The Wombat Fashion Experiment

That's some handsome haberdashery boys!

If you could boil down our trip to Australia to one definite mission, it would be to fancy up the wombat species. We invited the members of the Dunnydoo chapter of the Rotary Club to enjoy a luncheon of straw pellets and a complimentary makeover. The results speak for themselves.

A for effort Alfie!

My goodness, it is good to see that some of you are getting inspired! Our fan Alfie sent in this picture of himself. Obviously he saw what a fez did for a wombat (not to mention Rosie O’Donnell) and he was tempted to try the magic on himself. I’d say it worked a treat!

And not to diminish your stab at stylishness Alfie, but we at the Institute were so exhilarated by your elan that we decided to take it one step further. Below is a computer rendering of what you could pull off… if you just put your mind to it!

Leap to it!

Kangaroos in Drag? What a Night!

Va va va rooooooo!

Not too often you get to witness a spectacle such as this, not too often at all. Myself and my dear colleagues and cohorts were cordially invited to view an all Kangaroo cast in Australia’s favorite musical, Priscilla Queen of the Desert.

My goodness it was a spectacle. And so much leaping! You just cannot believe the air these fellas get. I simply cannot wait until the all roo version of Starlight Express. MAGIC!

Bilbys, Trilbys and Terrible Poetry

Poet Billbifus Boddlecodger models well-metred style

It might surprise you to know that all Bilbys, male or female, young or old, wear trilbys as part of their Sunday best.

This is not because these hats look smashing on a Bilby’s pointy little face, or because a well-fitted trilby will sit firmly between the ears, although both are true. The choice of hat is due to a bilby’s inate love of poetry. The hat was adopted by the species in order to facilitate rhyming couplets when referring to themselves in poetry. Which is often. Way too often.

Bilby poetry makes the scribblings of depressed teenage emos look like Keats.

Ebeneezer Eucalypt

That's one marvelous Marsupial

I must admit, I have an extreme weakness for any knitted pantsuit, but this one leaves me weak at the knees and foaming at the mouth.

Our model, Mr. Ebeneezer Eucalypt, of Delicate Nobby, New South Wales is renowned around Australia for his impressive collection of vintage knits.

Sadly, it takes a diet of nothing but leaves to cut a figure this impressive. I invite you all to sit back and inhale his mentholated charm.

Hatting a Wombat

A marked improvement...

Wombats, as a species, are particularly resistant to all things fashionable. Being a natural born frump must come with an aversion to any kind of style. I suppose that explains Rosie O’Donnell…

As a fashion-forward ambassador to nature I took it upon myself to remedy this problem. You can help too! The next time you see a wombat, simply walk up behind him, take him in your arms, and if you can stop yourself from squishing him to death, hat him! For this particular wombat I chose a dapper fez.
Doesn’t he look happier now?

Come to think of it, perhaps Rosie O’Donnell could use the same treatment…

Theory proven...everyone looks cuter in a fez!

Call me Polonius Hogan

Dundeelicious!!!

One should never venture into the bush unprepared, which is why I had Bjorn Flugelhorn whip me up this masterpiece of an outfit. How sexy do I look? I mean really, how sexy? Out of 10 I’d rate myself a 12.

Galadys Gillycuddy

You go galah!

I must say I had expected our time in Australia to be completely taken up with extreme makeovers.  This is the land of the cork hat and the ugg boot after all.

So far I have been pleasantly mistaken. Our feathered friends firmly secure the Aus in Ausome (creative spelling aside).
 
Galadys Gillycuddy, formerly of Mullinbimby, was more than happy to frock it up for our cameras. If we manage to dig up eleven more models we could have a sublime monthly calendar! Extra points for matching your dress and shoes with your complexion Galadys. Brava!

Dressing like a Local

From left to right: Shi Shi LaRue, Bjorn Flugelhorn, Elery Fantina, Andelora Dulliswinkle, Polonius H. Probiscus

 

The seasoned traveller knows that all attempts should be made to blend into the landscape of the country he is visiting. As I always say, When in Tittybong…

And so, when the esteemed members of the board were invited to Miss Marvetta Malloy’s Melbourne residence for supper, we did our best to arrive attired as expected. I dare say Marvetta was rather taken aback by our efforts! Bjorn Flugelhorn fell so in love with his Crocodilian costume he declared it may replace his knitted one-piece as his signature look. Fashion has never had a fickler mistress than our dear Mr. Flugehorn.

Miss Primo Penguin: Marvetta Malloy

Bjorn Flugelhorn crowns our champion

It only seems fitting that something as extravagant as a Penguin Parade should culminate in some sort of best-dressed glory, and so the Institute of Animal Haberdashery board members quickly came up with the Primo Penguin title.

The Primo Penguin crown celebrates poise, grace and handsome headgear, and this year’s obvious winner was Miss Marvetta Malloy of Maroochydore!

Marvetta was not just awarded this stunning spectacle of a tiara, but offered a place on the travelling board of the Institute of Animal Haberdashery, filling in for one Mr. Stinky Winkerbean whose ripeness was considered a threat to the fragile Australian ecosystem.

Australian Odyssey: The Penguin Parade

Nothing like a God-given tuxedo paired with a fancy hat!

We at the Institute are currently docked Down Under. So far, our Australian Odyssey has been one Bacchanalian bonanza after another. Don't fret, we are snapping lots of pictures.


Having moored in Melbourne, our first stop on our journey was the Phillip Island Penguin Parade where we were greeted with a fanfare unknown to Queen Elizabeth II herself (or so I posit). The entire park was closed to the rif raf for the evening so that our feathered friends could exhibit their very particular flair for haberdashery. The over the top spectacle left us with no doubt as to why these are called Fairy Penguins!

The Past was Beautiful!

Founding Members of The Institute of Animal Haberdashery

Ladies and Gentlemen, the last few days I have become obsessed with the past (a condition brought on by an Australian internet connection, the butterchurn of broadband). I have unearthed for your ocular satisfaction the only known image of the founding members of The Institute of Animal Haberdashery and General Fanciness.

What a splendid looking bunch!!!

Stinky Winkerbean

What is that smell?

How to explain the living and breathing bouquet that is Stinky Winkerbean? Let’s start with a base of curdled milk and pig’s droppings. Next we’ll add a few undertones: sneakers worn sockless, day-old scotch breath and a six-week-worn plaster cast. A top-note of doritos and a hint of vanilla and there you have it. The essence of a mad man.

The concept of taking minutes during board meetings was invented for members of Mr. Winkerbean’s ilk. He can keep up to date on motions without the risk of being inhaled.

Winkerbean lives in a well-ventilated room at the back of the Institute. No one has ever dared visit him. He is used primarily for testing new fragrances on. If you can smell them over his stench, they must be perfectly potent.

Tonight at The Nightery: Kid n’ Hay!

Masters of the Barnyard Beat

Tonight at the Institute Nightery we are ecstatic to welcome legendary duo, Kid n’ Hay.

Don’t let their Yo MTV Raps! style fool you, these guys are straight-up adult contemporary all the way. Just the way I love it.

In fact, I once saw Kid n’ Hay play a quadruple bill with Michael McDonald, John Tesh and Kenny G. Ah, the Rapture!

Giraffrobats!

Incroyable!

Every time I try to think of the words to describe what is happening in this picture, I begin to weep profusely, and my proboscis leaks all over the keyboard. It really is that amazing.

Clive Gibbon: Urgent Makeover Required

Time to fix up your wardrobe Mr. Gibbon!

Our next makeover candidate was right under my proboscis the whole time! I’m surprised I didn’t sniff him out sooner!

Ladies and Gentlemen, may I introduce Clive Gibbon, Institute Repairman. Frankly I am appalled at the security of this Institute. I mean really! If someone this ill-attired can get past the front door, surely it says something about our standards! I am in the process of inventing a device that detects synthetic fabrics. I dream of having one armed and alarmed at every doorway into this building.

Alas, I am not there yet.

I discovered Clive when I called for someone to unclog the drain in my shower. I was breakfasting when Clive arrived and so was taken by surprise when he emerged from the bathroom.

Obviously I assumed that the hairball had come to life and was hellbent on murder. I drew my pearl-handled pistol and fired willy nilly!

When Clive is finally released from intensive care I will make amends by completely making over his look!

At Home With Bjorn Flugelhorn

Bjorn and Jurmaine kicking back

Ladies and Gentlemen, the first in a series of shots of Bjorn Flugelhorn in his pied a terre in the west wing of Institute Headquarters. The photos, taken by legendary shutterbug Frankenwurtz Lowenstein, are due to appear in next month’s Vogue Living, to coincide with the release of Flugelhorn’s new flick. I love a sneak peek, don’t you?

I must say this particular room has always made me a little uncomfortable. Perhaps it would be better if Bjorn ever got around to clothing his mannequins, rather than simply putting new hats on them.

Being Bjorn: The Movie

Bjorn arriving at the premiere, pulled by Jurmaine.

In the spirit of such gems as Coco Avant Chanel and Unzipped the esteemed world of film has decided to make a subject of the Institute’s own Bjorn Flugelhorn.

Being Bjorn traces the highs and lows of a life lived for fashion (and toilet stall peyote binges). Bjorn would not sell the rights to his story unless he was allowed to play himself, and the result is the feeling of truly being along for the ride. A rather uncomfortable ride.

Bjorn was escorted to the premiere in his airtight box by his faithful companion, Jurmaine. By all accounts he kept the lid on tightly the whole time.

What a Dik Dik!

Cute -- maybe. Asshole -- definitely.

I was thoroughly enjoying a night out at Nairobi’s newest nightclub sensation Sploosh, when I was accosted by this pompous, preppy, pygmy with an axe to grind. Had a thing or eight to say about my proboscis. And my teeth. And my suit! That my friends was the last straw, I defend Armani with my life.

I lunged across the bar, grabbed an over-sized ice bucket and turned it over on this knee-high numbskull like one might catch a spider. Then I slid a piece of cardboard under the bucket and turned it over to the bouncer to dispose of.

World’s smallest antelope. World’s biggest twit.

Holy Crap This Is Terrifying!

Get me off this crazy thing called Pookie.

You know me, I’m extremely innovative and into trying new things. And so, when a friend of my third cousin Tony’s girlfriend’s poodle’s estranged ex-lover suggested I look up his friend Pookie on my brief soujourn to the mainland from Madagascar, I did. Pookie works part-time as a bush pilot. He offered me a free sight-seeing flight. I accepted.

All I can say is this: Never, ever, ever trust a winged Giraffe. The flight was bumpy, the service non-existent and the landing abysmal.