Ah, the damned Waif: that figure of interminable dismay and automatic controversy. Unceremoniously dismissed from her brief but provocative perch in the editorial pages of the glossies, she was sent to a tanning booth, force fed, and made generally glamorous, wasn't she ? But did she die altogether? Not for the radical edge of the image machine. Metaphorically speaking, she had a sex change, and now the traditionally dull world of men's fashion is suffering the latest avant-outré assault in the form of this defiantly slight male mannequin. Is the male waif a walking ad for unsavory connotations such as heroin consumption or is he simply a glorification of a natural body type?