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As Fashion Week draws to a close, leaving cigarette butts and dead models in its wake, it's time to take a moment to honor the stupid hipsters, whose whimsical eye makeup and playful bandannas endlessly inspire fashion's best designers. So sit back and enjoy Blue States Lose, wherein we look at the ridiculous pictures on The Cobrasnake, Last Night’s Party, Misshapes, and Ambrel so you don't have to. After the jump, Alex Blagg writes love letters to Princess Coldstare.

10. The Cobrasnake. Drinking Rooster photo #4229: After you wipe away all the make-up and the glitz and the glamour and the coke snot, Fashion Week is really all about this mouse of a man (who shall henceforth be known as Sergio). Sergio scuttles about with his clipboard and Fiji water, from designer tent to dressing room to runway to afterparty, perpetually worried and hissing things like, "If somebody doesn't find me those fingerless camo gloves in the next ten minutes, Sergio will singlehandedly bring about the fucking apocalypse!" Sergio sort of almost makes me kinda give a shit.

9. Misshapes. September 9th, 2006 photo #021: The "art warrior" label isn't a statement, and it isn't ironic. He's goddamned serious. His last showdown, a duel-to-the-death with a New Mexican lesbian finger-painter, left him with two black eyes and Trust-Fund Dust (not to be confused with the Van Damme Blinding Dust that can be found in several mid-90's martial arts movies) blown all over his face. But you should have seen the other dyke - he left her outside a Bushwick sculpture gallery, covered in pink ribbons, scratch 'n sniff stickers and his semen, beaten within an inch of her life. He also once body-slammed Andre the Giant for claiming that "grafitti wasn't art".

8. Misshapes. September 9th, 2006 photo #083: I liked this girl as the slutty Russian teenager getting double-teamed by those weird painted-up Asian clowns in that Kubrick movie and all, but she doesn't have to get so fucking literal about it.

7. Last Night's Party. Trash Projection photo #4504: Remember right before the '04 election, when you were watching The Daily Show every night, reading a lot of liberal blogs, listening to Bright Eyes and sayin' "Fuck yeah!" everytime David Cross told a joke ripping on how retarded the right really is? You felt optimistic, like good might actually prevail, and that it would be inconceivable to imagine America giving Bush four more years worth of chances to utterly destroy everything we've accomplished as a species thus far. Well, here's why you lost, why you'll always lose, and why the only political postion worth taking is in the safety of a well-stocked bomb shelter.

6. Ambrel. Marc Jacobs Afterparty photo #3032: Wait, you guys - I think Jordan Catalano's trying to tell us something. What is it, boy? You like to fuck pigs? Huh, the pigs are fucking you? No, the picture, it's getting fucked! The pigs are fucking the picture? Come on, boy, just spit it out - you can do it! WAIT, I've got it - FUCK CENSORSHIP!?! Really, no? Shit. Ohhhhhh, you love watching The Crow while listening to your shitty band. Gotcha.

5. The Cobrasnake. Yes Yes Yes photo #4896: How is it dude couldn't get through a single poorly written "Horatio Sanz is fat" sketch without breaking character and laughing like a hyena on nitrous, but he can put his arm around this walking punchline and stare at us with the solemnity of a man who just found out he didn't get a green-light for Taxi 2?

4. The Cobrasnake. Yes Yes Yes photos #5170: I hereby dub you Sir Drunkensuck of the Holy Downtown Round Table of Retardation for which you have so chivalrously served. The placement of this half-empty Budweiser upon your skull symbolizes the crowning moment of total fucking idiocy that has earned you this long sought-after accolade. Now rise, brave Knight of the Misshaped Order, and serve King Fantastik with the dignity and courage his fabulousness demands.

3. Misshapes. September 9th, 2006 photo #131: It's one thing to slap on a DARE shirt and occasionally warn kids about the dangers of drug abuse. It's a whole other thing to LIVE IT, to fucking BE THE DARE, and make sure every shred of your being is the embodiment of the insanity that results from the long-term abuse of mind-altering substances; wherein every single item of clothing that covers your body firmly grabs some impressionable little tyke by the shoulder, sits him down and the sofa, and shows him that "I learned it from you, Dad!" public service ad over and over for a like a week.

2. Last Night's Party. Trash Projection photo #4544: So one day this killer was just chillaxing around the house, having a Snapple, when he was suddenly overcome with the nagging desire to buy a hot pink "limited edition" cartoon snake t-shirt that was created "exclusively" for sale on the website of some assclown whose life consists of taking pictures of people who share his own losing struggle with existence, then posting said photographs online for the sole purpose of attracting the ire and ridicule of people like myself. So Captain Consumer rushed to his nearest internet connection, whipped out Dad's credit card, and straight up bought that motherfucker. Was it worth the thirty bucks plus shipping? You're goddamned right it was.

1. The Cobrasnake. Drinking Rooster photo #4221: Look, let's get serious here for a second. I was wrong about Sergio. The real reason that Fashion Week will always have its special place in the heart of our city is the simple fact that it is a massive celebration of the single most mysterious and unifying human emotion in the universe: beauty. The intangible, indefinable mirror to eternity, serving as a constant reminder that behind all the chaos and confusion and pain and hipster parties, there is only pure, sweet, true beauty. And it's trying to take a fucking call.