Latex collection

Recently I read a super article about wearing latex in the COSMOPOLITAN, written by Veronika Schaller, and what can I say, everything speaks for it – fetish becomes fashion! Wear more latex…and for advanced – try it with Datex!

Of course I don’t want to withhold this great article from you and so I picture it here.

“WOW, you look like a cartoon character!”, is the first thing I hear after squeezing into my new dress – a huge action in itself. … Now I look at my reflection in the mirror somewhat incredulously, stroking this strangely rubbery second house. Is that me? I can look that hot? And smell like a rubber dinghy at the same time? My colleague is right: there is something artificially beautiful about the whole thing. Thanks to Japanese designer Atsuko Kudo, who is currently hyped for her latex couture (Kim Kardashian and Rita Ora are fans), I’ve transformed. From a casual jeans-blue guy into, well, what exactly? That’s what I want to find out.

I quickly realize: I could have left my make-up off today. No, the whole head. Because even here in the office, among all the women who appreciate me for my brains, I’m just a body. They unabashedly comment on my figure (very positively, after all!), grope at me unasked. “Hands off!”, I command. Also because grease, for example hand cream, damages the latex. So much for easy-care, because it can be wiped off, this dress is bitchy. (Aren’t we all from time to time :-). Note from Evy.)

On the subway ride, I then feel as out of place as a streaker in St. Peter’s Basilica. The material smacks unmistakably through the whole compartment. Sitting down is because of the skimpy skirt a rather stupid seeming balancing act and gradually I no longer believe the many latex friends who celebrate on websites, how “socially acceptable” their fetish has become. Sure, I know that rubber is having its fashion moment right now. But the catwalks of Paris are just not the gravel floor in a stuffy Munich beer garden – where I arrive with tripping steps. When I take off my denim jacket, most people act as if they are suddenly very interested in their pretzels. Others gawk bluntly and are happy that there’s finally something going on. A family man, flanked by his wife and child, bleats, “Jaaaa, pull it down!” as I smooth out the dress. And a cliché-bellied Mittfufziger advises, “Make’s the photo without Jackn, it fits eh neda!” Not exactly the guys you want to inspire about yourself. Just as little as the whistling construction workers on the way there.

The beer garden visit even comes to an abrupt end before I can drink my first beer. Because suddenly I start sweating like never before in my life. Me! Must! Here! Now! Out! How glad I am that I have a change of clothes with me. Made of cotton! But just when I’m convinced latex and I will never be friends, I see the photos. I’m surprised at how chic I look. And strong. The dress may not be for everyday wear. It’s exhausting, needs a glamorous stage. But staged? Hello, Superwoman!”