Mary-Kate Olsen continues to keep an all-seeing, smoky eye on this season’s proceedings. She’s there flatly glowering on Elle’s cover that hangs from an anonymous newsstand during whatever month they shot the show, hovering over Heidi and the gang like a little stick angel, soothing each week’s cast off designer wordlessly, her facial features explaining, “Yes, you’ve failed. Good luck never making as much money as I did before age nine.” And in real life she also has the right to remain silent because they’ve decided to drop the whole Heath Ledger investigation. And really, why not just let it go? You know it was just that some cops wanted to interview some models and movie stars for no good reason. People combine the wrong drugs all the time and die that way every day. It just happens. It’s sad, obviously, but that’s death for you.
Tonight the husband/partner/whatever is home to watch the show, as is friend Xtreem Aaron and this other gay we know named Juan. Juan’s in a Next Big Thing band you should hear called Abe Vigoda. They just toured with No Age. If that means nothing to you then you’re not doing your job as a payer of attention to developments in the land of young people in too-small jeans.
Designers file out of their Atlas apartments after we’re shown Keith and Daniel getting all workout-ish. And you know the gays have been doing the weight lifting thing for years on this show but only now do they show it to us for some reason. You can deprive Blayne of his tangerine spray-on gloop but faggots got to go to the gym. I mean, not me or anything. But them. Those other faggots. To the gym they go, so successful and proud. I go to the record store and the bakery, myself. Juan thinks Keith is “bartender hot.”
“Wait until you see the rat tail,” says Xtreem Aaron.
Juan: “Stop ruining it for me.”
Nothing more special than that occurs except for Blayne forgetting to shut the door and then saying something about how “licious” this or that is. He will try and try and try to make “licious” happen. And I will avoid hearing it each time. I vow to pretend he never said it. Much like Suede’s comedy routine, I’m done commenting. It’s not interesting enough to cover. That’s my new arrangement with Blayne. Start making some clothes that kick ass as much as Christian Siriano’s. Or Terri’s for that matter. Then we’ll renegotiate your catchphrase allowance.
Heidi meets them all on the runway in a glittery miniature kimono-looking thing. She tells them that they’ll be designing for a high-powered businesswoman. Visions of Lita Ford dance in Stella’s head. Oh, wait, sorry, Sharon Osbourne is what Stella actually says on the interview cam. Stella says something about Sharon being the queen of rock. I guess in a way that’s sort of true. You marry Ozzy and you keep his shit together, you deserve some kind of title. You should at least get to call yourself the Duchess of Darkness.
They’re whisked off to the workroom where Tim Gunn introduces their “high-powered and chic professional woman,” Brooke Shields, “model, author, actress and fashion icon.” He forgot to mention sworn, pill-consuming enemy of Scientologists worldwide and former friend of Anne Heche’s gay father. Did you know that? It’s in Anne Heche’s book, Call Me Crazy. According to Anne, her dad used to drive Brooke to school or something like that. Like Anne Heche’s dad was pals with Brooke’s mom. Everyone’s connected somehow. For example, I once watched twenty minutes of Tilt on cable. And since I believe it’s a scientific fact that I’m the only human being on the planet ever to watch that much of that movie, I’m sort of special friends with Brooke myself. Which then connects me to Anne Heche as well. And Tom Cruise. And Louis Malle. Anyway, she enters, safely separated from the riff-raff who are standing behind a table, lest they all gather around to stroke her hair and pet her too much. Stella’s facial expression = “Who is that? Does she work security for Priest?”
Cut to Suede, the one chosen to utter, “Nothing comes between me and my Calvins.” And they picked him for this to see if that Pronoun-A-Day desk calendar the rest of the designers chipped in and bought for him would begin to take. So far, so good.
Brooke is starring in a show on NBC called Lipstick Jungle. I don’t know anything about Lipstick Jungle. I assume it’s about cosmetics and all the drama and intrigue associated with things like eyelash curling and matching foundation to your skin tone. I’m guessing some other less-well-paid women are on the show with Brooke and they talk about nail polish or something. I hope that’s what happens. I might watch it if it was all just a sort of My Dinner With Andre thing week after week where they all sat around and discussed La Prairie and what it truly means. Anyway, the challenge is to design an outfit for Brooke’s character that she can wear from day into night and that incorporates her business-y side with her bohemian soccer mom side. Yawn.
The designers sketch for thirty minutes and then it’s time to pitch to Brooke. Highlights of this bit:
1. Kelli shows a sketch of a leopard print dress. Brook says, “It’s the jungle! It’s the jungle!” [Translation: “This girl thinks I’m on Daktari.” And yeah, old people who don’t know about Abe Vigoda, that reference to a show that debuted in 1966 was for you.]
2. Blayne says, “I didn’t want to give [Brooke’s character on Liptstick Jungle, a show I’ve never seen] another dress.” This means that Blayne wants to keep making the fucked up shit he normally makes.
3. Brooke to Stella, who has just described making an outfit for the lead singer of Vixen: “She’s still gotta go to work in this.” But given Stella’s penchant for dressing actual “working girls,” this comment is lost into thin air. Cue the record-scratching sound and Brook giving her a “I’m just being nice to you now” face. She gives the same face to Joe.
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