Genie Lewis of Beaverton, Oregon thought they were cool. She had to be the first to try on the new thick frames, the oversized lenses, the kind her grandma used to wear; and now she's dead. Genie, not her grandma. It all began in 2001 with some hipster Giovanni model strutting down the runway with a pair of four-inch goggles strapped to her face. The trend didn’t take off immediately, but that was the catalyst. Soon every up- and-coming designer was trading the thin sophisticated look for the geriatric eyesores. Long time Calvin Klein runway model, Janessa, thought the glasses were pretty cool. “I mean, they kinda made my head tilt forward, but everyone else was wearing them, and once I saw Tyra with a pair, I told Goffery, my assistant, to tie a string from my pony tail to my underwear. Now my head’s straight and I couldn’t be happier.”

But by 2003 things were spiraling out of control. Designers were pushing the limits of acceptable frames further and further, until the models could no longer walk with correct posture, despite strings or clips or extra strength rubber bands. They were forced to lean back as they walked, creating a limbo effect to all who watched. But this only made things worse, as fashion critic Leslie Gordane cited the new Reggae swagger as “dynamic and innovative.” They couldn’t go back now, and models that didn’t wear the glasses still had to walk like they were slowly ducking for cover. One brave girl finally called it quits.

Melody Farquar, a 26-year old runway model that had walked the catwalk for ten years, bent as far as her bony back could go. “First those ‘F’d up sunglasses, and now this!” She screamed as she fell to the floor backwards on her last career walk. Melody became a spokesperson against the brainwashing design world and the lineup after lineup of stupid, stupid models. “They’ll do anything to get on that catwalk,” she confided to me over a decaf double espresso late. “And then they’ll cry in the shower about it later. But that kind of stink doesn’t rub off.”

Genie Lewis was not a model. She was not even thin enough for the plus size, Wide with Pride magazines, but she did want to fit in. Genie fell in with a crowd of giant-sunglass-toting, wannabe valley girls, and before long she was wearing five-inch platform sneakers and pink stretch Capri pants. She was drinking five Grande lattes a day with a night cap of binging and retching. She was in over her head, but couldn’t see the truth. She was one big bus-side logo, and when the end came at a Cyanide sleepover, she swallowed the pill with a smile on her face and an overdose of stupidity already taking effect. For those who say that trends can’t hurt you, think of Genie.