Danny Treacy’s Them:

They are the figments of his imagination and desire. They are made from recovered clothes, collected from those lonely places - the woods, the wasteland, the car-parks. They are re-stitched and re-fashioned: re-modelled into junk monsters. They are nightmares of the catwalk, prowling around the outskirts of style’s dumb extravagance.

Haunting, in that specific way that only random things can be.