Boys in the Hoodies

The gold in question is a languid sweatshirt covered with real metal sequins that weighs eight pounds, takes 90 hours to bead in India, and retails for $3,500. How does it feel on? "Like a weight jacket," the model replies softy. Silver insists that it's actually comfy because "the weight's distributed!" Though there are lots of plain, sporty items the models would happily take home—and they will, since the only payment they receive for the show is a pair of sneaks, some Florsheim slip-ons, and one Duckie Brown outfit—it's the twisted sisters you always remember best: the apple-green knitted cummerbund, the drooping cashmere shorts with a button back-flap like Dennis the Menace's pajamas.

But you've got to have some drama on a runway. "For us, a show is a show!" Silver says. "We want you to react! We want to make your blood boil!" And actually, the temperature in the room does inch up a degree or two when the next guy walks the walk. He's a surfer type, a particularly exquisite version of Sean Penn's iconic Spicoli, and his wrist is sexily bandaged from a recent longboard accident. When he doffs the straw hat he's wearing—it has a huge hole burned out in front—he reveals sun-lightened hair that's just the right length for the show. The Duckies put him in what they call an ombré silk organza frock coat; its elegant sleeve covers his injury.

Is the shoulder a little off? Cox shrugs. "It's like Comme des Garcons, Duckie! It's fabulous! I love him in it! It's never gonna fit anyone perfectly."

Last week: Lynn Yaeger yapped about pet fashion week.