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"I Want to See
Your Legs"

"I Want to See
Your Legs"


This week's Project Runway is demure about decolletage but heavy on the hate. Thank God

Your Legs" " >

Wow, the people who make this show are already giving me the whiplash of confusion. All my opinions about the contestants have changed after watching this second episode. Except for Tim Gunn. I will always love you, Tim Gunn.

But first let's talk about me. As with last week's recap, I believe it's very important that you know what I'm wearing while I write and also what I believe about fashion things this week. Because if you don't care about that, then we're not down, you and me.

My Recapping Outfit: Instead of the silvery women's Balenciaga cape I just saw Andre Leon Talley photographed in--because he can, that's why--I am wearing a red T-shirt from Kreuz Market (it's this mind-bogglingly excellent ribs place in Lockhart, Texas, a little bit up the road from Stinky Hippieville, I mean, Austin). I also have on some chocolate-brown Dickies covering some very full-cut blue grandpa boxer shorts that you can pretty much only get from Neiman Marcus because every other stupid store on the planet cuts things for men with no meat on their asses and thighs anymore, and some new brown Converse Chuck Taylors. Black socks. I look really good.

And now for the three fashion things I think are awesome this week:

1. Jeremy Scott's bangle bracelets that are shaped like huge frosted donuts. Someone tell me where I can buy one. I just want to have it on my desk.

2. The T-shirt I saw on a woman in Madrid last week (yeah, I was for-real there, visiting all 3,000 members of my partner's extended family). She was chunky and had giant boobs, and her shirt said "Quieres Mirar." (English = "You want to look.")

3. No one is making better dresses than Costello Tagliapietra (it's two guys, not one) right now. Check them out at If they made menswear, I'd puke my way into one of their creations, pronto.

OK, the show:

The opening credits: I didn't see them last week because I was watching a rough cut DVD from Bravo and I guess they weren't ready yet. Anyway, this week I finally get to see them, and I just want to say that if someone didn't put Jeffrey up to saying "I got mad skillz!" and he just popped out with that all by himself, then he's got a brain tumor. And P.S., I called him Jeffrey Tattoo Neck last week because he has DETROIT tattooed on his neck, but I just now figured out that he's got CHRIST inked on his hand. So his new name from now on in this recap will be Jeffrey Christ. It just sounds more important a name than Jeffrey Detroit, don't you think? Then you see Malan the Evil Gay saying "I'm better than they are." The only thing that would make that sentence more incredible would be if he were holding a white Persian cat with emerald-green eyes and softly stroking its fur. Or if he had a laser. Or if he had a white Persian cat that shot lasers from its emerald-green eyes.

Like I said, everything's gone all rug-pulley-out-from-under-me this week. The bad are good and the good are bad. The insane are still insane, but Michael Kors has gone missing and the judges have lost their way. Unlike the first episode, where it seemed like they just focused on the guys, the women get their personalities a little more fleshed out tonight.

The rooms the contestants had to destroy last week to make their outfits are back to normal. Or else they all moved into new apartments at Atlas New York. No one's saying. But it's all pretty-pretty again this week with the living environment. Now, the way most reality shows work is that if you get axed early on, you pretty much get a free hotel room for several weeks until the show eventually airs so that the folks back in Ann Arbor who know you are kept in the dark as to whether you won. You go home when everyone else goes home. You don't really have to pack your bags and leave when Heidi says "You [sic] out." So in my fantasy, Stacey Estrella--last week's choppee--has to go live in the ripped-to-shreds apartment. And one by one the place gets filled up with human discards, all sleeping on twin beds that are just coils and tatters.

The contestants pick models. Where's the one that Vincent, a.k.a. Corky from Waiting for Guffman, committed hat-abuse on last week? I don't see her. Maybe she got smart and said "Auf Weidersehen." Keith Michael, The Pretty One That Michael Kors and Tim Are Going to Totally Fight Over, smugly smirks about not needing the immunity he got from winning last week's challenge. Look, dope, being hot and confident is fine and all, but don't abuse the privilege or us normals will start secretly putting Post-its on your back that say things like "Please pee on me because I really, really like it."

This week's challenge is to dress Miss USA, Tara Conner, for her upcoming participation in the Miss Universe pageant. Lemme break the corporate synergy down for you, because in this life there are no accidents. Bravo is owned by NBC. NBC has a deal with Donald Trump where he gets to do this show I never watch called The Apprentice. Guess what else Donald Trump owns? If you said the Miss USA and Miss Universe pageants, then you win immunity from next week's elimination. So one day Trump woke up in his solid-gold bedroom and said to himself, I gotta get on that kraut fashion show. And here we all are, being waved at by Tara Conner.

Tara wants the following elements incorporated into her dumb outfit for the dumb pageant.

1. Elongation. She is the second shortest contestant this year. She must have a gown that Doug-Hennings everyone into thinking she's as tall as Alek Wek.

2. Monochrome. No rainbow sherbet. That's for Faith Hill at the CMA Awards, not the totally important Miss Universe pageant. She'd also like some earth tones. No reason. She just does. She wants to be a tree. A tall, pretty tree.

3. No plunging necklines. Unlike my lady friend in Madrid, she wants to be loved for her mind and her non-teat contributions to humanity.

And everyone has to work in teams.


The brawling can now begin!

Angela the Yves Saint Laurent Copier is already up Kayne the Flaming Lisp's butt, begging him to work with her. He is, as you may recall, the guy from Norman, Okla., who owns his own pageant gown business. She says, "You need someone to pull you out of your hole." I rewind TiVo a couple of times just to hear her say that again and again. But ha-ha-ha, Angela the Yves Saint Laurent Copier, the joke's on you! You bothered Kayne the Flaming Lisp too much and now he's intentionally not picking you.

Keith Michael the Pretty One That Michael Kors and Tim Are Going to Totally Fight Over gets a moment alone with Tara to explain his vision of her gown. Here's how it goes down: First he touches her breasts to explain how the thing should be tailored. And oh, man, does she like it when he touches her there. Then he hones in on her weak spot, her height. "I want to see your legs," he purrs. Cut to Tara, wet-eyed and praying that he's not a homosexual. Cut to Keith Michael the Pretty One That Michael Kors and Tim Are Going to Etc. "I think your legs are so important," he continues, spreading it on with a trowel, fixing his own eyes directly on hers and hypnotizing her into believing that she just became 5 foot 11 without heels; "They're gorgeous," he slam-dunks. Tara's butter, and he's the hot skillet, and the person who edited this moment of pure, naked, evil ambition and horror should win an Emmy right now. Just hand it over. Give her or him a big raise and a big office with a nice window. Because if she could, Tara would begin making babies with Keith Michael Etc. right now.

Corky shows Tara his sketch. It's moronic, of course. A stain on the world of paper products. "I sketch very loose and free," he says; translation: "I will put you in a shapeless bag and make you wear a basket on your head." He continues, "When you walk out on that stage it's like...'Oh, my God!' " Well, that's true enough.

Tara chooses the team leaders. And then the team leaders get to pick their partners--like in dodgeball--in the order that Tim Gunn's Sorting Hat instructs them to follow.

The Teams:

1. Keith Michael/Michael/Tim + Bradley of the Cool Sketches. I can't quite figure out Bradley yet. I liked his outfit from last week, but I think Keith picked him because Bradley seems laid-back and much more easily controlled than Angela, his only other possibility. Yeah, I'm not listing them in the order they did the picking. Who cares? You want accuracy? Watch the show.

2. Uli, Heidi's German Pet + Bonnie Who Once Had to Dress Serena Williams and Look How That Turned Out.

3. Laura Glamour Mom + Michael Knight With No Talking Car. She says she chose him because she hopes he'll challenge her to do things differently. She means because he's black.

4. Malan the Evil Gay + Katherine Snowboarder. He chose her because if he points his Persian Cat with Laser Beam Eyes at her and she ends up disappeared, everyone will just think they imagined that short girl in the hoodie standing in the room just a second ago. Then they'll shrug it off and go on with their work.

5. Kayne the Flaming Lisp + Robert Gay Arms. OMG sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G. BFFs. Forever y'all. No no no no J/K! Seriously y'all! We're just rilly rilly good friends now! Stop it!

6. Jeffrey Christ + Alison Supernicesupercute. This seems to have no motive. I think he just thinks she's hot, and his being quite possibly the lone heterosexual on the show means he gets his pick. I thought I heard Corky talking about a wife somewhere last week, but I need proof on paper.

7. That leaves Corky + Angela the Yves Saint Laurent Copier. This will be a hatefest. In fact, Bonnie tells Uli, "I wanna see people start fighting." I love Bonnie now.

Bonnie and I get our wish, as the teams are given two days to complete their dress, 300 bucks to do it with, and then sent to Mood fabric store to duke it out over various shades of moss, dung, and hay. Except for Kayne the Flaming Lisp and Robert Gay Arms, who choose something in an almost-purple. At least on my TV screen that's the color I'm seeing. Corky and Angela cannot start despising each other quickly enough. He's controlling and bossy and irritating and wears a bizarre crystal pendant around his neck that swings back and forth, and you can see this because he won't button his shirt--thanks for that contribution to culture, Tom Ford---and he makes shitty dresses. She doesn't sketch, listen, cooperate, or wear cargo pants that flatter her ass. He calls her negative. She says she doesn't want her name attached to the final hideous dress. Can there please be some actual blood drawn? And then maybe a big crowd throwing money into the ring of cigarette-smoking men from some developing nation standing around these two in a circle? Because that's the only way this is going to get better than it is.

Oh, wait, it does get better, because somehow in the middle of all this, not only do we see Keith Michael/Michael/Tim take a smoking break, coming off like he doesn't give a shit whether he and Bradley win the challenge or not because he, Keith, has immunity so tough luck, Bradley, my boy...but then they cut to Malan the Evil Gay, who tells an actually sad story--that is, it's actually sad if you believe that it's not 100% untruth--about how when he was 13 he presented his first sketches to his mother. Malan legend has it that Mother threw the sketches to the floor and told him never to do that sort of thing again. Whoo-hoo! Sympathy for the Devil!


Who's the devil now? Do we love Malan for having a bitch for a mother? Do we hate Keith for being a bitch to Bradley? Did we, after a false start last week, actually enter Crazy Backwards Land? Do I have to stop thinking Malan is gay too? I'm thinking "yes" to maybe all but the last one.

Later the guys all sit around dissing Angela. They'd probably talk shit about Corky too if they could, but he's kind of right there in the room with them. Jeffrey Christ, wrapped in a towel, calls Angela a "femi-Nazi." OK, asshole, last week I thought you were the sexiest of the guys because I sort of have this thing for cliched rocker men with tattoos all over themselves, especially in really wrong places like the neck, but the day you start quoting Rush Motherfucking Limbaugh is the day our romance is over. I hope you're happy now. I have a really good record collection you'll never get to hear.

It's later. Time to fit the models and get them done up. Everyone enters the L'Oreal Paris makeup room and the TRESemme hair salon. Tim Gunn has gone silent about the Macy's Accessories Wall. I'm with you on that, Tim. Laura Glamour Mom is wearing some kind of slinky black-and-white lacy catsuit right now. I have no idea what it is, really. But she looks incredible as usual and probably wears it when she's washing her children's hair with dead champagne.

Runway time. Michael Kors is either being treated for exhaustion and orangeness somewhere, or else he's had so much plastic surgery that he's turned himself into an Asian woman. In any case he's MIA, and Vera Wang is in his seat, feeling newfound power. Nina Garcia remains in her spot, and Tara is guest judge. Here come the dresses.

Team Jeffrey/Allison send a bronze-y, difficult thing down the plank. It's pretty insane and not pageantish at all. I love it even though Jeffrey and I just broke up. He calls it "beautifully grotesque." He's right, damn him.

Team Keith/Bradley have created an ode to a Grecian urn. It's pretty and pregnanty. And I'm having a conference with my friend Aaron--you remember Aaron from last week because I wrote about his new Assume Vivid Astro Focus wallet and how rad it is---about Bradley. He thinks Bradley is Generic RISD student. He has a point. But I see Bradley as the kind of man who might actually try to whittle a dress out of bark. And yet still sort of not quite indie-rock weird enough to be Will Oldham. Maybe it's his beard that's throwing me.

Team Corky/Angela have created a minimalist green column of vomit with space-suit shoulder wings. It's not Angela's fault. She's practically announcing that with a megaphone as the model walks down the runway. If she could hire PETA to come and throw red paint on it, I bet she would.

Team Kayne/Robert have made wearable cotton candy. It's ruffly and fluffly like a pink kitten on the bottom, and sparkly like a different (maybe still pink but definitely shiny) kitten on the top. The model adds extra oomph by sexing up her walk. They're going to win and the entire building is going to explode into glitter and ice cream cones and money will rain down from the sky into Donald Trump's never-sated wallet.

Team Malan/Katherine didn't finish the dress. It's crazy--ruched up top and one boob is bigger than the other. And the hem is frayed like something Rei Kawakubo would have done in 1989. Only this isn't on purpose. They're sunk.

Team Uli/Bonnie's gown is gorgeous and the front panels open up to reveal different layers of color and I'm loving them both right now. They stood back while others battled, and they made a really nice thing. OK, so it looks exactly like Austin Scarlett's Grammy dress from season 1, but who remembers that except for my partner, who keeps bugging me to write it here? "Good," he just grumped. "I finally get to be in this."

Team Laura/Michael got the assignment wrong. They made a simple, sophisticated white gown for a red carpet. Miss Universe didn't just play Harper Lee in Capote, Laura. She's starring on a Donald Trump-owned TV show and probably singing Foreigner's "I Want to Know What Love Is" for her talent portion. Make it louder next time.

The judges send all the safe ones backstage. Left out on the runway are teams Corky/Angela, Malan/Katherine, Kayne/Robert, and Uli/Bonnie. The judges love Uli/Bonnie's gown, as they should. Vera Wang calls it modern. That's not exactly the same thing as Hussein Chalayan calling it modern, but it'll do for here. Naturally, Kayne/Robert's dress wins. Was anyone in suspense about that?

Kanye (right) taking it all in

The big surprise here is what goes down next. The show spends an inordinate amount of time enjoying the Corky/Angela thrilla in Manila, even setting up an instant text message voting party to see whose side the audience is on. Then it stingily doles out one Malan Gets Emo moment. So you know something about Malan is coming, but you don't know what. You think you're going to get an Angela dismissal because she seems less interesting than the clearly screws-loose Corky or the serpentine Malan. They do nothing but attack Angela for being disobedient to Corky, and they praise Corky's dress. Seriously praise it. We are in Crazy Backwards Land now. It's official. I mean, yes, Nina Garcia makes an appalled face over the mess that is Team Malan/Katherine's dress. But she makes that face a lot. Somewhere in all this there's a commercial break for Saturn where Jay from season 1 gays it up with a mannequin and takes it for a ride in the car so he can cheat his way into the HOV lane.


OK, Project Runway producers, you'd better have an even better evil person up your sleeve if you're going to send my favorite one home the second week. Because dang. But at least now Malan's real career as a super-villain can begin. He's shown crying what I assume are genuine tears and not a synthetic toxin he's invented in his underground laboratory that he will now use to poison the water supplies of the world's richest, chicest nations, ensuring his dominion over all things.

Seriously. More evil, please. Bloodshed if possible. I'm counting on Angela. Or will it be Keith?

Your Legs" " data-page-title="

"I Want to See
Your Legs"

" >
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