The September issues of Elle and Vogue are here! No other bathroom reading can be done for the rest of the month because they're a combined 8,500 pages long. I'll review the Vogue for you on my own blog, which you can link to at the end of this recap. But because this show is owned and operated by Elle, I think it's good to discuss that one here. Lindsay Lohan's on the cover, looking resolutely, defiantly empty inside. That's a good start. If I were the impatient sort, I'd jump right to her interview. But I want to check out the ads. Here are some:
1. Target kicks Wal-Mart's ass again by snagging a line by Paul & Joe.
2. I like the new Gap ads because I've had a thing for that firepluggy Jeremy Piven ever since he was on Ellen, even though I despise the Gap and their new policy of “fitted” shirts for all.
3. What's up with Shalom Harlow returning to modeling? There she is looking nine feet tall for Yves Saint Laurent.
4. Dolce & Gabbana are putting their eggs in the Marie Antoinette basket. Hope that works out for them.
5. They're wrapping sweaters around heads at Chloe like the Beales of Grey Gardens.
6. Madonna and her terrified employees shill for H&M. Do we think a stylist gave her choices, or do you think she went into the H&M headquarters and demanded something be designed just for her? I like to think she styled all the dancers and stage crew and posed them too. All of my Madonna fantasies are about her as Disco Mussolini.
OK, enough of that. On to the show…
We begin this episode with ablutions: Laura Glamour Mom smoothing out fine lines and wrinkles, Kayne the Flaming Lisp perfecting the Heat Miser look on top of his head, Jeffrey Christ preparing to defenestrate himself because he got robbed at the last challenge. He mourns the loss of Alison Supernice Supercute because he says she was his best friend of the bunch. He's such a weird dude to figure out. Maybe it's just editing, but he comes off like he put the m in misogyny most of the time. I'm not even going to try to ponder his shit anymore.
Cut to Michael Knight With No Talking Car. He's so happy to have won two challenges that he “grinned [himself] a headache.” None of these grins were shown to us on-camera because the makers don't understand that Michael's busted-up grill is adorable and TV-ready even if they don't think so.
Heidi greets them all and tells them that this week's challenge will be to design something for the “everyday” woman. In the fashion dictionary, the word “everyday” is a euphemism for “fat.” She brings out their models, who all turn out to be the designers' moms and sisters. And some of them are so "everyday" that when they sit around the house they sit around the house. That's a joke I'm allowed to make because I'm an "everyday" guy. Every day I eat a fresh new package of Ho-Hos.
The designers cry because they love their moms. Or maybe because they don't. Either way, Laura leans in to Jeffrey and says of his mom, “I thought she'd have a mohawk.” I can't wait for the day one of Laura's prep-school babies gets a neck tattoo. I want Bravo to capture that for me and I want Tim Gunn to podcast about the stroke she has. Then it turns out that the designers each have to select someone else's mother or sister as their model. They go, “Awwwww.” I go, “Haw haw hawwwww.”
Michael gets first pick, and he goes for the hottest and skinniest of the bunch, Robert Gay Arms's sister. Laura chooses Jeffrey's mother, “just to torture [him],” she says gently. I like her delivery. She really is the cobra-woman. And on it goes until last-picked, poor Angela's mom—who calls her daughter “delightful” and has clearly never met the woman—gets saddled with Jeffrey.
Fix! I call fix!
She's going to end up looking like one of the Sleaze Sisters in Times Square. Jeffrey says he has Angela's mom because “God got drunk today.” Because, you know, God's entire agenda revolves around his son Jeffrey H. Christ. Angela looks worried. And she should be.
Tim Gunn walks into the workroom, where everyone is hugging their respective family members, and announces that they're all going to a special event being given by this week's guest judge. We don't know who that is yet. Tim Gunn leads them to Tavern on the Green, where they're met by Michael Kors and his mother, Karl Lagerfeld. Then Kors opens a bottle of champagne. To do this he cocks out his hip and makes the least-poised, cork-terror, don't-get-it-in-my-eyes face I've ever witnessed on a human being outside of gay porn. It requires several TiVo rewind hits.
Poor Kayne suffers the indignity of his mother bringing along photos of his formerly “everyday” self. He's lost 110 pounds since then. That's 1 1/5 of a model. Then we see that all the family members have brought along embarrassing photos of the designers, including Jeffrey's mom, who cries with pride over her ex-drunk, ex-junkie son and— Whoa! Laura's pregnant with Harvard grad number six! That's three sets of doubles for squash at the club now. Her mom, Kors, Karl, and the camera crew and cast all find out at once. See, Jeffrey? That's a horny knocked-up lady you're dealing with. Not so frigid after all. And it's hard to hear because she says it so fast and TiVo rewind isn't helping, but it sounds like Laura's saying that even her husband doesn't know yet. Surprise, Glamour Dad. Your fancy lady's got a croissant in the oven.
Thirty minutes to sketch and consult with the clientele:
Robert takes Corky's [Vincent's] sister and says he's going to battle the perception that he's boring by putting her in head-to-toe zebra print and a sign that says “Stop picking on Robert.” And if he did that, I think they'd still hate him for it. Heidi in particular seems to find Robert tedious. Heidi's weird.
Laura's mother works with Angela, the Headmistress of Jubilee Jumbles (I just decided that she's no longer and never was an Yves Saint Laurent copier, in spite of her claims to the contrary), and says that she'd like Laura to win but would never hinder Angela from winning. I love that that went through her head. Now I want to know who's going to actually have the cast-iron ones to conduct private sabotage on the outfit they end up wearing.
Kayne is all for dressing Michael's mother in loony rhinestone-covered Miss America costumes. He goes on to say that he was once 310 pounds and despaired at how little there was to fit him that he could feel good about. That explains the typical, gaytarded outfits he prances around in now.
Corky says that the mother of Uli, Heidi's German Pet, has a “European air about her.” How do you say “No shit, Sherlock” auf Deutsch?
Jeffrey and Angela's mom are already at loggerheads. She automatically thinks he's a freak because, she says, “He stands out in a crowd.” That's Mom Code for a guy you want nowhere near your daughter. Cut to Jeffrey, who's at a loss about how to design something for a fat person. He doesn't ever do that and doesn't know how.
And I just decided something.
Any designer who can't or won't make a plus-size person look decent isn't a good designer. Pardon me while I go on a rant: I was just in six different men's stores two days ago and not one of them had a shirt that fit me. All these stupid designers are so frigging pleased with themselves that their neck sizes go up to 18 1/2 (and even 19 if you order online! Wow!) and their jackets go all the way to 48. Oh yeah? Well, make my 20-inch neck look awesome with a tie wrapped around it, gaywads. And fix me up a 50 regular in a jacket while you're at it, and gimme a color other than black. Because I'm mad as hell and I'm not gonna take it anymore. And slapping an XL on a shirt that's actually a medium—Marc Jacobs—doesn't make it so. It's a big plus-size lie. So fuck all you designers out there who aren't talented enough to attractively clothe the "everyday" people, the us of this world. Someday we will destroy you and eat you for dinner. There. That felt good to get off my chest.
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