Grosgrain-covered seam allowances!

Oprah's talking about the war with Frank Rich, but I just interrupted her to write this recap. I realized as I switched from one TiVo choice to another that I've read more about the war and seen more creative response to it in the pages of fashion magazines than I've seen on Oprah's show to date. So for all you people who think that fashion is shallow, I would just like to point out to you the latest Dolce & Gabbana ad campaign, the one with models dressed in militaresque luxury items and getting their 1,000-yard-stare bored faces on as bombs explode around them. Those models are posing for peace. Don't you forget it.

Now we begin the first of a two-part finale—one containing a miniwar of its own and one that will leave us with nothing to think about afterward but the horror of the world. No fashions to console us, no petty dramas to divert our attention. Until Christmas shopping season begins anyway. And then, after that, American Idol comes back for another season. So not too much world horror if you plan it properly.

Heidi kicks off the episode by walking out onto the runway in jeans and a little sparkly top. The first words out of her mouth are “Ha-ha!” But it's a different kind of “Ha-ha” than the one from the commercials for the show, the one I've become addicted to—the high-pitched, ebullient, maniacal honk. This one is more alto and sinister, and I believe it's her way of reminding the remaining four designers that their lives are going to get much more difficult starting right now.

The four designers have to execute 12 separate looks for Olympus Fashion Week at Bryant Park. They have $8,000 and two months to pull it all together. After she gives them this challenge she says, “And now I have a special guest.” All four of them cringe and shrink and flinch. That's what happens when a tall blond German woman is constantly poking and prodding you and making you create dresses out of recycled plastic and forcing you to hang out with Vincent and Angela, just when you think you've finally gotten rid of them for good. But the special guest just turns out to be Tim Gunn. Everyone's relieved, but check it, Heidi, Tim Gunn doesn't count as a special guest. A special guest would be the ghost of Halston hovering into the room, warning them about the perils that lie ahead and to stay away from Liza Minnelli. Or a video conference call from Yves Saint Laurent's hospital bed. That's a special guest: someone who's not already a contract player.

They head back to Atlas to pack. Laura places all her belongings just so in her big boxy Louis Vuitton suitcase. Then you see her carrying it herself, in heels, pregnant. She walks home to her Manhattan apartment that way. When I see her do things like this I am reminded that I'm a failure at life. The other three get in taxis and fly home.

One month later: Tim Gunn heads down to the ATL to meet Michael. When he arrives a red Saturn is waiting to take him around. It's a different one than the one he uses to drive to the Cloisters. Because he's in the Dirty South he's got Dead Prez and Trina in the CD player. He's eating chicken and waffles while he drives, which is totally not safe to do. But Tim Gunn lives on that edge.

He gets to Michael's house. I put the TiVo on slow motion to scan the place for signs of Gay. But either he's the most boring gay ever when it comes to home interiors or he just uses all his creativity on the making of pretty clothes for ladies. This is cause for pausing the TiVo in my house, while the assembled homosexual viewers discuss the options. Maybe he “straightened up” and hid all those E. Lynn Harris novels. Maybe he only “gays” when he's out of town (then we all compare notes on how many states and countries we've each “gayed” in), or when the cameras aren't on. Or he's not gay. But that last one can't really be an option, right?

Michael tells Tim his collection is called Street Safari. That sounds classy. And Jubilee Jumbles was already taken. His sketches have giant Farrah weaves, and all the ladies appear to be tarted up in silk voile versions of clothes Banana Republic used to carry back in the late 1980s, back when they always had a big jeep parked in the middle of the place and all that shit had epaulets. He shows Tim Gunn a white dress with a drawstring lace-up neckline and flappy boob pockets. In other words, he's designing for Ciara's next safari. And wow, look at that gross white lamp in the background and the matchy white furniture. That's some JC Penney shit right there. Tim Gunn is concerned about the collection. He says it's not cohesive yet. Michael has work to do (and an interior designer to call).

Then they go to Michael's cousin's house for dinner. We meet his mother again—why isn't she wearing the outfit from the Mom Challenge?—and his father. Then it's snapshot time. Michael as a little boy, Michael in ski pajamas, Michael as Kid and Play, Michael as Lenny Kravitz, Michael as Usher. While the snapshots roll Michael talks about how supportive and loving his family has been. His father, talking to Tim Gunn, says, “I said, 'He's going to be a beautician.' We saw the way he was going to go.”

OK, so yes: gay.

They hold hands and pray over the meal, one we're not allowed to witness other than to see the assembled seven guests sitting around two different small round tables under a 4,000 watt overhead light fixture. Everyone squints blindly, looking guilty and cracking under the pressure of the relentless questioning.