Infinity And Beyond: Project Runway, S8, Episode Two

DAHLINGS:

Bloated, long-winded, and faintly aggravating; no, I do not mean Rush Limbaugh. Rather, the new format of Project Runway. The ninety-minute episode.

What do we get for our additional half-hour? The only good thing I can think of is no more Models Of The Runway. Instead, we get more of the designers talking trash about each other, * footage of them in their rooms at the ATLAS (as is constantly pointed out), extended footage after the aufs, and most important, many, many more commercials. Second in importance is that none of the designers are particularly interesting people. A message to Bunim/Murray: Absence of footage makes the heart grow fonder.

There is little that can keep my attention for ninety minutes other than fantasizing about Alec Baldwin naked. However, I threw myself on the sword for you, my darling readers. Here is my “recap” of Episode Two.

Another change is that the Bluefly Wall (“Designers, use it very thoughtfully”) has been replaced by the Pipelime.com Wall. At least Tim Gunn doesn’t have to choke out “Macy’s” any more.

Right off the top, one of the designers nails the essential paradigm of the show: “Public torture of designers on television.” I hadn’t thought of the program that way, except for Heidi Klum’s new vampire teeth. (I still maintain she tortures small animals in her spare time.)


This week’s challenge is to create a look for a Marie-Claire Times Square billboard. Joanna Coles, an editor of the magazine, reels off a series of meaningless adjectives to describe “the Marie-Claire woman.” As opposed to the “Marie-Claire bedroom set” or “Marie-Claire baked beans”. I can’t remember them, but I’m certain they were along the lines of “strong, modern independent, feminine, has a vagina,” etc.

A.J., who obviously has his pulse on what the strong modern independent woman of today wants, decides to devise a “grunge/punk Courtney Love look”. Okaaaay.

Would Courtney wear this? Probably. She is on drugs.

Jason, wearing his bowler as per his persona, wants to create a dress of “infinity.” Because, really, what’s better than infinity? It left his peers shaking their heads. Throughout the program, the contestants in short interviews continue to tear apart everyone else’s designs. It gets as tiresome as one of those “Real Housewives” things, except less Botox and false breasts.

Mondo, despite having possibly the most irritating personal style, turns out to be extremely shy, so my viewing party didn’t have to hate him after all. (They get vociferous when the gin reaches its level.) Christopher, despite or perhaps because of being from San Francisco, looks like a Chelsea Boy clone through and through. Sweet little A.J.’s claws come out when Casanova asks him for help. If the tension level is this high on Episode Two, there will be blood on the workroom walls by Episode Five!

When Tim (God) Gunn, my BFF, enters the workroom, as per usual they skip some of the finale garments. Casanova has gone from stripper un-chic to country club matron, with a puffy black jacket and conservative white skirt that would not look amiss at the bar of a restricted private golf range.

"Henry, I think there's an octoroon in the woodpile."

Apparently when Casanova is alone with the other designers, his English is perfect. But let Tim or the judges be present, and he pretends to barely speak the language! One admits, the moment he’s “outed” this season should be well worth it.

Jason baffles Tim with his “infinity” dress, a gray-green thing with a lot of large curves that are safety-pinned together. For some insane reason known only to the denizens of his universe, Jason feels that safety-pins are excellent closures. As opposed to, say, buttons. Or hooks and eyes. (Has no one told Jason about the 80s?) In an interview shoehorned in, Jason feels that he is being punished for being a straight man, that Project Runway is heterophobic. No, Jason, you’re just an idiot.

Inevitably, as the designers rush to complete their garments, the Twist comes. The Twist has become such a PR trope that I simply can’t believe the designers have the capacity to be genuinely surprised. This week’s Twist is that all of the clothes will be part of a photo shoot. The designer’s choice of shot will also influence the judging of his design. As Karl Lagerfeld is the only designer who is also a photographer, I’m not sure I trust this batch’s judgment.

My guests cannot decide if Valerie looks more like Tracey Ullman (in which case the wig-like hair is appropriate) or Juliette Lewis (ditto). Peach made an unfortunate choice of fabrics at Mood and she knows it, ending up making three dresses in the time allotted. The final product is uninteresting, but at least it doesn’t get her booted off.

By the time my viewing party is quite ready for the show to be over and the serious food to be served, the guillotine/runway show begins.

Heidi again appears in age-appropriate attire. Is this a sign of the end of days? Blood trickling from her fangs, she runs through the usual opening, and Joanna Coles is this week’s guest judge. The models have either been swapped out or mercilessly drilled in how to walk. They do a far better job than Episode One.

Nicholas’s design is, as they say, a “hot mess,” but very well made. What was he thinking draping that circle of heavy cloth over a backless silk blouse?

Jason’s satin dress is the disaster we all thought it would be, both in the photo and the runway. If a “modern, strong, independent” woman wore this, it was probably because she had been unexpectedly been struck blind.

Ummm...er...yes.

Gretchen’s jumpsuit, while not my cup of tea, is extremely well made. I liked the shoulder and neckline the best. As a very tall, long waisted woman, I can tell you that jumpsuits are one of the banes of my fashion existence. I pull one up to my waist, then pull it over my shoulders and…

”Ouch” does not begin to describe the sensation.

Kristin sends down a strange mess of fabric that is gathered, bunched and draped, but does not resemble anything your faithful correspondent would call “clothes.”
Mondo’s creation is a bizarre combination of black and tweed with a pink lobster bib.
"For the seafood lover in you..."

Despite looking like an 80s prom dress made of upholstery fabric, I rather like Michael's garment.

It is a considerable surprise when Mondo's blob of stuff makes the top three. To cut to the chase (which the show seems unable to do), Gretchen is again declared the winner. This time, two designers are “auf’d”: Jason, who deserves it, and Nicholas, who does NOT. Nicholas breaks down in tears. His outfit, while badly styled, was finished and creative, if a bit on the not-well-thought out side.

This was the weekly “WTF?” moment in which all of my guests scream and throw things at the flat screen. (To guard against an onslaught of deviled eggs, I cover the flat screen with a thin layer of plastic before my viewing parties.)

Jason did not stick around to have Tim see him off, but Nicholas did. The other designers were stunned, as were all of us.

At the end, we watch Gretchen squeal at the billboard, which has Coco Rocha capering in the jumpsuit.

I’m guessing Ms. Rocha is short-waisted.

* This footage will be very useful for the "reunion" show.

Ciao,

Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Fashion Week 2009 Wrap Up, Dahlings!

DAHLINGS –

I am simply wrung out, exhausted, barely able to move. I am dictating this blog-thing to my assistant while getting a foot message and pedicure (there is another masseuse giving Bucky a full-body message…the poor little dog had been banged around in so many different bags by frantic crowds! I do hope she remembers to put a muzzle on my darling before she paints his nails).

Because of my extreme weariness I shall simply give some thumbnail descriptions of various shows I visited during the past week. First of all, Diane von Furstenberg’s show was delightful, the dresses flowing, airy and comfortable. And many of the models were SMILING! Mon dieu! How refreshing! (Methinks Diane has found a man to have sex with, unlike her husband?) DVF even created a way to conceal Coco Rocha:



Brava, Diva!

As regular readers know, Marc Jacobs is not one of my favorite designers. However, one must reluctantly admit that his collection was…yes, I can say it…marvelous. Over the top, colorful, but so well-edited and with a sense of humor. It was at the Armory, and actually started on time! Last time spectators had to wait hours, and then MJ went ballistic, as they say, in the newspapers no less. One must do some reconsidering.



I am not usually a woman who is wrong, but in this case, I won’t say I have been wrong, but I will say that I have reconsidered. It was one of the best collections of the week. Cathy Horyn of the New York Times mentioned, that in this year of women in elections, perhaps some of Jacobs’s outfits were referencing turn-of-the-century suffragettes. Of that, I can only approve. And Cathy is simply one of the best, if not the best, fashion interpreters out there today.

Out of sheer curiosity, I would have gone to Michael Kors’s show, but participating in the New York Reality Television School the night before (how ironic!) left me reluctant to leave my bed until the Oscar de le Renta show.

And of course, your faithful correspondent was in the front row, across from the luminous Jennifer Lopez, who for some reason was wearing a black strapless ball gown for early afternoon (I mean, there are photo ops and there are photo ops, but really.) and Rachel Zoe. About the latter, my lips are sealed, friend-snatcher. Of course I wore Oscar from head to foot (well, not foot, because I have to have my shoes custom made, but I had managed to color coordinate my stilettos). So that I wouldn’t look too—I despise the phrase—“matchy matchy”, I carried a Louis Vuitton carrier for Bucky and a bright yellow Toblerone, extra large. One of those bars can get one through an entire day, provided one also brings a Red Bull or two. Yes, I do get a bit snappish at times—

WHY ARE YOU ROLLING YOUR EYES? WHAT AM I PAYING YOU FOR, YOU IDIOTIC SWINE? GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY FEET AT ONCE! GET OUT! NO, LEAVE YOUR ASSISTANT HERE! BUCKY'S TOES HAVE NOT BEEN PAINTED YET!

Ahem. Je ne souffrent pas des imbéciles heureux.

Absolutely beautiful, dahlings. One can always count on Oscar to deliver the goods.
And while we are at it, compare Oscar's swimsuit to Yigal's

Francisco Costa’s collection for Calvin Klein seemed a wee bit bizarre to your faithful correspondent, but he was going for an “architectural” look. For those of you who criticize moi for suggesting many of the models might have Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome, Serena Williams and Tyra Banks were in the audience… what a relief to see “real” women!

Christian Siriano executed a marvelous collection. He is truly growing as a designer, even though he’s almost as small in person as Bucky. (Seeing him stand next to my ex-friend Andre Leon Talley is seeing Mutt and Jeff personified, pardon the antique reference.)

As for the Project Runway show, my lips are sealed. You’ll simply have to wait, dahlings.

Ciao,

Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

The Met "Superheroes" Gala - Meet The Heroes and Villains!

Dahlings –

The annual gala for the Metropolitan Museum’s Costume Institute happened recently, and of course, your faithful correspondent was in attendance! (There would have been hell to pay had I not!)

The theme was “Superheroes”, those mythic comic book heroes and heroines in leotards and capes, among other strange fetishistic clothing. No one appreciates a well-built man in Spandex more than moi, but it did seem an oddly petit-bourgeois choice for a costume installation.

However my idol, Anna Wintour, rose to the challenge, in a silver two-piece Chanel costume modeled after "Storm," a character in something called X-Men. I can only assume Storm has something to do with ram's horns.



Most of the guests opted to dress in rather ordinary glamour-carpet gowns, to the disappointment of yours truly. I hoped for a parade of capes, gloves, golden boots, not the usual E! blue plate specials. (For the record, I was in a red satin gown with a matching capelet, gold stiletto heels, and gold gloves, with clutch to match. Bucky accompanied me in a red harness with a little red satin cape with a gold "B" on it. So cute--although he did try to bite Coco Rocha when she bent down to pet him. How does that dog know?)

The absolute worst-dressed women of the evening, however, were the designers themselves. Here is a trio that, if they were Super-Villains, would be called The Hags From Hades, with the power to transform dresses into shapeless, hideous sacks with a wave of their tape measures:




Vera Wang, Donna Karan, Anna Sui

My personal votes for the best dressed woman were polar opposites, but they radiated their own unique style. First we have Sarah Silverman, in her secret identity as Sarabeth, 50s Cutie:



Yes, I know some critics thought she merely looked like a sober version of Amy Winehouse, but since there is no such animal, I cannot agree.

Next we have super heroine Naomi Watts as Queen Lateetha, whose battle cry is “Let There Be Light!” and instantly one’s teeth are blindingly white. She only uses her powers for good.



More later on the many crimes against fashion that were committed before we sat down to dinner in the Temple of Dendur, but I shall leave you with a lovely look at the man with whom I spent the night of the Academy Awards last year, Chris Noth...sigh...who needs George Clooney? (Who was also co-hosting the evening and looking rather drawn, if I may say so.)



Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky The Wonderdog

Fashion Week Goes On, and On, and On...

DAHLINGS -

I've been thumbing through my notes (or rather, listening to them), and wanted to mention a few shows I forgot to Blackberry to my assistant until today. Pardon my unforgivable laxness.

The Michael Kors show on Tuesday was THE show to be at, dahlings, so naturally yours truly was there, in the front row, resplendent in a quilted cream velvet trenchcoat, carrying a large lacy cream-colored chocolate box of...what else?...chocolate creams. My dears, I plan these things to the tiniest detail. Matching stilleto-heeled cream glove leather boots. I would have worn gloves, but one needs to be able to lick the chocolate off one's fingers in order to get the maximum suffering from the catwalk girls.

I sat in the front row, quite near Sarah Ferguson the Duchess of York, who politely asked for a chocolate cream. But as soon as she took it, she had to stuff it in her mouth lest the photographers see her eating it. It must be such a bore never to be photographed eating! It quite undid any semblance to royalty, watching her chew the candy like a cow chewing its cud.

Seated next to us were Donald Trump, his hair, and his latest wife, as was a security guard to keep The Donald's hair from moving whenever there was a stray breeze from outside the tent. Amazing how fast the man could move! Plus every fashion editor of every magazine, dressed in an array of fur, leather, and various warm things. As usual, it was the actresses and the lower-paid who were shivering in sleeveless dresses. They don't have health insurance, what ARE they thinking?

As for the collection itself, it was all about luxury, which is my bread and butter. Once again, the models were dressed more warmly than many in the audience. Even Coco Rocha was completely swathed, which is a blessing. One does wish Kors would use more than a splash of color here and there. However, the fur dresses--a mink shift!--did make me feel a bit wistful about my decision not to wear fur during this particular Fashion Week. I have such lovely things at home--but then I saw some more of those idiotic Russian hats and my self-esteem rose to its usual high level.

Back to the limo!

Ciao,
Elisa (who still doesn't dare bring Bucky the Wonderdog, who is sulking)

Fashion Week - Coco Rocha, Why??

DAHLINGS –

I had to take a break to Blackberry my assistant to send you word of the shows…I only hope no mistakes are made in translation.

Since Saturday I admit, I have been looking at the collections with an even more jaundiced eye than before, if such a thing were possible. I was refused entrance at the Marc Jacobs for show for my unflattering remarks about his Venice party a few weeks ago. I say, if you can’t take the heat, stay out of the atelier.

Speaking of heat, we are having some of the coldest weather in donkeys years here in New York City. I jump into my limo as soon as I’m finished with one show to go to the next (and to change my outfit and my chocolate box--each have to match!). But all the same, those five seconds on the sidewalk make me quite sympathetic to the less privileged. As long as they don’t try to touch me.

Carolina Herrera’s collection spoke to moi the most. So elegant, so classic, a little flat, but after some of the ordure I have seen on the models’ backs I was grateful for some dullness. There was some lovely dresses, in sophisticated purples and the ever-present gray (too much like the weather for my taste). Including a strapless number I will be ordering for myself that will show off my creamy shoulders perfectly.

Jill Stuart showed her collection at the New York Public Library. If there is a worse setting for a show than a huge, frigid marble cavern in winter, I’d like to know where it is. She claimed to be “inspired by vintage,” and yes, most of the outfits were copies of Swinging Sixties styles. Inspiration, my foot. I see the same things on Ebay—A-line dresses, peacoats (although Stuart had a lovely shade of blue for many of her things), fur toppers—for a fraction of the cost. For a change, the models were dressed more warmly than the crowd, which included many shivering interns in thin blouses and short skirts.

If Stuart’s inspiration seemed a little thin, perhaps it is because she is busy launching more product lines than Halston did when he was desperate for drugs. Not that I imply a thing, mind you. Just musing.

Lara Stone receives my vote for Model Who Looks Most Like She Was Just Hit By A Two By Four Before Her Entrance
The ubiquitous Coco Rocha for Model That Makes You Ask, Why?

Tanya Dziahileva for Most Starved Model (A Ferocious Competition, but Tanya tried to snatch a truffle from my hand at the Luca Luca show!)

The Oscar de la Renta show was wonderfully luxe. Furs, checks, so much to buy! I'm wondering who has had the tightest brow lift...Barbara Walters or Diane Von Furstenberg? Feel free to write in with your vote.

I am simply mad for his beautiful evening gowns. This was my personal favorite:



Of course the ubiquitous Coco Rocha was modeling, as was Tanya Dziahileva, who can look staggeringly gaunt in anything:


Off to see more…I’ve heard that Rod Stewart is in attendance. Did you know that he looks remarkably like my dear Mama did in her dotage?

I did have a lovely time at the Marchesa party (banned from the Marc Jacobs party, of course, and I know better than to try to get in). Harvey Weinstein is such fun, and we played "find the almond" in my decolletage.

A few more days of this and Rosie O’Donnell is going to seem like a breath of fresh air.

Ciao,
Elisa and Bucky the Wonderdog