Haute Couture

Rarity’s outfit for this latest gathering had taken a decidedly martial turn. Her mane was tucked beneath an olive military cap. A pair of epaulets rested on her shoulders. The old her would have died of shock at the sight of so much camo and primary colors, but the new Rarity knew better. Camo was in again.

“These demons, these dogs, these betrayers of culture,” she shouted into the microphone, “ought to be dealt with swiftly and publicly. There is no other way to atone for their crimes. Vengeance is both our duty and our privilege!”

The assembled ponies were a little confused. The posters had advertised a fashion show, and given how fun Rarity’s last one was, they were eager to get in early and stay late. News of the attempted assassination had only served to bloat the guest list even further.

“There are those among us, demons disguised as ponies—no offense to our changeling comrades—who take advantage of natural pony creativity for their own greedy ends. They steal the labor of our cultural toil, process it into mush, then sell it back to us at an obscene markup.

The crowd nodded their heads and clapped their hooves. Most had parents or significant others in just such an industry. Many of those same parents and significant others paid their rent. Still, Rarity was speaking with the kind of passion that made all of those facts irrelevant. It was all about the vibe, and Rarity had vibes to spare.

“Will you make a new line to commemorate the revolution?” a pony asked.

“The names of the fashion revolution will be Equitable and Decentralized. No longer will the creatives of the community be preyed upon by the vultures of capital.”

“Will it have bangles?” another pony asked. “I really liked it when you put bangles on that one dress.”

“Those who mine bangles in the northern bangle mines will be compensated—to each according to their needs. The distributors will be watched with a careful eye to ensure honesty. And the creatives will be able to focus their talents without fear of being copied by lesser designers!”

A long beat of silence fell upon the rally.

“And the dresses will have bangles.”

The crowd burst into rabid applause. Rarity’s heart swelled with pride. This will show Sassy, she thought. Ignorant bitch. Try to steal my slice of the pie, will you?

Rarity continued, “You are all instrumental to the next phase of the revolution! Each and every one of you!” She pointed out ponies at random in the front row. “You! And you! And you!” One of the ponies she’d just singled out squealed like a filly at a Haylor Swift show. Another ponied at Rarity’s cap and made a ‘gimme’ gesture. “Oh. Uh. It’s my cap, actually. Sorry.” The gesturing redoubled. “Well, to each according to their need...” She hoofed the cap over, ignoring the twenty other ponies now pointing to her outfit and making similar gestures. “We are all in this together, ponies! Together, we shall seize the means of creativity! We shall topple the old regime of exploitation! We shall burn down the factories of mass consumption and rebuild them anew! A more equitable future! A more just future! A future with hot uniforms!”

The crowd’s rabid enthusiasm waned. Before Rarity could get ahead of the turn, one potential party member asked, “What factories, specifically?”

“All of them. They’re all owned by the same monsters who have their boots on your necks.”

Another pony asked, “Are we gonna burn down the factory that makes Kate Stirrup?”

“Or what about Gucc?”

“Is streetwear gonna be allowed if we’re all wearing uniforms?”

“Are we gonna get rid of everything decadent? I kinda like decadence.”

“Yeah! What about Chocky Chip Cheez-Bitz?”

“Ooh yeah, we should keep that one,” another pony chimed in. “I love Chocky Chip Cheez-Bitz.”

Rarity’s face contorted. “We are not keeping Chocky Chip Cheez-Bitz.”

“What? Why not?”

Rarity sighed audibly into the mic. “Chocky Chip Cheez-Bitz is owned by Bitz Bizz, LLC. It’s a subsidiary to Krafty Kreations, LLC, which is itself a vertical of Sassy Holdings Groupe.” The crowd still wasn’t getting it. “Sassy Saddles owns Chocky Chip Cheez-Bitz. It’s getting burned.”

The effect was immediate. A chorus of boos rose up from the crowd.

“Now just hold on a minute!” Rarity said. “Chocky Chip Cheez-Bitz is listed as a direct cause of 42 percent of new diabetes cases! They’re killing us! Actively! For profit!” The crowd remained unmoved. “Alright, fine, we’ll build a more equitable factory that makes reduced-sugar Chocky Chip Cheez-Bitz!”

“That’ll take, like, a whole year!” one pony shouted.

“You can’t trample on my rights!” another pony added.

“Yeah!” a third pony agreed. “We’re here to trample on somepony else’s rights!”

The crowd whipped itself up into a frenzy from which not even the most skilled, most hottest orator could talk them down. They marched outside. Torches were acquired. In short order, three zebranese restaurants and a yak-owned laundromat had been torched.

Rarity found her military cap among the trash on the ground, patted it free of dust, and went back to Twilight’s.