constructed seemingly out of multicolored rhinestones, the sides and back of which are adorned with faces resembling the model's own. The model glides around the stage slowly to the sound of a string orchestra.
The next two looks are toned down considerably, with two models stepping out in ribbed dresses that are far more formal. Long drapes fall comfortably on each figure whilst still fitting snugly. The base of the dresses curve upwards into flat tendrils that bounce around as the models walk. Despite the overall maximalist presentation of the show to this point, in this stripped-down approach I felt myself looking upon a spiritual successor to Issey Miyake.
We then are shown the next look, a shorter dress composed of ruffled turquoise, seemingly inviting contrast with the longer dresses which were shown before. Bright colors would continue to dominate the show, laser red and baby blue walking out next. It must also be said that texture, color and bold silhouettes were focused on deeply throughout the show. For example, the next look was as if someone took a skin-tight diving suit, removed the arms, dyed it neon orange, and then stretched the midsection around the rings of Saturn. Did I mention the many-faced helmet also returned, in a different material? I watched in awe as the dress made its orbit around the stage. I was struck with questions of practicality. When would this be worn outside of this show? Who was this for? I could see the model’s crossed hands pressing upon the inside of the dress's planetary rings.
Most models did however have access to their arms, and some were even carrying large items that I was attempting to deduce as either hat or purse, with one of such items displaying a large red nipple protruding outwards. Another look was a bright magenta bodycon, with a new form of ring forming around the model, this time less ring of Saturn and more shower curtain. A pleated sheer enveloped the bodycon, suspended by wire in air. Again, practicality came to mind as I watched as a model nearly trip on the sheer curtain as she climbed the step to the center stage.
Then it was time for the show to end. The show closer walked out to great fanfare in a soft feathered green dress, similar reverse wine-glass form as the opener. The dress was again covered in shining feathers. Everyone got their phones out as they identified the model as rapper Saweetie, who was led gracefully by a gentleman in a black gown. As he helps her to the stage with a firm hand, I am touched by the moment, which feels like watching a young woman realize her childhood dreams of being crowned as a princess. Then, a jubilant Terrence Zhou walks out to thunderous applause, bringing his team out with him.
Not one person on Zhou’s team appears to be over the age of thirty, which also made a strong impression on me. This is a group of young artists who are figuring it out while maintaining high technical execution, and with a creative direction that wildly abandons reason in favor of an unyielding desire for adventure.
I leave my seat, bidding farewell to the Balloon Museum and returning to the hot and humid New York air. I think about what I just witnessed, the looks that stuck with me and left me with a sense of hope for the future. Curious to see Zhou’s work now having seen it in person, I sit down and search for more. I then read about his use of AI in his design process, and how he relies on it as a tool to create his work. I shut my phone off, as a feeling of dread fills my soul again. I think about real grass in a field upstate. I can’t reach it.
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