It’s raining men

And women, too, last Friday night, during the Bench Underwear and Denim Show. Disco-glam was the theme, and the show went to town in this theme. I was in high school in the ‘70s and in college in the ‘80s, and thus, I’m a child of the disco generation. I like the glitter, the silver and gloss, the frenetic manic music.

All of this was present in the third outing of the Bench show. I liked that the show was divided into several concepts done by some of the hottest names in town. I nearly fell off my seat when Cecile Zamora’s Temptation Island module started. With iconic music from the Hotdogs (Bongga Ka, Day), the models strutted down the ramp in swimwear enough to turn Araneta Coliseum into a Boracay in Cubao. This module was light-hearted, witty, and cheeky. Toned, lean, and gorgeous, the models proved what I wrote about in last week’s column. That some of the cutest boys in the world can be found, right here, in Manila.

Rhett Eala’s sado-masochism-inspired module made me smile. There was a hint of wickedness there, in all the black leather gear and boots, the T-backs that could make my spinster aunt blush with shame (or would she?). One of the models even carried a whip. When he reached the end of the runway, he flicked the whip and gave a loud grunt at the same time. Hmmm. It reminded me of one of my professors when I was studying in the States. One day, my classmate Bernadette and I decided to drop by his flat in Brooklyn to borrow some books. Aba, who would open the door but our professor – dressed only in his black leather underwear, black leather boots, and yes, a whip! He dressed us down for coming unannounced, then said he is having "a session," with a friend. Bernadette and I smiled vacantly, then vanished as fast as we could. That whip looked lethal to our grad-school behinds.

Joey Samson’s Denim module was also well-received. Very cool, calm, melancholy-blue. When Sam Milby appeared, I thought the roof of the Coliseum would give way from the thunderous chant that accompanied his catwalk. This guy still seems very shy and unaware of his effect on the crowd. Randy Ortiz’s Pucci portion was also a crowd favorite. I found this one sexy, too.

Among the models, Zanjoe Marudo got some of the best raves, as well as movie star Richard Gutierrez. Ai-Ai de las Alas came as a beauty crown with a mirrored globe for a crown – and proceeded to sing and dance down the runway, touching the male models’ crotches as she did so. My companion whispered to me: "That is the kind of job I wouldn’t mind doing for free." Am sure, I thought, a sentiment shared by most of the 12,000 people packed in the Coliseum that night – a record crowd matched only by the Pacquiao-Larios fight two days later.

This year’s version was more energetic, more stylish, and more fevered with imagination. But I remember moments from the previous Bench shows. One moment was when Jessica Zafra asked me to accompany her for the final go-see at the Bench office in Pasay City. She also asked me to interview some models.

There were feather boas enough to fill a whole auditorium. When Wendell Ramos came, Jessica and I just gave him a blank look. But when he disrobed to his underwear, Jessica and I finally believed in the existence of a Higher Being who could create someone like Wendell.

When we saw Ben Chan, we told him, "Nakakaumay din pala the sight of so many male beauties!" To which the head honcho of Bench answered, wit intact: "Talaga! O sige, last na ito, ha." And we said, "Ay, huwag!" And we all dissolved in laughter. And then at the Coliseum in the last Bench outing, I was sitting beside a gay man in his 60s. In the middle of the show he told me, "Naku, I cannot take this anymore. I am having palpitations at the sight of all these models."

And so our grandma took a French exit and left. At that moment, there was hardly any oxygen left in the Coliseum, because the audience would suck in all oxygen with every appearance of the hot, gorgeous models.

Fortunately this time, the gods of disco saved us with their songs, giving breathing space after each and every module. Sister Sledge also sang their anthem, We Are Family! and when the Village People burst on the stage – the cop and the fireman and the construction worker and their ilk – the people in the audience began to dance. Volts of electric energy flared and sputtered, bringing us back to the ‘70s and the ‘80s, when disco was queen. YMCA was never too far away, after all.

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