Let's talk more
about the big September issue of Elle. As
with this month's Vogue, the focus is on the
dark, somber tone of the clothes for fall and the
exaggerated, oversize silhouettes. Here's the
difference I've seen so far. Vogue alludes to
things such as the way the whole world is at war and
how the somber international mood has resulted in an
aggressive, blackened state of doom on the runways.
Elle, however, just wants to let you know that
the oversize trend will not make you look fat. Well,
that's good to know. I was worried for a second
that people might be thinking fashion is more than just
expensive frippery. Who cares about politics and death.
Let's buy awesome new outfits that make our butts look
more about this later. But first, three things that aren't
ridiculous in this month's Elle:
1. The letter to
the editor complaining about all of fashion advertising
seeming "so sordidly narcissistic" and where
are the feel-good We Are the World-ish Benetton
ads of yesteryear? Good question, I say-- even though
I'm totally entertained by the sordidly narcissistic ads.
They seem more honest to me.
2. The gigantic
doctor's bag purses they're pushing. Wouldn't it be great
if they came with stethoscopes designed by whoever made the
purse? Your heart beats to the rhythm of Olivier
A.H.R. because their concept is "monsters invade a
dress." There should be more dresses in the
world that are monster-themed, if you ask me. And
you're reading this recap, so you kind of did ask me.
On to the show:
broken over Atlas New York. With no warning we're introduced
to a big fleshy close-up of Kayne The Flaming Lisp's armpits
and nipples as he stretches for the camera. Kayne's
armpits are modest, really, most likely
topiary-trimmed into a perfectly gay oval shapes. And
Kayne's nipples, on my TV at least, are the size of
silver-dollar pancakes. Big and round and red, the
non-lactating man-ducts of a formerly
"everyday" guy shrunken down and beaten
into submission. And the pointy bits? Not yet turned
into the distended thumb-size extra limbs favored by so many
60-year-old leather men who forgot that there are moments in
life when it's OK to take off the suction cups and
clamps. I give Kayne's nipples an 8 out of 10. He
says, regarding the loss of his BFF, Robert Gay Arms.
"...I'm sad. But, you know, I am excited that
I'm here, not to be selfish." That's right.
[Vincent's] chest is also on display, though not as much as
Kayne's. At least he's wearing a shirt. He's so happy that
he won the last challenge. That makes one of us. Cut
to Laura Glamour Mom and Uli, Heidi's German Pet, my
new favorite comedy team. Laura crouches down to comb
her hair in front of a mirror that sits on their dresser.
Uli: Now I can
tell you are pregnant
Laura: So you
don't think I'm just making it up to get attention?
Uli: Yeah, I
thought at first, but now I can see.
Can these two
have their own show, please? It'll be Uli moving from Miami
to Manhattan and becoming nanny to Laura's half-dozen kids.
She'll chaperone them, hungover, to play dates and
wherever, teaching them to swear auf Deutsch,
leaving them behind to fend for themselves on the
streets while she goes off with her newest girlfriend,
Ivanka Trump, to party and then to sleep it off and then to
lunch and then to shop for more fabulous clothes.
Cut to Jeffrey
Christ complaining about Angela, Headmistress of Jubilee
Jumbles, wanting to come to the guys' room to smoke a
cigarette. I'm not sure I get this. Is the guys' place
the only one with a balcony? No one's making this
clear, so I don't care about the blah blah blah complaints.
But then Corky says something logical: "So you just
tell her." And Jeffrey responds with a
face. Easy does it, Friend of Bill.
Oh, wait! Here's
more! He complains about Angela trying to get him
eliminated last week. Uh, dude, you did plenty of footwork
toward that goal all by yourself. Then Angela
complains about Jeffrey being an ass. And he was. But
so was she. Look, you're both pretty irritating. It's a
draw. Can you live with a tie?
The final seven
sit by the runway and Heidi pops out, sporting sheepdog
bangs and a top by Tits-On-Parade, looking rad as always,
keeping the brand tight. The models come out. There
are nine of them and seven designers. That means two
models have got to go. "Vincent," says
Heidi, "You were the winner of the last challenge
[they're inside a studio, so we're not privy to the
thunderstorm of blood, frogs, and locusts happening on
the Manhattan streets as the result of this turn of
events], so you get the first pick."
Yawn. It comes down to Kayne, who ditches two other
young women in order to stick with Yappy-Yap-Yapping Amanda.
Amanda, for her part, is extraordinarily pleased with
this turn of events. She is, in fact, the only model
who seems to give a flying fuck about any of it. As
she enters the waiting room, she's happy to the point of
nonsense. Three of the other models give the best
"get a load of her" faces ever.
Cut to Lindsay.
Yes, Lindsay. Why don't you know that name? Because
Lindsay is one of the other models. She's here to talk shit
about Amanda. She claims that Amanda is
"consumed with this competition," a
competition that is almost entirely out of the models'
hands. They know this. The audience knows this. The
producers have to know it. It reeks of someone taking
Amanda aside and saying, "Look, obnoxious equals
the challenge. "You will be designing an outfit for a
hip, international jet-setter." Jeffrey thinks
it's him ("Just kidding," he lies), but
Kayne, bless his tacky heart, thinks it's Tara Reid.
"She's the only jet-setter that I can think of
that was hip. She had that show, Taradis. She
always took off her tops and showed her
boobies." Just when I think I have nothing in common
in Kayne, he comes out with this, an ode to my
favorite member of young Hollywood, Tara Reid. I
watched in agony the other day on TMZ.com, as paparazzi
footage of Tara being denied entry into hip nightclub Hyde
rolled on for the whole Internet to witness. Then the
evil Paris Hilton waltzed right in and Tara's crushing
humiliation was complete. But did Tara skulk off? No,
she bravely stood her ground and waited until someone
noticed that it wasn't just anyone they were shutting
out; she, Tara Reid, was being treating this
way. When will our government get involved to put a
stop to the Tara Reid crisis? Send her body armor.
OK, wait, where
was I? Oh yeah, Heidi continues, "There are benefits
to winning that will be revealed in a future
meet Tim Gunn in the workroom. Tim tells them that they
will be designing the outfits for... themselves. But,
OK, besides Uli, who counts as both hip and
international? Cut to Uli, who announces straightaway
that she is an "international trendy jet-setter, so
I'm really happy about it." Tim continues on to
tell them that they are all going to model their own
clothes. Angela is beside herself, jumping up and down
and hollering, of all things, "Yay!" She has
the enthusiasm of the woefully underprepared. And
finally, someone will want to wear her clothes.
Off to Mood they
go. Obviously they've all seen the fall collections by
now. The shows were this spring. They all know that this
fall is about how "international" now
means "concerned" and
"pessimistic," and how that's
translating into clothes that look like battle gear and/or
giant swaths of material shaped into cocoon-like
fear-pods. So naturally, instead of going straight to
the section where they keep the Teflon-coated bolts of
black wool, Kayne selects a wacky print
that, I believe, is called Mariah Carey's
Headache. He's going to layer it over another shirt.
"Gor-geous!!" he trills, in the
folksinging style of his people, the inverts who wear
glittery International Male blouses out on a Saturday night
to the gay bars in midsize American cities from coast
to coast. I know these blouses because I was there
myself, weekend after weekend, for years. I've seen
'em all, the puffy sleeves and fringe and bedazzlement and
packs of Mores making miniature rectangular lumps in
breast pockets. I've smelled the vodka & cranberry
fumes they all sweat onto the dance floor. They were
all the gays who looked at me and my poseur-like,
ostentatious, punk rock T-shirts, faces contorted into
"I smell something and it's you" scowls, asking
"What's a Mekon?" Thank goodness I escaped
your provincial dumbness, my homosexual brothers. Have
fun this Saturday night.
Kayne's taste in fabrics "tacky" and says it
will be like Liberace when he's done. Tim passes
Angela in Mood and gives her advice in his best
pay-attention-to-what-I'm-saying warning tone,
"Remember, hip. Hip. International." She
gets wide-eyed and says, "Absolutely."
"I see the Jubilee Jumbles in your eyes, and I want
to shake them all out of you like a piggy bank. Good
God, woman, look at these colors!"
Angela: "I'm right! I know where I'm going!"
Back at the
Here's a question
I have for Laura. Honey, when did you become a viewer,
hurling commentary at the show before it even airs? Because
she says, of Uli's mad print mixing, in perfect
Uli-inflected Englisch, "It's an OOO-lee
Cut to Uli,
talking about how she does, in fact, like to jet off to
places and always carries her "pahh-tee" dresses "vit"
her. They're great to half "even if you get vasted.
So I pick cray-see cuhh-lahs." And here is the
secret of her designs, I just figured it out. She
creates garments that camouflage vomit. Get Tara Reid on the
Cut to Angela,
feeling adrift in the land of international jet-setters,
"In terms of... the luxurious lifestyle in
Europe, to me that's just really foreign."
That's why it's in Europe, Angela. It's the same reason
Uli's mom has a "European air" about
her. Because it's Europe.
Cut to Corky in
his drawers. He's got his own pants on the work table,
designing around them. And he's walking around in his boxer
shorts and flip-flops. Why, oh why, must we close-up
on his feet in those nasty flip-flops? Who's operating
the camera? Knock that shit off. He goes on to say
that he'd go to work in his boxers every day if he could.
"I wouldn't be surprised if it doesn't become a
trend." I wouldn't be surprised either, you
double-negative doofus. But again, here's where his
smarmy, baby boomer-ish, '70s swinger-'80s
cocaine-binge aesthetic comes into play. He's Austin
Powers. And I've spent all season wondering when he
would begin saying, "Do I make you horny,
baby?" Any second now.
resist taunting Angela with comments about sending the
worst dress he's ever made down the runway--the one he
made for her mom--and still not being kicked
off. She says, "Enough is enough already,
But it's not
enough. It will never be enough. Ferris Bueller says so.
interview: "Jeffrey can't seem to let go of the
issues that ensued with Angela's mother. But Jeffrey's
often being an asshole, so I'm not surprised to hear
Back to Jeffrey
and Angela fighting...
"What are you so pissed off about? That I had a hard
time with the challenge? Or are you mad that you and
mom couldn't manage to get rid of me because of the
shit you talked onstage?"
down and being gentle, giving hurt feelings face, the
same passive-aggressive stuff she clearly learned from Mom:
"Jeffrey, if you couldn't tell
"Don't gimme those weird sad eyes."
Cut back to
Laura, in interview, who's glad not to be involved:
"We don't have time to dick around with
everyone's personal problems."
Here's a promo for the very show we're watching. This
one's all about Tim Gunn. It's Tim Gunn's greatest hits.
"Make it work!" he snaps. Will he
survive having a catchphrase?
Back to the show:
the challenge for those tuning in late. "We're going
to be designing an outfit for a hip, international
jettt-ssssetter." Hey, Kayne, the University of
Oklahoma's linguistics department just called me and
wants me to tell you that they're about to offer a course in
the sibilant s, and will you be the entire
semester's lab credit? He continues, "So we've got to
make a complete outfit with ssseventy-five dollarsss,
from 2 o'clock in the afternoon til midnight. So
that's like...10 hours...to make... an
outfit." That's very good, Kayne. That
is 10 hours.
Tim Gunn says to
Jeffrey: "It's rock and roll, all right. It's not
Tim Gunn says to
Tim Gunn says to
Kayne: "This is looking very Elvis to me."
Tim Gunn says to
Michael Knight With No Talking Car, after Michael tells
him that he'll be wearing a simple T-shirt under his jacket:
"That worries me."
Tim Gunn says to
Angela: "So tell me what you're doing." The
camera immediately cuts to Angela jutting out her
lower lip. That would be pouting, Tim Gunn. That's
what Angela's doing. That and making something gross
that no one should ever wear. Tim Gunn says, "This
looks so... junior... don't you think? Kinda
looks Holly Hobbie?"
that's kinda good," says Angela.
as you can stand by it," says Tim Gunn.
Holly Hobbie," she says.
And you'll have
plenty of time to like it when you get yourself shipped
back to Ohio or wherever it is your farm is. So listen up
and pay attention, all future applicants to this show.
Watch this scene over and over again. Notice how when
Tim Gunn says, gently, ever so gently, "This
sucks," to Michael. Then what does Michael do? He
gets on the case and fixes it, that's what. And what
did Angela just do? She told him that she knew better
than he did. And this will be, I predict, her undoing. Cut
to her pouting again.
Let's listen to
other designers talk shit about Angela's outfit. Laura
laughs off the rosettes. What else can you do about their
regular appearance? The ubiquitous fleurchons
will not be denied. Even Michael, who never mocks
anyone else, can't stop himself from cracking on the
giant three-dimensional flowers Angela has created for each
buttock of her jet-setting pair of baggy brown shorts.
personally been waiting for a repeat of Season Two's
"muthafuckin' walk-off," and this is as close
to one as I've received so far. Michael teaches Kayne
how to model. The stance, the cool swagger, the
presentation, the turn-around moment. "You walk like
you mean it," he says. Kayne says that it's
easy for Michael because he's ghetto. Kayne isn't sure
if that's racist or not. Michael doesn't seem to care. He
knows Kayne's going home before he is, anyway.
Runway show morning:
Angela gets up.
She's been sleeping in what can only be something she
created herself, a flowered chenille bedspread cut into the
shape of an oversized nightie--clothing that's
meant to be worn with the lights out.
They get to the
workroom and Tim Gunn tells them they have one hour in
the TRESemme Hair Salon and the L'Oreal Paris makeup
room. Michael skips it. He barely has any hair and his
skin is perfect without any of that stuff.
Nude Bomb strikes Parsons, and everyone is running around
in their unmentionables. Laura's got what appears to be a
slip on under her dress as it slides over her head. Of
all the women in the world who would still be wearing
a slip, and probably having a philosophy about it to
back it all up, it would be Laura. Corky slides his black
sack top over his bare chest. Kayne's still sitting at
the sewing machine, lamenting his lack of time to
complete Mr. Presley's travel ensemble and showing off
just a hint of mood. Then up he stands, and we've got black
low-cut briefs happening.
"I was a little afraid of Kayne's outfit. It really
was just an absolute bungle." And maybe I've
watched too many episodes of Queer as Folk, but for a
second I think he says, "bunghole." And
I nod my head. Yes, it is a bunghole.
Friends With Money, the latest chatty Nicole
Holofcener movie about a group of rich white people in Los
Angeles and the issue of class struggle in that circle
of friends--a movie that's also about women's
relationships and how they function--is coming out on
DVD, and the TV spot makes it out to be that Maid
to Order remake everyone was asking for.
That's how you do it. Trick people into watching it.
They'll love you for that.
Next spot: Now
you can be the judge and vote for your favorite designer,
one of whom will eventually be crowned "Fan
Favorite." Tim Gunn says,
"Great!" Then everyone crowds around Heidi,
like they're all friends, even Stacy Whatsherface who
got voted off first, even the ejected Keith Michael,
and the announcer says that "the one with the most
votes gets a $10,000 prize."
to this? "Ha-HA!"
concerned, Nina flips her hair for the camera. Yeah, Nina.
Flipping hair. Heidi runs toward the camera. She's running
from Seal, whose life's mission seems to be about
keeping his woman constantly pregnant. We find out who
this fan fave is at the reunion show. To enter, you
just text in the designer's name. Now, do they text you
back? Even the ones who've been
"auf'd?" I would like to read one from
Alison Supernice Supercute: "Fucking Vincent.
Fucking judges. I just ate a whole cake by
Back to the show:
Heidi comes out
and talks to the judges. This week it's Kors, Nina, and
some guy from Calvin Klein. Heidi explains that the
designers will be wearing their own creations. And the
runway show begins...
1. Corky trudges
down the runway in black Viet Cong pajamas and
flip-lops, head down, ashamed of himself. Good. He should
2. Jeffrey is
representing Hot Topic today. His idea of
"rocker" is the one where Rob Halford
looks at you and goes, "Yeah, it seems kinda gay to
me. But nice package you got there, mate." Then he
gives you a wink and a nudge and an invitation to his
dungeon after the show. Jeffrey has literally
decorated his crotch zone with dangling bits of metal. And
straight men think we're obsessed with the
3. Some Guy From
Calvin Klein can't believe he's witnessing Angela's
flower-assaulted brown walking shorts with the elasticized
ass she sewed in, taking her cue from Huggies
Pull-Ups. And her top is a burgundy wrinkle with
straps. Tim Gunn, right again. If this outfit were on any
celebrity who dared walk outside the house,
GoFugYourself.com would smell it, pounce on it, and
maul it to death.
4. Laura is
showing a little bump in the belly area. Her fetus is
thrilled to be wrapped in something that looks like what
would happen if Diane von Furstenberg had designed a
cocktail dress in plain Crayola "flesh"
5. Michael is
Diddy-ish in his strap-intensive cargo pants and crispy
white open shirt. It's an outfit in which to get arrested
with Jennifer Lopez.
Kayne glides out in black pants that flatten his entire
male "area" down to Ken doll-smooth.
Not that he should be pointing sharp metal objects at
his dong like Jeffrey, but the effect of no bulge is
just as disconcerting as those guys who pack their jeans and
show off which side they "dress" on.
"I think it's very cool. I loved it," he
says. "And I felt comfortable in it. It's totally
something I would definitely, definitely buy."
Well, yeah, the rhinestone belt buckle spells
K-A-Y-N-E. You'd better be buying it.
7. Uli creates
yet another print mash-up. So she's one-note. So what. The
note sounds awesome every single time. Some Guy From Calvin
Klein glances over and down in Nina's direction. Hey,
Some Guy From Calvin Klein, no notes-copying.
scribble. Heidi wants to ask the designers questions. Uli's
first. She parties, that Uli. The party starts on ze plane.
Kors says he wants to go to those parties. Uli just
smiles, like "No way, Kors--pick on
someone with a penis." Some Guy From Calvin Klein
thinks Uli's dress is a bit over the top. Thanks, Some
Guy From Calvin Klein. Now shut up and go back to
making all those dreary, minimalist, monochromatic,
charcoal-gray evening gowns your stupid sweatshops
churn out for women with no imagination. Suddenly,
Nina and Kors are harshing on Uli and want to see
something besides her signature print stuff. Now, excuse me
if I'm wrong, Michael Kors, but don't you have a
signature style? And Calvin Klein? And Ralph Lauren?
Don't they? How about we get Missoni to ditch all those
prints of theirs too? Or make Vera Wang get out of the
wedding gown business? Or force Kate Spade to knock it
off with so many handbags for ladies who summer at
Martha's Vineyard? While we're at it, let's tell
Roberto Cavalli, Uli's closest commercial cousin, to stop
making slutty outfits for Jessica Simpson too. Leave
Uli alone, I say! Start picking on Corky more!
Cut to Heidi,
smirking, next to Kors, also smirking. Heidi says,
"Angela, where are you going?"
Jumbles!" says Angela.
will you get there?" says Heidi.
"On a big
jet airplane that will fly across the big, big ocean all the
way to Europe, France, and on the plane we'll all have ice
cream!" shouts Angela as she leaps into the air
and shouts, "Yay!" for added
OK, that didn't
happen. But what she did say was more embarrassing than
what I just wrote. She talks about adding "Angela Fun
Details" and turns around to show Kors her
saggy, flowery diaper-shorts. Kors pulls a face. A
sad, repulsed face. Angela, you are about to make a grown
man cry bitter orange tears. She says,
"Signature Angela" to cap it all off.
Laura's dress. Calls it "chic" and
"smart." And if Nina says it, that
settles it. No one else says anything.
his typical rocker gear. The judges like it. But it's
tired. It really is. A skull T-shirt says nothing new to
anyone. If he wins this challenge, it will be because
Some Guy From
Calvin Klein likes Corky's black top and pants. Big
surprise. Nina says it doesn't look
"impeccable." Kors says, "I don't see
any attitude or twist." And because he's Corky, he
says, "I'm the twist." He must think
he's the lovable, goofy Taylor Hicks of this show.
I know that my
dumb nicknaming process involves Uli being the
"pet," but since all you kids like to
"keep it real," let's talk about Michael. Kors
and Nina and Heidi are hypnotized by him. Look at their
beaming faces when he starts talking about his
garment. Everyone I know is in love with Michael too.
He's been edited into being nothing but kind and gentle, not
full of back talk or sass. His own neck tattoo, nothing to
rival Jeffrey's but there all the same, and his
smoking and even his sexual orientation, whatever it
may be--I vote gay, but you never know. I mean,
just look at Lance Bass. One moment with that
straight-acting fellow, and anyone would have been
fooled, right? With Michael, none of these things are
ever acknowledged on camera. He doesn't seem to have a beef
with anyone else on the show. He likes Angela
and defends her when there's a fight. His designs are
safe and pretty and well-considered. He treats Tim
Gunn's every cocked eyebrow as secret "here's how you
do it our way" code. And as he talks about his
outfit being a pass to a bling-intensive hip-hop
weekend in the Hamptons, the camera cuts to Corky and
Jeffrey with annoyed looks on their faces.
there's a universe somewhere in the cosmos in which he'd
step out of a paparazzi-smothered limousine wearing this
piece of shit. He's even borrowed one of Corky's
creepy pendants to accent the midnight madness. He's
so happy to be wearing it. So happy.
That's when Heidi
lays down the surprise of this episode. "One of you
will be named the winner. And one of you will be out. But
not tonight." As she tells them that they're
all going to go get on an actual jet and go somewhere,
and that they have an hour to do it, Angela can barely
contain her open-mouthed glee. Heidi says, "And your
hour starts now, so you better get off that runway
NOW! FAST!" C'mon, Heidi, give us a
at Atlas New York running around packing blindly for the
mystery trip. Laura says, "We didn't know what to
pack, what to bring, for how many days. It was
wild." I hope she brings the riding outfit. I
want a horse waiting for her when she gets off that plane.
They get to the
airport and discover that they're going to Paris. Kayne
says he's never been out of the country before, which helps
explain why he thinks his outfit is something a
jet-setter would wear. They also find out that the
show has commandeered all of first class for them as if they
belonged to the cast of Snakes on a Plane.
And Tim Gunn is their Sam Jackson. Champagne for
accompanies their arrival in Paris. How come I didn't get
accordion music when I went to Paris for the first time this
summer? Anyway, I have a confession to make. I'm
feeling for Kayne and Angela right now. She talks
about how this is a dream come true for her. Both of
them are hicks suddenly plunked down in Pah-ree, and I know
the sensation. I walked around for three days pointing
at the Eiffel Tower and saying, "Holy shit, I'm
in Paris!" I think it's just what you do when
you're country like that. Damn you, Project
Runway, for making me feel any twinge of empathy and
solidarity with this woman. Stop messing with my mind.
Tim Gunn takes
them to Parsons Paris, where they find themselves in a new
workroom. The workroom has six tables. There are seven of
them. YEAH! Someone has to turn right back around and
fly to New York! Tim Gunn brings in designer Catherine
Malandrino, who says, "Bonjour." Hey Angela
and Kayne, that means "hello" in French. She's
here to judge how well the outfits traveled. And so
everyone has to make the 15 feet between the back of
the room and the front of the room into a runway. Each
designer walks awkwardly and death-row slowly toward
the verdict-filled scoring pen of Catherine
Malandrino. Tim reads the results this week.
Laura is in.
Corky is in.
The winner is
Jeffrey. Finally. Now he can stop his endless whining. And,
of course, he takes this is a Supernatural event.
"God is alive and well and definitely working
in my life. He isn't drunk today like he was the day
that I was given Angela's mom." Speaking of that,
someone here is acting like a Dry Drunk, and it's not
Michael is in.
Uli is in.
It's down to
Kayne and Angela. Catherine Malandrino says, "Kayne,
I'm sorry, you look ree-dee-culous. You look like a
fake pop star. And you, Angela, you are just coming
from another world. And you are not a jet-setter.
Angela... you are out. Kayne, you're in."
Why do I suddenly
feel a twinge of sadness for Angela? I must be getting
soft. But we still have Jeffrey to rely on, a man whose hate
extends all the way to Europe, France. "I'm
ecstatic Angela's gone. She's not even a clothing
designer. She's sort of an artsy-craftsy macaroni
Michael says he's
sad to see her go. He likes her smile. He says,
"There's so much about her that's really, really
good." None of which we got to see in the
final, edited product. So au revoir, Mme.
Fleurchon. That means "goodbye" in French.
Oh, and P.S.: A
friend of mine says he spotted Angela walking a dog in
our neighborhood recently. I don't know how that can be,
since she lives with Eddie Albert out in Hooterville,
but maybe she's just visiting Los Angeles. If I spot
her I plan to go up and thank her for allowing a
reality TV show to shape her footage into a very satisfying
vessel on which to project my own petty life
grievances. Because you know she's probably no more
and no less a pain in the ass than anyone else you
already have in your life. But someone had to take the fall.
And it can't all be about Corky and his crazy ass. And
who knows? Maybe it wasn't Angela my friend saw. Maybe
it was one of her groupies, like the Durannies or the
Ring-lettes from back in the day. That would be funny.
An Angela Army of flowered-diaper wearers, demanding to be
taken seriously, pouting their way to fame.