Y'all, look, I know that this write-up is not the best write-up. I mean, yeah, you've probably noticed that it seems kinda slapdash, like something I put together at the last minute—but that's because it is something I put together at the last minute. See, before, I had this brilliant write-up. It was prosaic and at the same time colloquial, cutting, sharp, just really amazing. It was like something straight out of The New Yorker or something. So insightful. But I was, uh, ironing my laptop—which is a thing that people do—and the stupid iron, like, sputtered all over the keys and stuff, and my amazing write-up was completely ruined! God, it was so heartbreaking! I was soooo devastated because I had just spent all this time making this beautiful piece of writing for everyone, and then through no fault of my own, with just a few brief sputters of an iron, the piece was lost forever. But, I'm not making excuses or anything. It's just, like, the truth. That I'm telling you. So you'll excuse my shitty performance. Seriously, I'm not making excuses. I swear.
Thanks for the excuse, Johnny. From here on out I'm gonna use The Sputtering Steamer Defense whenever my performance is subpar. "I'm so sorry this article is late. I had a really awesome article that I was going to turn in early, but I had to start over at the last minute because, well, the steamer sputtered all over my awesome first article and it was totally ruined!" It's the new "the dog ate my homework!"
Stupid, stupid Johnny. I'll never understand why people lie on reality shows—aside from garden variety psychopathy. I mean, you know those cameras are on, right? Everybody saw Johnny crumple up his blood-red fingerpainting project of a dress immediately after Tim's critique, and then throw it in the trash like a big blubbery petulant baby having a temper tantrum. How could he possibly think he'd get away with lying about it? Tim could testify against him before the Project Runway tribunal (which is an actual legal entity now in Los Angeles), and Tim is an unimpeachable witness. I find Nicolas (aka Greasy Peppermint Patty, thanks for that image!) pretty grating, but I was so happy he called Johnny out for lying during judging. And then Johnny pulled out the crusty ole reality show victim cry, "Thanks for throwing me under the bus" which only proves he watches too many reality shows and should know better than to lie while on one.
Speaking of reality shows (SEGUE), this one is getting a little better. Tonight's episode was the first that actually felt like the Project Runways of yore: There was workroom drama (see above); Copious amounts of trash-talking amongst the designers (Irina vs. Baby Brooke Hogan—it's on!); And finally—FINALLY—there was a challenge involving unusual materials (old copies of The LA Times. Looks like someone found a use for newspapers! Ha. Get it? Because the newspaper industry is dying!). Seeing the designers lug garbage bags full of insane amounts of their chosen "fabric" across a warehouse floor filled me with such happiness. Why, I was as giddy as a crappy designer who just came up with the perfect excuse for being lazy and having no discernable talent. "Hey! This show is almost like Project Runway!" I thought.
And it was like Project Runway—until we got to yet another Kors-and-Nina-Garcia-free judging. I don't really have a problem with Tommy Hilfiger—except for his clothes, and his floppy hair, and that MTV reality show his daughter did years ago. And I don't really have an issue with the other Marie Claire editor except for the fact that she's not Nina Garcia. But Eva Longoria? Sorry, Lifetime, but you can't just trade in one orange-hued spray tanned judge for another. Michael Kors is more than just bronzer. I'm not saying Eva Longoria doesn't have thoughts about fashion squeezed in her head somewhere in the tiny space between her massive ego and her skull, but, seriously, who cares about what Eva Longoria thinks about fashion? One of her "critiques" was "This is a classic dress I wear all the time." Fascinating, Eva. Tell us more about you. After all, you are fashion.