Hey Daniel! We just saw your bliss get in a taxi heading for the airport! We think you should follow it!
To be fair, we didn't think he needed to go over this one. Yes, it was completely unimaginative, but it wasn't nearly the assault on the eyes that some of the other outfits were (Wendy and Starr, sit down. We'll get to you in a bit.)
k.d. lang called. She wants her head back.
Ugh, what a smacked ass. It's fine, maybe even necessary for a designer to have self-confidence, but his problem is he's so focussed on talking up his game that he's not concentrating on his plays. Shut up and take a look at what you're doing -- and stop dancing in front of the dress form. It's creepy on too many levels to name.
Darling, Mother Nature may not have cooperated, but this design was clearly a winner, shriveled up or not. Over 2 years later and PR fans still talk about the cornhusk dress. Bravo!
It's been so long so since we've watched this episode that we weren't even sure until the end if he was the winner. One thing that struck us is just how charming Austin was when he first appeared on the scene. Not that he isn't charming now, but he was a breath of fresh air and a flag-bearer for sissy boys everywhere. You go, you stylish girl!
First off, congratulations. Whether through your talent, your shrewdness or your ability to give head, you've made it. You are too thin, you wear outrageously expensive clothes, you have everyone looking at you, and you can get laid by a different hot guy every night of the week. What else can we do as gay men but salute and envy you? Bravo, darlings, Bra. Vo.
But kittens, we're concerned. Clearly, there's something lacking in your circle of advisors. It puzzled us. Obviously, you have an army of managers, publicists, stylists and hangers-on whose very existence hinges on how good they can make you look. Where are they going wrong? With growing distress, we watch you "accidentally" expose your nipples on red carpets, allow yourself to be photographed with limp, stringy hair, leave the house without a bra, your breasts arguing over which direction to point, get out of limos with your legs spread so far apart you'd think it was fleet week and worst of all, WORST OF ALL, sugars: YOU ARE NOT WEARING MAKEUP AROUND THE CLOCK. You are a STARLET, girl. Your job is to be fabulous and make teenage girls and middle-aged gay men from coast to coast envy you and imagine what it's like to be you. YOU ARE LETTING THEM DOWN, you classless whores.
Sorry. We're just a little upset here.
No, sweeties. It's clear what you need. A gay. Oh, we're sure you have quite a few around you applying your makeup and styling your hair and picking out your clothes, but that's not the kind of gay we're talking about. That's the Professional Homosexual and frankly, their motives will always be suspect. They're not thinking of you, angels, they're thinking of your money. Oh sure, they'll lay the best designer clothes and jewelry at your feet, they'll airbrush your face to perfection, but will they make a 3 am run for some Taco Bell, laxatives and a morning-after pill? We don't think so.
What you need is A GAY. A Fairy Godfather. Someone to gently slap your wrist when you're reaching for the cocaine to stir into your morning coffee. Someone who will come over at 2 am, sit with you on your couch, brush the vomit and cigarette butts out of your hair and tell you that paparazzi are nothing more than skankmonkeys and besides, no one fabulous reads the Star anyway. Someone to say, "No darling, you don't look fat in that. You look like a whore. Let's put your nipples away for a while and pick out something less shiny, mkay?" or
"Remember honey, 'Heels together!' 'There's no place like home!' Just think of Dorothy every time you get out of a limo and no one will even think of having an opinion on your wax job anymore. Have you ever heard anyone with an opinion about Judy Garland's Brazilian? I didn't think so."
or
"He's a billionaire, kitten. Let him cop a feel on the first date but don't even think of anything more than a handjob before the fifth one. Trust me, I learned this the hard way. Keep some tissues in your purse."
or sometimes just a simple "Concealer, darling. It'll never let you down. Did Lana Turner ever leave the house with a big honking cold sore? No, she didn't, did she?" Now before you get suspicious, we're not offering our services. We love you but we probably couldn't be alone with you for more than 5 minutes without bitch-slapping you for overwhelming vapidity. No darlings, we are merely offering you the Big Gay Uncle advice you so clearly need.
Be warned, however. There are limits to what your Gay can do for you. You'll always have the best blowjob tips, but you can't expect him to help you with your eating disorder because most gay men will look at your daily diet of tic-tacs and lemon water and sigh approvingly "I don't know how she does it." No, better for you if that department is left to a nice sturdy lesbian nutritionist. Don't worry, you can't swing a pussy without hitting one. Your Gay will find one for you. Besides, your Gay can't help you fish out your diaphragm. He just can't, sweetie. Don't ask him. You'll only upset him.
Darlings, just a reminder that tonight we will be on the couch watching Episode 1 of Season 1 and we start blogging about it tomorrow.
A lot of our readers have told us that they've never seen this season so we will be attempting to keep our recaps relatively spoil-free so we can all watch things play out together. We ask that you guys try to do the same in your comments.
See you on the couch tonight! Wear your PJs and bring some wine, that's what we'll be doing!
Check out Uncle Nick rocking the smokey eye at Heidi's Halloween party! He must have had a special consult from Collier Strong. Look for Santino and Jeffrey in the crowd too.
The elevator door opened on a veritable army of servants standing at attention. We were ushered into a grand, cathedral-like space. At the far end, in a dramatic pool of light stood Laura, breathtaking in a floor length black beaded gown, dripping with diamonds and drinking Champagne out of a Louboutin pump.
"Darlings, you simply must try the caviar!" she called out, as her manservants hoisted her on their bare shoulders and silently traversed the length of the space, gently depositing her in front of us. "It's simply divine! Would you like a diamond?"
Okay, none of that actually happened but we suspect some of you were fooled for a second, weren't you?
Let's backtrack.
In typical Laura fashion, the email was blunt and to the point: "Guys, call me." This was unexpected. We'd been emailing back and forth since about midway through the season when she dropped us a line to let us know how much she enjoyed the blog. She told us that she and Camilla laughed over the salt and pepper joke and that her husband had been walking around quoting the Ode to Tim. This led to a several-times-weekly email exchange consisting mostly of quip-trading. We suspect she missed the big gay dishiness of Robert and Kayne and we were their less telegenic replacements.
So, after a minute or two of "What do you think this is about?" we bit the bullet and dialed her number. The sound of screaming children in the background confirmed that we dialed correctly. Again, in typical Laura fashion, she got right into it, over the screams of her possibly dying progeny. Seriously, they sounded like they were on fire. "Listen, I put you on the list for the TRESemme finale party next week and...SHUT UP!!!!! (momentary reduction of background screaming) ... I already RSVP'd for you so you just have to show up." There was no question that we would be going. Thrilled, we thanked her, hung up and immediately raided our closets for an impromptu fashion show of potential outfits while simultaneously calling all our friends to cancel the planned finale party (and rub it in their faces just a little).
But oh, kittens, it didn't stop there. The next day she dropped us a line inviting us to come to her place beforehand and hang out for a bit. Score!
Look, believe it or not, one thing the PRGayBoys are not are starfuckers. Seriously. Ninety-nine percent of the time, we think celebrities of all levels are silly people who don't deserve any more attention than the occasional compliment of whatever work they produced. We were excited about meeting Laura (and equally excited to meet her husband, Peter) not because she's enjoying a certain fame right now, not because she's dripping with diamonds and lives in a space that causes brain-salivating for every design queen out there. No, we were excited because we think she's fabulous and creative and witty and intelligent and above anything else, interesting. Getting to spend time in Chez Bennett-Shelton only proved the point.
If you think Laura lives some sort of Park Avenue socialite kind of life, you couldn't be further from the truth. She is ridiculously laid back and down to earth. Warm and complimentary, funny and blunt. The very first thing she said to us was "See? The place isn't that impressive," to which we replied "Oh. Shut. Up." To be honest, it's not nearly the vast space that it seems to be on TV. It's huge, no doubt about it, but for four children and two adults? Not as huge as you think.
That isn't to say the place isn't beautiful though. It has (if we can be forgiven for a Vincent-ism) an arty quality to it, with shabbily gorgeous antique pieces blended with modern, practical ones. You've all seen the portraits.
The woman on the right is Peter's mother. And we immediately recognized this one as Laura's mother. The three portraits are lined up, a defiant burst of womanhood in the middle of an endless sausage party. She introduced us to her 4 sons. The older two were playing on the computer with some friends and paid us about as much interest as you'd expect for a kid that age. Besides, we can only imagine how bored they are by gay men complimenting their mother. The two younger boys were running around like maniacs, howling, laughing and splashing excess testosterone all over the place. Toys, paper, and little-boy detritus of all kinds littered the room. Laura and Peter never even noticed the chaos. They just sat down with us and talkedtalkedtalked right over the noise.
We barely left their living area the whole time we were there, the four of us just chatting our heads off. They are completely unpretentious. Peter sat on the floor munching on spring rolls and complimenting us to the point that we were embarassed. We seriously had to resist the urge to run to the bathroom, call one of our design fags and urgently hiss "Peter Shelton just called us geniuses!"
Peter is (no surprise) a character, by the way. At one point we were talking with Laura when we looked over. He was literally climbing the furniture, dangling about 5 feet off the floor. Laura didn't bat an eye, asking calmly "Honey, what are you doing?" He was reaching for the (much asked about) "Laura on a stick" that you can see in the first pic. It was part of a prop for the Bravo premiere party, a giant pin cushion with the head of each designer on the pins. He stole the Laura one and wanted us to pose with it so Bravo could see it.
Peter pulled out a binder of Laura's blog clippings including our Ginger Grant one and the salt and pepper joke. How ridiculously flattering. We of course dished about the show and the designers and we of course are not going to relate that conversation here. Sorry, bitches.
Laura made a point to show us how she doesn't even bother to have nice things anymore because it's pointless raising soon-to-be 5 boys, so she wisely just turned the space over to them for the time being. You've all seen the hanging chairs and punching bags, the row upon row of storage baskets and the wide open spaces for playing. What you didn't see was the hand-lettered sign on the toilet reminding occupants to LIFT THE SEAT and the unmistakable evidence that at least some of them can't read yet.
All good things must end and we eventually had to go because Bravo had sent a driver and it was getting late and Laura felt terrible about making him wait outside. She even called him at one point to ask him if he wanted anything.
As we were leaving, Laura said "This visit's not over." She was right. The next morning, bleary-eyed, we stopped over again for coffee and took a ton of pics, all of which you're going to have to wait until tomorrow to see. Suck it, bitches.
First off, we'll give the judges props for winnowing down the finalists to what we consider the best of the crop. Unlike previous seasons, there was no question that each of the finalists deserved to be there. Second, big kudos to Project Runway for choosing the fabulous Fern Mallis to be the final guest judge. It might add a little glamour to have Debra Messing or Parker Posey sit in the chair, but in the long run, their opinions and judgment are coming from an amateur perspective. Not only does Fern know her shit inside out and backwards, but she brings a perspective to the judging that is too-often lacking. Nina looks at fashion from the been-there, don't-bore-me perspective of the fashion editor. Michael Kors brings the perspective of a fellow designer. Heidi has the trained eye of someone who's worn more high-end, well-made clothing than the other judges combined.
Fern however, brings the all-too-important business aspect of fashion to her judgments. She knows the industry as an industry and her statements reflected that in their sharp observations and practical point of view. From her observation that ultimately, every woman wants the perfect black dress, to her advice to Uli to stick to her guns because resort wear is such a huge market, to her opinion that Jeffrey should stick to sports wear, to her appreciation of Michael's attempt to find himself as a young designer, every word she uttered was a little perfect pearl of fashion wisdom.
It seems to us that each collection needed to be judged on itsown merits and with its own set of criteria simply because each designer had a highly distinct point of view and each had their own customer base to pursue. Ultimately, in such a situation the overriding question becomes "How well did this designer express themselves?"
Unfortunately, that doesn't appear to be what the judges did. They settled on one criterion: innovation, which as we've already said is for the most part a bullshit term in fashion. A purely editorial point of view.
Don't get us wrong, it's completely valid to approach a collection from the perspective of how risky it is, but it's also the least practical or useful way of looking at fashion. Risks are admirable, yes, but execution, customer base, practicality, and style are nothing to be sneezed at.
Choosing Jeffrey was a statement on the part of the judges. Out of the final four he probably has the least potential to become a household name in the future, but the show managed to gain some fashionista cred by going for someone who not only wasn't liked by a seeming majority of the fans, but also had the smallest customer base. It completely negates any rumblings of "low-brow" or "popularity contest." That's not to say that Jeffrey didn't deserve the win. He did. He absolutely did. We wouldn't have chosen him, but his clothes and aesthetic are not to our tastes and we're not a fashion editor.
We wouldn't have chosen Michael, either as it's obvious (to us anyway) that he needs time to mature as a person and a designer. And believe it or not, bitches, we wouldn't have chosen Laura. Her clothes were absolutely gorgeous but she chose to only do evening wear and while we personally believe the girl has far more range than she demonstrated, the fact is, it was her laser focus that kept her from thewin.
No, ladies, it was Uli who should have won it in our opinion. As a designer, she took as many risks as Jeffrey did, going far outside her expected milieu and showing a range of clothing that could fill a closet and dress a lifestyle (and bring in a shit-ton of money, to boot). We've had to watch each collection come down the runway at least a dozen times and every time, Uli's collection just made you feel how thrilling beautiful, well-made clothing can be. On a final note, this is our last post on season 3 and the last time we had to do any screencapping with these people and we need a moment to pull ourselves together. Talk amongst yourselves.
