The audience was tense with anticipation: the Haute Caribbean grand dame was running late, and a lull loomed after local soca star Swappi cut his performance due to mic problems. The drama heightens when two beefy shirtless male models finally stride out in military garrison caps, followed by high fashion with just the right masquerade excess.

In its third year, FWTT — a sold-out, must-see rivaling Caribbean Fashion Week — strutted out over 50 local and regional collections that organizers catch-phrased “cosquelle couture”, reclaiming that old Côté ci Côté la “to dress outrageously mismatched” definition.

Full disclosure: I have a particular fondness for this minimalist (I grew up coveting my mom’s 1970s vintage pieces!). Even though this Caribbean Junya Watanabe is known for a steadfast noir day-to-night uniform, this season she’s gone self-referential, designing a black organdy collection recalling the subtle folds of Japanese origami volumes in its construction.

After Claudia Pegus closes the shows, The Cloth’s Robert Young and I ride the elevator up to my suite with buyer Ingrid Laballe. I had pulled pieces for a shoot, so Robert’s iconic appliquéd designs were left on a rolling rack in my room. Laballe flicks hangers, eyeing orders for her Pointe-à-Pitre-based Kod, one of the top Caribbean fashion boutiks.

On Trinidad & Tobago’s lone menswear label Millhouse
It was a crisp early ’70s throwback: square-finished lapels on fitted khaki suits with graphic black and white neck scarves.

“The structured part of the uniform is very post-colonial,” the former Miss Trinidad & Tobago Universe says of a schoolgirl kilt with sexy black and gold lace peaking out of the folds. The designer is behind the upstart Pilar label.

He explains how you’re likely to see groups from the Middle East, China and various islands taking part in the Caribbean Day parade and their festivities. “The whole idea is to show our culture. So what we did in the early days was have arts and crafts, show videos and try in the process to introduce other cultures,” says Marshall. “It’s grown to be one of the biggest multicultural festivals on the B.C. mainland at the moment, but it’s a lot of work. We have so many things to take care of: the finance committee, the venue and approvals, the street parade, the beer gardens, the volunteers and performances.”

“I’ve played in Caribana every year, for the most part, from the age of five,” he says. “My mother and father were involved in a band called D’Regulars. They were usually the last band at Caribana and would close the parade,” he says. “I just began to fall in love with the experience from there and all those things contribute to what you see today in my band.”