Dannii off-of two i’s, two n’s but only one d and one a, and Kris off-of Chris but with a k, are what is known as bum-chums. So much so, one of them is pregnant.
That’s all pounds, shillings and pences and three of your delicious Euros, please. This story is all about the evolution of Kris Smith’s dress sense. Which we’re following as we would something we’re slightly interested in. As you will see from the above, when he first came into the public consciousness (and Dannii. But that’s a whole other thing and frankly, we don’t mind that they do it but to rub it in our faces? It’s propaganda, that is. And also a pun waiting to be commented on)…
*waits; spots a butterfly; follows it*
Where were we… Okay, so, as you’ll see from the above, Kris Smith began life as a poor black child in the Brewster projects of Detroit, Michigan, before an Ebony Fashion Fair talent scout spotted him at the age of 15 and told him his destiny lay in the hands of a primordial dwarf. By which time it was already too late – Kris was dressing like an Eastern European with a penchant for glistening man-mades and beads.
Three baby steps later (it’s the only kind of steps Minogues can manage), and Kris has moved up the sartorial ladder to the step (it’s gone step crazy!) they call ‘ridiculous gay’. You know, can’t just wear a nice jean-short and white vest; has to be full of histrionics.
Then, low and be-homo-hold, he turns up on the streets of Melbourne – having accidentally picked up a small child in Target, by the looks of it – wearing an outfit that vaguely resembles okay. Look closer, however, and he’s been seduced by the detailing. Again. The double zip, the pockets where pockets shouldn’t be, the contrived creases, the underwear with more than two colours (we’re embellishing. Embellishing’s fun. So too are fairground rides on poppers).
It is, however, progress. For which Kris Smith should drop trou’ and take a bow.