Falsterbo Brygga Catwalk

A story illuminated by a northern sunset. It was one of those evenings when the world seemed to hold its breath. The sun, a radiant orb, slowly sank towards the sea at Falsterbo pier, casting a golden light across the sand. Superman, in his red cape, sat quietly beside Krypto, his faithful dog, watching the horizon. Further down the beach, shadows moved—six women in 1920s swimsuits, a nod to the era's fashion, walking in rhythm, as if the shore itself had become a catwalk.

And there she was, in a lilac dress, her tail swaying with each step—Catwoman, leading her procession of cats towards something more than just the setting sun. Her unexpected presence added a touch of surprise to the evening. She smiled, as if she already knew what the evening would bring: a unique blend of worlds, where fashion meets folklore, and myth walks barefoot through the sand, inviting you to explore this intriguing intersection.

This is the story of that evening—and of everything that can happen when imagination, that most potent of companions, walks beside the sea.

“Whiskers and Whispers

She walks in silk, a shadow’s grace,
With moonlight stitched across her face.
In heels that never make a sound,
She rules the rooftops, skyward-bound.

Nine lives behind her feline eyes,
Nine tales of truth and sleek disguise.
Her kitties trail in velvet hush,
A purring court in twilight’s blush.

One is black as ink and sin,
Another white with mischief’s grin.
One wears pearls, one sports a scar—
Each is a star in her midnight memoir.

They leap through windows, dance on beams,
Guard her secrets, feed her dreams.
She strokes their backs, they guard her soul—
Together, they are dark and whole.

She is no pet, no man's delight,
She is the whisper in the night.
A clawed caress, a velvet fang—
The echo when the church bell rang.

So when you hear a soft meow,
And feel a chill upon your brow—
Beware the woman, fierce and fair,
Whose lovers purr and vanish in the air.”
Malmö. August 2025

Falsterbo Brygga Catwalk

The headline suggested that Balenciaga had a rendezvous with fairy tales in a Nordic forest, an experience he indeed had that very evening. The Spanish couturier and time-traveller, Cristóbal Balenciaga, had descended from his star to show that he was still creating—and that he had not lost his touch, despite leaving Earth in 1972. His designs, as timeless as his existence, continue to inspire and influence the fashion world, leaving us in awe of his enduring legacy.

Five models walked gracefully along the sandy catwalk in front of Falsterbo Brygga, dressed in long bathing suits from the 1929s made from sheer fabrics. Leading them was Cat Woman, dressed in white and gold, accompanied by her favourite cats.

Six girls dressed in colours representing their national flags, all featuring the Nordic cross, a symbol of Christianity and a hallmark of the shared cultural heritage of Nordic countries. This blend of fashion and heritage adds an intriguing element to the show, inviting viewers to delve deeper into the cultural story behind the designs, sparking their curiosity and eagerness to learn more.

The figure at the very left, dressed in forest colours-shades of green and brown that mimic the woodland's palette, was the Skogsrå—a creature from the deep forests of the North. Her inclusion in the show was a nod to the rich mythological heritage of the Nordic region. This female forest spirit is the mistress of the woods. She often appears as a beautiful woman when seen from the front, but her back reveals her true nature: hollow, bark-covered—or, as was the case that evening, completely bare. In the forest, she is sometimes unclothed or dressed in green or black, especially in stories where she is depicted as more threatening than seductive or as seeking to assert her dominance.

I will tell you more about her later, but first, Cat Woman would like to explain why it is called a "catwalk".

Cat Woman: “The linguistic divide between 'catwalk' and 'runway' reflects intriguing Anglo-American cultural differences. The British term 'catwalk' evokes an image of sleek elegance, akin to feline gracefulness that perfectly aligns with how models are expected to glide down the stage. 'Runway' carries propulsion, takeoff, and speed connotations. It implies organic, instinctive movement, like a cat carefully navigating its surroundings—poised, effortless, and self-assured. Conversely, the American term model is not just about walking but about launching into stardom or racing towards the next stage of their career. In the American ethos, where speed and ambition are central themes, 'runway" fits the grand narrative of aspiration and upward mobility. It's not just about fashion—it's about getting somewhere fast.

Both terms imply performance: a controlled, choreographed movement along a narrow path, whether a model's walk or a jet's acceleration. However, while 'catwalk" suggests an innate, natural command of space, 'runway" signifies a dynamic force. The British see a high-fashion moment as a display of effortless artistry, while Americans regard it as a launchpad to success.

This linguistic divergence is also reflected in how fashion is documented and celebrated. 'Catwalk,' the 1993 documentary by Robert Leacock, is a significant piece of fashion history. It immerses the audience in the world of haute couture through a black-and-white cinéma vérité lens. Featuring leading designers such as John Galliano, Karl Lagerfeld, and Gianni Versace, the film unveils the artistry and chaos behind the scenes, portraying fashion as both craftsmanship and performance. The use of black-and-white and colour cinematography heightens the contrast between the glamour on stage and the raw reality behind it.

The film was released after my time on Earth, but I've seen it on our universal television network—ten thousand channels to choose from! Every era, every epoch, every culture must have its own. Remember, we all learn from and influence one another, especially women who aspire to be beautiful. Don't think for a second that Neanderthals still wander around in musty fur and stiff leather garments or that Viking women wear coarse woven dresses on their star—unless they choose to. Fashion in eternity is about choice; it's about self-expression without limits. My wardrobe, for instance, is a marvellous mix of Renaissance gowns and delightful short dresses from the roaring 1920s. This freedom of choice and self-expression in fashion is genuinely empowering.

But naturally, since I am who I am, much of what I wear reflects the iconic style I was known for on Earth. My tight-fitting purple dresses, embroidered with my gold logo, remain staples in my wardrobe. My huipiles, woven with the finest craftsmanship, symbolise my heritage and defiance. For partygoing, I had my long lilac skirts, adorned with rich textures and layered fabrics, carry a weight of history yet dance with a lightness of spirit. The beauty and elegance of these garments, each a masterpiece in its own right, never fail to inspire and captivate.

And the accessories! My oversized filigree and gold earrings caught the light like tiny suns—my chunky rings, turquoise, coral, onyx, each with its own story. My rebozos were delicately fringed, some elegantly wrapped around my shoulders, others casually draped as if an afterthought, but always part of my signature. And shoes—oh, my shoes! Black leather boots that lace up to mid-calf, velvet slippers embroidered with golden thread, and sandals adorned with intricate beadwork, all designed to carry me confidently across a sun-drenched plaza or the pathways of a celestial garden.

I asked her if she wore flowers, and she smiled. "Of course, I have a garden," she said. "And it's not just any garden—Carl Linnaeus, the renowned botanist, helped me design it. Every plant thrives as it should, and naturally, there isn’t a single variety of marigolds missing." The cultural significance of these marigolds in Cat Woman's garden, designed with the help of Linnaeus, is intriguing and worth exploring; it will surely pique your curiosity.

Cat Woman: “The documentary aligns more with the European concept of fashion—intimate, artistic, a study in movement and presence. The British title Catwalk feels fitting for a film that treats modelling as an art form rather than a mere career stepping stone. Had it been made with an American sensibility, it might have been called Runway: The Making of a Supermodel, emphasising ambition and success rather than aesthetics and elegance.

Whether it’s a catwalk or a runway, both define a space where beauty, performance, and commerce intersect. The difference lies in how the cultures perceive movement—one as a graceful stroll, the other as an unstoppable ascent.

Now Cat Woman wanted to learn more about the mythological beings of the North, and she leaned back in her chair with her favourite drink, a Cat Woman Colada, in hand.

Let me tell you—fully and with a twinkle in my eye—about the rich and mischievous world of Nordic forest creatures. These beings lurked behind the trees, under the moss, or beside the stream, watching over us mortals while occasionally meddling in our affairs. They were guardians, tricksters, tempters, and disciplinarians. Some were playful. Others were not. All had a lesson to teach.

First and foremost, there is the Skogsrå—the forest nymph. She may appear as a stunning young woman with flowing hair and a crown of leaves or flowers. But woe to the woodsman who follows her into the forest, for from behind, her body reveals its true nature: a hollow back, bark-like skin, or even a tail. She governs the creatures of the forest and knows every root and fern. Hunters who treat the forest respectfully may be rewarded with good fortune: those who do not often lose their way—or their minds.

Then there is Näcken, the Nixie, the seductive water spirit who lounges in forest ponds and rivers, playing a fiddle with such sorrowful beauty that it lures listeners to their doom. He is dangerous and heartbroken, cursed to sit in solitude unless someone dares to learn his music. It is said that those who master the Näck's song gain magical skills—but also risk madness. He is a melancholic figure, misunderstood yet feared.

We must not forget the tomtar and vättar—tiny, ancient beings who dwell beneath the earth or inside old barns. With beards longer than their legs and tempers shorter than their noses, these creatures safeguard homes, animals, and families, provided they are treated with respect. A bowl of porridge with butter on Christmas Eve is customary. Forget the butter; your cow may be mysteriously ill or your tools broken.

Of course, there are trolls. In the Nordic woods, they are not adorable. They are enormous, temperamental, stone-like creatures who fear sunlight and speak in riddles. They reside in caves, hoard treasure, and emit a foul odour. However, even trolls can possess wisdom. Some were the subject of bedtime warnings: cautionary tales told by flickering candlelight.

Take, for instance, the tale of ‘The Giant Flink Flott Flåsare-Flank’, a Hulk who Take, for example, the story of ‘The Giant Flink Flott Flåsare-Flank’, a Hulk who could outrun the wind but forgot his manners, a gigantic troll with the world's shiniest hair and the foulest breath, and a fearsome appetite for disobedient children—especially boys. Parents told this tale not for laughs but to terrify their sons into good behaviour. Flink was said to swallow naughty children whole unless they were clever enough to outwit him. He could outrun the wind but forgot his manners, a gigantic troll with the world's shiniest hair and the world's foulest breath and had a fearsome appetite for disobedient children, especially boys. Parents told this tale not for laughs but to terrify their sons into good behaviour. Flink was said to swallow naughty children whole unless they were clever enough to outwit him.

The story of "The Boy Who Answered Twelve Questions" is about a clever boy who gained his freedom by outsmarting this grumpy troll with riddles and wit. The Giant’s breath is said to melt butter at ten paces and make squirrels fall from trees. His every sigh smelled of sulfur and fermented pinecones, and no moss would grow where he yawned.

He was vain, no doubt, and cruel. Children were warned not to mock him—not because he’d eat them, but because he’d lecture them on haircare for hours. And if anyone dared to outshine him (especially with a festive braid), they’d find their braids mysteriously undone by morning, no matter how tightly woven.

Some say he still wanders the glades on misty evenings, humming lullabies into his beard and grooming his hair with a pinecone. But beware—Flank is close if you catch the scent of roasted sour onions and dread.

They must be talking rubbish — or The Giant Flank has come back from the dead, for the clever boy in this story once outsmarted that fearsome giant.

The giant Flank challenged a clever boy to a staring contest—usually involving porridge, the most nourishing food known to Nordic parents. The boy, quick-witted and light-stomached, poured most of his porridge into his knapsack while pretending to eat eagerly. Flink, both vain and greedy, ate until he groaned in pain.

Feigning a similar stomachache, the boy claimed to know a remedy. "Simple," he said and plunged his knife into his knapsack, releasing a dramatic spurt of porridge. Flink, not the brightest boulder in the forest, followed suit—stabbing himself in the belly and promptly dying.

With the giant defeated, the boy walks away freely with all the giant’s hidden gold, much like Odysseus in antiquity, escaping the Cyclops. Giants, after all, were nothing but vanity and brute force—cannibalistic, cruel, but thankfully quite dim. As long as the hero was clever, there was always a way out.

These stories were intended to entertain, but also to frighten children into obedience. Don’t play by the river, or Näcken will pull you underwater. Don’t wander into the woods; the Skogsrå will lead you astray. Always thank the tomte, or face the consequences. And never, ever trust a troll with a flute.

In brief, the Nordic Forest is no place for the careless or the cocky. Yet, for those who listen, respect the moss, and perhaps leave a spoonful of porridge now and then, there might still be magic to discover.

And then there is Näcken's watery companion—the Bäckahäst. The equivalent term in continental Scandinavian languages is ‘Bäckahäst’ or ‘Bækhest’ (Brook horse). It closely resembles the Scottish kelpie or the Welsh Ceffyl Dŵr.

The Bäckahäst is often described as a noble white steed that appears near rivers, especially in misty or foggy weather. It is stunning—too stunning. Anyone who mounts its back finds themselves unable to dismount. The horse then gallops into the water, dragging the rider to their doom.

Yet this eerie creature isn’t always deadly at first glance. The brook horse can sometimes be harnessed and made to plough—either because it tries to trick a person or because the person has outwitted it.

One tale from Lake Hjärtasjön in southern Närke tells of a strong, beautiful, clever farm girl. While ploughing one spring day with the farm’s horse, she was approached by a gleaming creature from the lake. The horse had a flowing mane, a shimmering coat, and eyes full of mischief. But the girl knew better — she recognised the creature for what it was.

When the brood horse tried to charm her, she fearlessly warded it off with a sharp word and a smack of the bridle: “Disappear, you scoundrel, or you’ll be ploughing ’til you never forget it!”

The creature vanished—only to reappear instantly, having swapped places with the farm horse. With a wild gallop, it dragged the plough at a supernatural speed, soil and stones flying. The girl clung to the handle like a mitten, her heart pounding, unable to jump off.

Just as the horse turned back towards the lake to drown her, she remembered the piece of steel in her pocket. With a quick hand, she made the sign of the cross. Instantly, the spell was broken. She tumbled to the ground while the brook horse, enraged, vanished beneath the surface with only the plough in tow.

Interestingly, the Bäckahäst has even lent its name to one of the purple Pågatågen, the regional trains that run through Skåne in southern Sweden. The train's colour matches that of the Bäckahäst's wild, flowing mane—and the common lilac bush (Syringa vulgaris), the creature’s favourite plant, which the beast devoured with delight. So far, the Bäckahästen train has politely stayed on the tracks and not thrown any unsuspecting passengers into nearby lakes.