Pooing Fabric

Vivienne Westwood is wearing a stripey metallic dress, a tilty baseball cap on her orange hair, and a button at the boob area that says, "Fuck U.S.," and she's holding a big ax. She looks like she wants to chop down America. If I were a somebody instead of an Internet nobody, she'd be in my house dressed this way and I'd hand her my personal list of celebrities, political leaders, and random people I don't enjoy for her to set about dealing with, but it's really just an ad for her clothes in the latest issue of Purple, this extreme fashion magazine that my husband/partner/whatever surprised me with the other day. What got into him, I don't know. It's not like he usually runs around thinking, Wow, check that out. A $23 French magazine. I bet Dave wants that. I think he got it for me because it came with a bonus magazine of Dash Snow photography and he knows I'm kind of a Dash Snow admirer. Again, I don't know what got into him. He also hates my taste in art. Mr. Snow recently had a show here in Los Angeles at Peres Projects gallery where he invited guys to masturbate on one of the pieces, which just proves that no matter what rad idea you think you have, someone else did it first and got plenty of press coverage for it already. Anyway, thanks husband/partner/whatever; I'm totally gay for you.

So yeah, that was my first fashion excitement of the week, seeing that Vivienne Westwood ad. And I'm getting ahead of myself. Maybe some of you have never bothered to read these Project Runway recaps here before. Here's how I do it:

1. I watch the show a couple times.
2. I make sure there are at least a few friends in my presence. Not dumb friends. Dumb friends never have interesting things to say. You keep the dumb friends around because they're nice or they make you good food to eat or they're rich. But you don't consult them for smart words.
3. I write what I saw. Because sometimes you can't get to the episode. Maybe your TiVo didn't change the channel properly and you wound up with whatever else is on at that time, Cane or whatever. Maybe you don't have a TiVo. Whatever your situation is, please don't write to me and tell me. I'm super-busy with fashion thoughts. And it's not because I'm a gay. It's because I'm awesome.

First thing I saw this week was the tail end -- thanks, stupid TiVo -- of the Jeffrey Christ Saturn commercial. He won it as part of his big triumph last season. In the commercial his final line is, "This doesn't suck at all." What's that? Wisdom? A T-shirt? The bons mots just fly from his mouth.

OK, the new opening credits. Now, I've been kind of busy lately and I haven't been on the PR Web site yet to study up on the new contestants. I'll do that while I'm cloistered away with the husband/partner/whatever's family over Thanksgiving, but for now I feel like the show should do its job and introduce them to me itself in coherent way on this first episode. So here's Heidi Klum in front of a hologram show logo. After seeing her on Oprah recently with Seal, where Heidi felt no embarrassment in describing the dong-announcement bicycle shorts Seal was wearing when she first laid eyes on him and where they practically humped each other on O's couch, so overt and demonstrative is their superlove, I get the feeling that he's always standing next to her when this show is filming, trying to lick her neck, and when she smiles about something, that's when he actually hits the target, and they have to digitally erase him from each shot. That's what I think.

As I said, I have no idea who these people are yet, but one of them is a very large man wearing a leopard print "shirt" that I think he stole from a house that was being wrapped and fumigated for termites. I already want to call my pal Vivienne to come and delicately ax this article of clothing from Mr. Plus Size, whatever his name is.

Oh, wait, are you offended that I'm mocking the fat guy? Too bad. I'm allowed. I'm fat too. It's one of the privileges (besides eating whatever you want) of being fat -- you get to call out your own people. And that means I get a total pass for ripping this fellow and his shirt crimes. At this point, a friend in the TV viewing room says, "He's a bear, right? Is he a hot bear? Do you like him?" Sometimes my friends say inexplicable things to me. Because who I find hot or not is completely not the point here. The point is that this particular bear is dressed in...well...that.

More faceless chicks and fags (and Tim Gunn) pass by too fast for me to take in. There's time. And then they're right into the action. No goofy American Idol-style audition segments. No freaked-out delusional people. Wonder why. But I guess if it keeps the premiere to a lean one hour, that's less work for me. So I'm happy, I guess.

First up is some guy named Rami Kashou. He was born in Israel. He designed something for Jessica Alba once. Then they show some still photographs of stuff he made and it all looks like it's from a Chico's ad. Then they show him at a shouty political rally in Jerusalem where he's holding up a sign that reads "Death to Palestine!" OK, that was a lie.

Big bear is named Chris March. Been a costume designer for 20 years. Makes things for drag queens that all want to the Lady in the Tutti-Frutti hat. He's now wearing insanely ugly shirt # 2 and the show's been on for exactly 90 seconds.

Christian Siriano. Too gay to function. His boy-wig is slipping off his head. Tells us he was accepted into a university in London where he got to "work with" (a.k.a. was in a big crowded room once with) Alexander McQueen and my new best pal Viv. So maybe his boy-wig isn't slipping. Maybe Miss W. lopped off one side with her pet ax. He's very excited to see that they get to sleep in beds at their group home. He claims not to own one and that he'd "rather buy clothes than buy a bed."

Carmen Webber used to be a model. Now she's in a Kelis tribute band.

Jillian Lewis is an illustrator and designer for Ralph Lauren. I like her because she looks like young Gilda Radner in that old Saturday Night Live Jewess Jeans sketch.

Kit "Pistol" Scarbo shows up. No telling what her deal is. She's already in epaulets, though. I hope that nickname means she really carries a gun. If there's one thing that could de-fagify this show quickly, it's the threat of actual violence. I vote yes on that.

Kevin Christiana has a beard that's doing some things I don't understand. How much time does a person have to spend in front of a mirror to sculpt facial hair into little filigrees and demonic horn shapes? Are there stencils now? Can you just pick out the style you like ("I'll take the 'System of a Down' please.") and go home to work your clipper magic? Anyway, he makes jeans and he's fed up with that. Me too. Not with Kevin. I don't know him. I'm fed up with jeans. All the jeans. All the appliques and pewter buttons and embroidery and gross washes and metal studs and stuffed animals and pork chops you see dangling from these pieces of denim shit everyone (at least in Los Angeles) can't get enough of. It's like dead stock from Chess King got belched out of a sewer somewhere and landed on a table at Urban Outfitters. So good move there, Beardy.

Jack. I don't know anything about him. He's tall and muscular. Severe face. Gay arms. Possibly even bigger gay arms than Robert Gay Arms from last season.

Steven Rosengard looks like the Causasian Roland Gift from Fine Young Cannibals. Remember them? They had that hit that one time. Anyway, you see him drawing a naked guy, demurely omitting the wiener from the sketch. "Damn, I wish I could remember this guy's phone number," he jokes, all funny and ha-ha. Like the kind of funny and ha-ha zingers they used to pop off about semen and butt holes on Queer as Folk.

Elisa Jimenez calls herself an "accidental fashion designer." She mostly designs giant, nightmare-inducing marionettes. She made clothes for herself (body-obscuring hooded capes like the kind the band Sunn 0))) wear on stage) so that she could perform with the marionettes. Why is it that I never get invited to theater like that? All I ever hear about is some struggling actor friend's one-man show. Why doesn't my life work better?

AND OH MAN! SHE JUST SAID THAT FASHION IS "JUST ANOTHER DISCIPLINE IN AN ART LIFESTYLE THAT I ALREADY DO." I want her to last as long as Corky and Angela from last season, ohpleaseohpleaseohplease. Dear Vivienne Westwood, can you call in a favor? For me? Your biggest fan?

Marion Lee and Ricky Lizalde both wear stupid hats. Ricky's, though, is stupider, meshy but also Village People leathery. It hates my eyes and makes me dislike him immediately. I can't trust people in hats like that. Why not just scoop a turd out of the toilet and put that on your head?

Sweet P (yep, that's her name) used to be in an all-girl motorcycle gang; now she looks like a hippie burnout/former fifth member of the Mamas and the Papas. And I can't deny it -- that's awesome. I hope she's a lezzie. We don't get enough lezzies on Runway. The scales are so heavily weighted toward fag on this show that it gets overwhelming. If this were that failed Idol spin-off show about finding America's next great band, they'd be called Wiener Jam and guest judge Neil Tennant would find them "a bit much, actually."

The designers are called out to Bryant Park by Heidi and Tim. Gay Arms 2 can't resist writing "Make It Work" on the chalkboard in the apartment. That's great. Is this going to turn into The Real World where contestants already know their "type" and try to fit into that role just to make it on the show? Are we that tired already? And more important, is Tim Gunn up to the challenge of changing his catchphrase? Can he freshen that shit up? I think he can. He's Tim Gunn, after all, the sexiest man on Bravo. I believe in him. I think he's capable.

Now they're drinking champagne in Bryant Park. And now we're introduced to Marion Lee, who runs a flower shop in Dallas and whose main talent, it seems, is making plaid cozies for the flower pots. And wearing ruffly shirts. And hats that are slightly less hideous than that other gay's, whatever his name was. I suppose I could scroll up my text and remember it, but whatever. We'll all catch on together.

Victorya Hong is from Korea. She makes boring dresses and calls herself an "over-achiever." Just not with dresses.

Kit "Pistol" says, "Kit Pistol is kind of like my Mark Twain. It's an alias." (translation: "I say the 'N-word' a lot.") Then she says, "Life is too short to have on a bad outfit." Then the camera immediately cuts to Chris in his awful shirt and to Ricky in the hideous black hat. Thanks, editors. I like you. Cut to Ricky in another slightly less ugly hat. He talks about growing up poor and how much this all means to him. Then he cries. Does it make me a bad person that I want to punch crying people? I mean, not all of them. Like I just saw this documentary about African orphans last week called War/Dance. And those kids were crying too. But they had sort of a reason since their parents were raped and murdered in front of them by government-sponsored militias. I didn't want to punch those African orphans. But for some reason I want to smash the face of people who cry on shows where the biggest headache is how to make a doggie sweater out of carpet remnants. "Am I gonna be good enough for this competition?" he sniffles. And the answer is that if your clothes end up looking like they would go amazingly with the hats you've been treating us to so far in the first 30 minutes of this show, then...

Heidi shows up with Tim. Smiles all around. And seriously, how can you not smile when Heidi Klum is near you? I mean, fuck, just look at this woman. If Hitler were alive today he'd be starting another war just to curry her favor. Giorgio Moroder wrote "I Feel Love" thinking about her. She's the teutonic Godzilla of beautifulness. No wonder Seal can stop the neck-licking. Even Tim is still all flustered by her. All she does is say, "And next to me is Tim Gunn," and he goes, "Aww, thanks Heidi." THE MAN IS THANKING HER FOR CALLING HIM BY HIS OWN NAME. See what I mean?

Then she gets all stern and says, "The party. Is over." I fucking love it when she whips out the Aryan cruelty. If she'd only go, "Ha HA!" with that laugh she does, that would top it off like whipped cream. She announces their first challenge: "Run and make Seal a latte!"

Okay, lie. The first challenge is to go run to some tents and get fabric and make something. Kind of a boring challenge, really. And they're giving them premium textiles from Mood Fabrics, not a bunch of plastic strips once used to bind palettes stacked with rotting sewage. Laura from Season 3 could make an after-six gown for Babe Paley from a heap of used yogurt cups. Where's the "challenge" in this? Sweet P is "stoked." She gets to make anything she wants! Edited out of this clip is one of the producers telling her that it can't be for one of her 13 cats. Chris is seen galumphing his way to the tent. It's funny because he's fat. Elisa the marionette chick is taking the super-expensive premium textile and rubbing it on the ground. "I decided I would imbue it with a natural element." Because what woman doesn't want a gown made of grass stains and dog shit residue?

Jack Gay Arms 2 is talking about how the whole challenge is already "so surreal."

Oh, surreal. Surreal surreal surreal.

NO. IT'S. NOT.

Does no one left on this whole motherfucking planet understand what the word "surreal" means anymore? I hear it all the time. "This ice cream is surreal." "That shampoo is surreal." Every thing is so fucking surreal all the time. I mean, they've got fucking Dictionary.com now. You don't even have to lift a heavy book to look up the meanings of words. You just type it into your browser and THE INTERNET WILL TOTALLY TELL YOU WHAT'S WHAT. So check it out. One definition is close, as in "having the hallucinatory qualities of a dream." So are you hallucinating now, Jack? Is that what's happening? Because if you're not, then it's not surreal. You're merely happy and excited.

There. Rant over. I'm sure you're very nice otherwise, Jack.

Tim tells them the rules of the game. They have until 1:00 am. And then he says it, all grand and showboaty, proud of himself: "Make it work!" For this he gets applause from the designers. So, I don't know, maybe a catchphrase consultant? Do they have those? It's New York, I'm sure they do somewhere. If not I bet one of the striking Writers Guild people could help. But then they'd be a scab. So many dilemmas.

Highlights from the design session:

* "I was a cheerleader in high school. I was such a queen," says Ricky. Was. Ha ha ha.

* Everyone talks about Jack's abs. "I'm in the room, people!" he protests. Yeah. Because you know how gym gays get upset when people admire their bodies.

* Tim expresses concern about Christian's poufy plaid top. He says it's not symmetrical, but it seems pretty decent to me. The room I'm in is mostly on the "that thing sucks" side, but I disagree with the room. Because I'm right, that's why.

* I think I missed a designer. I have no idea what this woman's name is. But Tim's telling her that her dress looks like it needs a lot more finishing. It does. Nameless woman says, "I know, I know."

* Elisa is creating something that looks like what would happen if Sigmund the Sea Monster shit out Celia Cruz. Pronouncing it a success, she goes to take a nap.

Commercial Time: Santino has a blog. But first he takes his Saturn and goes to the Eli Broad Foundation to look at art. You know who Eli Broad is? He's this quadrizzillionaire who buys art like most people buy weed. Well, the people I know, anyway. I have friends who fuckin' love weed. So yeah, I'm going to read Santino's blog just as soon as I crank out this recap.

And we're back. Gratuitious shot of Jack in his underpants. In profile. My friend Aaron is sitting nearby and goes, "Remember when Wayne and Garth were on the set of the 'Justify My Love' video and all, 'Whoa, check out the package on that guy!'" I do remember. Aaron's one of the friends who loves weed, by the way. Then the guys leave the apartment and write "Make it work!" on the chalkboard again.

Quick poll around the room for alternative chalkboard slogans:

1. Where's Andrae?
2. Ha-HA!
3. [Various unprintable HIV meds jokes. My friends love weed and AIDS jokes. And the ones who tell the worst ones are the ones with HIV. Go figure.]
4. Leave Britney alone.
5. A stick figure drawing of Malan from last season. Word bubble: "I'm better than they are."

So Tim Gunn can't sing the praises of the now Not-Macy's accessories wall enough. This season it's from Bluefly.com, which, as a quality upgrade, is analogous to when you've had explosive diarrhea for a week and then one day suddenly you get a decent solid BM again. Seriously, Bluefly is rad because you can get real designer shit for cheap(er) than usual. I mean, yes, $140 for a T-shirt is still a crime against decency and whatever else good that's ever been invented in human history, but it's still less than you'd spend if you bought it at Fred Segal.

OK, runway show time. Heidi's wearing a cool gold mini-dress. The judges are back. Kors hasn't changed one bit. Still the same shade of Olly Girl. And speaking of the Olly Girls, wouldn't it be great if they could bring them in from Sunset Tan as, I don't know, guest skin care consultants? I know, I know, different network. But if E! isn't going to give them their own Christmas special/variety show, then I'd like a little more than what I get from just seeing them as supporting characters on ST. Even Fonzie used to guest-star on Laverne & Shirley every once in a while. Nina's here, all split-endy but still groovy. And Monique Lhullier. Heidi has a little trouble saying that last name, so I rewind TiVo a couple times to hear her do it again. If they've retired "Ha HA!" this season, then I'm going to need some other form of entertainment from her. My husband/partner/whatever says, "Monique who?"

"She's for real," I say.

"If you say so."

The runway show:

* Elisa the marionette lady's kookoo-bananas hippie gown gets all tangled up and trips the model. TiVo goes back and forth, back and forth.

* Chris the big guy's purple gown is pretty awesome. Way to be, Mr. Bear411.

* Kevin the bearded guy made a typical Los Angeles ho-bag party dress. It's like if Jeffrey Christ were suddenly making boring things.

* Sweet P does a little poufy bubble form thing. It's fine. Not mind-blowing. It gets erased from my brain as soon as the model leaves the stage.

* Simone -- that's the one whose name I blanked on earlier -- sends a disaster down the runway. It looks like it's being held together by Scotch tape and sadness.

* Jillian's dress is red and bubble-skirted. Not much else to say. But I'm on her side because she has a great nose. Not the model. Jillian. I am really fond of people with prominent noses. It makes me like them even if later I find out they're mean.

* Christian's is my favorite. Weird plaid top, oddly shaped skirt, but really coherent and conceptually way beyond what other people did.

* Victorya's black dress has an oversized metallic flower brooch-y thing on top and straps that restrict arm movement. She didn't have time to bind the model's feet properly, but some day her total vision will be realized. I know I said his stuff looked boring earlier, but this is kind of cool.

* Rami made a red carpet gown, and the model's boobs look lopsided. Is it the dress's fault? Is it the model's fault for having lopsided boobs? These are mysteries the show refuses to solve.

* Ricky made a baby-doll undies dress. More gear for Los Angeles sluts to spill drinks on.

* Jack's dress is preppy housewife on vacation.

* Marion the flower shop guy's dress flies by too quickly without enough camera coverage to truly decipher what was going on.

* Steven watched Working Girl and just copied Sigourney Weaver's business attire.

* Carmen Webber designed something for Patti LaBelle in 1974. Not that that's bad.

* Kit's is typical "edgy." I'm surprised, frankly, that there were no skulls and crossbones all over it.

Heidi calls Chris, Kevin, Sweet P, Jillian, Jack, Marion, Steve, Carmen, and Kit forward. They're all safe.

Nina is tight-lipped about Simone. "Why is the construction so poor?" says Nina. And when Nina says that, you're pretty much over. Then Nina calls Rami's "sophisticated and chic," completely sidestepping the lopsided boobularity issue. Nina thinks Ricky's baby-doll dress is too safe. Ricky's train conductor hat, however, is raping my soul.

Elisa is last, and she's got the best explanation, talking about her cut being like a haiku. Also, she says stuff like "Kaah!" and "Whoosh!" when she describes her dress. She speaks in onomatopoeias. I think I said ohpleaseohpleaseohplease keep her around once already. But it bears repeating. Ohpleaseohpleaseohplease. If for no other reason than that Heidi just made a joke about the dress pooing fabric. Heidi loves herself for saying "poo" on TV. And just so you know, readers, I had my poo joke all ready to go before she said hers. So I'm keeping it.

Who's In: Victorya, Christian, Ricky, and Elisa. (Yes!)

Rami wins. Christian's pissed. Rami gloats over the happy strummy winner's guitar music and says, "I think I've set the bar for this competition." And he says this with measuring tape draped around his neck. You know, to prove that he's a designer who measures things. And to semiotically suggest that he's got the biggest one in the room. And after the big drums of doom play in the background, Simone's out. She deserved it. Her dress was a fuck-up. Now I can go back to forgetting her name.