Project Runway 11.2: Feeling a Little Testy

Dawn breaks over the Atlas Con-dorm-miniums like an egg shattering over an obelisk. Within its waking walls, our fifteen designers lope and laze like it’s Sunday on a yacht. But it’s not! Arise, you slackers! Awaken and amaze us with your talent, your artistry, your drama!

Where Project Runway contestants shrug it all off.

And your environs! The Atlas apartments have been spruced up since we saw them last. Someone let a twelve-year-old loose in the Sherwin Williams store, because these are some day-glo accent walls. When I was young, my brother and I got permission to paint a spare room in the basement with graphics, like everyone in the seventies was doing. My brother painted vivid rays emanating from a silver star, and I painted stripes and arrows and targets of sky blue, emerald green and orange orange, all in super-shiny enamel. Lo, these many years later, our psychedelic fantasy still remains in my Mom’s basement, and it probably always will. I mean, it’s going to take fourteen coats of primer to cover this stuff. All this to say I’m not impressed with the juvenile new accent colors in the Atlas apartments, but did you check out the new wallpaper? Plaids! Arrows! Rather interesting, I think. And yet the drapes still hang in knots, obscuring the view like lynched puppets. Someone tidy up the place, please!

Oh! You wanted to hear about the people! Well, they’re here too, though not nearly as interesting as the décor. We learn two things as our teams prepare for the day: First, each of them hates working on teams. Well, they can be forgiven for that. What design project hasn’t suffered from the lowest common denominator of groupthink? It takes so much energy to pretend you like other people’s ideas! And while it’s true that in fashion — and in so many workplaces, and in real life — one does have to collaborate with other people, this is television, not real life. So designers, you have my sympathy. And the second thing we learn is that Richard doesn’t seem to own any shirts with sleeves, and we are going to have to suffer through looking at his armpits sticking out of tank tops all through this whole episode. Ugh. Bring me a pill.

Following the backlash I endured after last week’s column, I resolved not to use any sports analogies this week. It’s no skin off my butt; I don’t like sports any more than you do! So it’s ironic that the theme this week is centered on designing uniforms for the wait staff in a sports bar. But this isn’t Indianapolis, it’s New York, so this sports bar is all about Ping Pong. Excuse me, I meant Table Tennis. Excuse me again, I meant Tableau Tennise. But this isn’t Minneapolis, it’s New York, so the Ping-Pong-Table-Tennis-Tableau-Tennise bar is owned by Susan Sarandon! But let’s face it: it’s still a bar with Ping Pong tables in it, so let’s not get too excited. We’re designing outfits for waiters and ball-boys.

Season 11 contestants contemplate designing something bouncy.

Apparently everyone who’s anyone is playing Ping Pong these days, and they’re doing it at “Spin,” where Susan Sarandon has dreamed up the motto: “Balls Are Our Business.” Aww. I guess she misses Tim Robbins! Listen, I like to make balls my business as much as the next person, but I’m thinking Susan Sarandon may need a new motto-writer. And investment advisor.

Last week, I liked all of the designers, and this week, it’s hard to like any of them. Is it just me? It is? Wait, hear me out:

At one point, Michelle uses the phrase “pooping in bed.” Andy Others does not like scatological jokes or references, so please tone down the toilet humor, Michelle. It just goes to show you how shittily some people were raised.

From the moment they start shopping for fabric at Mood, Benjamin is bossing everyone around in his Australian accent, bleached hair and sheer, flowery shirt. “I’m a natural-born leader,” he declares. Natural-born busybody, if you ask me!  Benjamin, I don’t like your bossiness, I don’t like your micromanaging, and I don’t like your blouse!

Benjamin’s main target is Cindy, who takes the bait and eventually confronts him. Eventually is too late, say I. He’s not the boss of her; she should ignore him and do her thing. Benjamin the martyr is so put upon, he can’t comprehend the ingratitude (of someone who didn’t ask for help from someone who’s not helping.) By the way, Benjamin, shouldn’t you be working on your own outfit?

I am reminded of freshman-year volleyball class. Sounds fun, doesn’t it? Well it was, for about 45 other people in the gym. Not for yours truly, or my other suffering teammates. We longingly watched the other teams supporting each other. “Great job, Gina!”  “My fault, Nicky!” Meanwhile, Spike, the captain of our team screamed at us every morning for nine weeks! “Get the ball, Andy!” “Learn how to serve, Stupid!” Like Benjamin, Spike had bleached hair and boundary issues. Well, who’s winning now, Spike? Andy Others writes a lauded weekly column in a reputable show business e-magazine, while you’re just some kind of bank vice president. Match and point, sir! Or whatever sports jargon is correct in this situation.

Why does Matthew look so sad? Because he’s a defeatist victim who agreed to make jeans for the ball-boys. Teamwork, yes, but where’s the fun or the flare? Actually, I have some rocking jeans that are super-cool, so maybe Matthew should get his head out of his poop and start using some imagination. Instead, Matthew whines that it’s so boring. And whines and whines, like he has no free will. Matthew and Cindy, do you not get this week’s theme? Balls! Grow some. Wait! What light in yonder poop-pile breaks? Matthew’s team inspires him with a new suggestion: make a kilt instead of jeans! Now we’re getting somewhere.

Matthew Arthur: Better off kilt?

Daniel, of whom do you remind me? You’re officious, slightly paunchy, and you have that bizarre little handlebar mustache. Are you Hercule Poirot? Daniel has immunity after his win last week, so he has time to goof off a little. He uses his extra time to give draping lessons to Layana, who appreciates the tutoring. Shouldn’t she have received these lessons prior to going on Project Runway? I was going to make some cheap jokes at the expense of Layana’s unusual name by making up new last names for her. You know, like Rugg or Negg or Pile-o-Poop-in-a-Bedd. But I won’t. Because honestly, she’s a lovely girl. Daniel obliterates his magnanimity with the comment, “We have to help the weakest link.” Daniel, that’s not using your “leetle gray cells.” WWHPD?

James is making a pretty-looking blue shirt. Did I say pretty-looking? I’m sorry, I meant pretty awful-looking. When Tim Gunn excoriates him, the team pig-piles on James with criticism. There’s a word for that, and it rhymes with “grass-kickers.” I have a hunch that if Tim had said he adored the asymmetric folk references of James’s lovingly offbeat blue shirt, the team would have nodded and cooed like so many grass-kicking pigeons. So James must change the shirt completely, and surprise! The second try is even worse than the first.

Joe thinks the ball-boys should be outfitted in harem pants. Joe thinks the ball-boys are genies. Ali-Ba-Ball-Boys.

I believe I already mentioned Richard’s armpit display. Armpits out in public, armpits in the sewing room, armpits ‘round suppertime! (That’s a song.) Yes, it’s a tank-top and shorts that Richard’s wearing today. And of course, patterned panty-hose. Really, Richard? Looks like you’re ready for anything! The grocery store, a nice restaurant, church…. Seriously, he goes out on the street wearing something most people wouldn’t wear to a transvestite barbecue on a sweltering July day on Mercury, and I’m supposed to take him seriously as a designer?

So that leaves Amanda, Kate, Patricia, Tu, Samantha and Stanley who are specifically not annoying. Points for them!

Susan Sarandon shields her bust from Tu’s penetrating gaze.

Runway time! Susan Sarandon is here as a guest judge and client. She’s showing a bit of cleavage that seems to excite Tu. I want to warn him that she’s been filmed dripping lemon juice all over that cleavage to eradicate fish smells, so they’re probably a little bit sticky, even if they are lemon-fresh.

Oh my stars! What in the hell is Nina Garcia wearing? It appears to be a sweater pinned all over with large grandma brooches. (That sentence came out wrong. I didn’t mean your large grandma wears brooches, I meant your grandma wears large brooches. But enough about your Nana and her terrible taste in jewelry. We’re not here to talk about that. Why do you always have to turn it into something about you and that granny of yours?)

By the way, do you know anyone (like my sister) who tends to wear brooches that look like butterflies or other winged insects? Here’s a joke for you to use: brush her lapel with your hand and say, “You’ve got a bug on your shirt.” I know, it doesn’t make my sister laugh either. But I think I’m hilarious! I’m laughing about it right now. And anyway, why does someone own so many brooches that look like flying insects?

Back to Nina: although the sweater is, er, startling (to say the least), she is totally rocking some gorgeous flared white pants. So for today, try to focus below Nina’s waist.

The self-named “Dream Team” goes first. We’ll call them the Dreamers from here on out, shall we? It’s fitting, because if they think they’re going to win this week, they’re dreaming!

Cindy makes a gorgeous tailored jacket, paired with Benjamin’s terrible tight shorts that look like something even Lance Armstrong would be embarrassed to wear. Would a waitress wear this? Our judges think not.

For the ball-boys, James shows a misshapen tank top with almost-Capri pants held up with an aqua belt. Nina says the pants are a “disturbing length.” She’d probably like them better if they were dressed up with some brooches. Heidi Klum tells us that she doesn’t like to see hairy armpits. I didn’t realize we were in the confessional, Heidi! Please keep your private thoughts private! But as you already know, I quite agree. Heidi and I have everything in common.

Michelle shows a cute brown waitress dress with a big collar. It seems appropriate, perhaps too much so.

Tu and Samantha’s collaboration is a dull skirt by Tu paired with a too-tight jacket by Samantha.

The star of the show (and my future dreams) is Matthew’s ball-boy outfit. All I can say is “Wow!” The totally hunky model strides out in a black pleated mini-kilt, looking like a sexy gladiator. His muscular tan legs disappear into sashaying fabric, held down in front by a pouch emblazoned with the “Balls Are Our Business” logo. I’m thinking, if this is what the ball-boys are wearing, someone get me a paddle! It’s gutsy, it’s risky, and it’s super-hip.

Somehow, Matthew gets slapped down. Susan Sarandon isn’t going for it. She says her guys wouldn’t be comfortable wearing kilts. Fuck that! Susan Sarandon, you need to hire new guys! Just stop hiring skinny-legged dweebs. New York is crawling with would-be actors and models with great legs. They’d make a fortune in tips and people would be crowding into the joint. No one wants to be served by a chicken-legged guy anyway! Buh-GAWK!

“We who are about to pose salute you.”

Susan Sarandon doesn’t like it that the double-entendre reference to balls is placed at the gentleman’s crotch. Really, Susan Sarandon? You’re playing the high-class taste card? It’s a Ping Pong den with a puerile slogan. It’s not like Mrs. Astor is going to drop by. Unless she hears about the sexy gladiator guys. (I should specify that Mrs. Astor couldn’t stop by even if she heard about the bare legs, since she died on the Titanic. Well, actually, she didn’t, but her husband did and she was pregnant at the time, and isn’t THAT messed up?)

By the way, did I mention that I think that the mini-kilt uniform regulation should specify no underwear? If that’s against some kind of restaurant code, I will allow something in a black mesh. (And I think you know what that “something” is.)

Anyhoo! Just took a cold shower and I’m back. The Dreamers have finished their show. As a cohesive collection, it’s neither of those two things. But speaking of a cohesive collection, here comes Team Keeping It Real, or as I like to call them, the Realists. Everything they show looks great, and it all looks great together.

Amanda has made a strappy little black dress that would be easy in which to wait tables, then turn the tables and be the patron, though hopefully in a classier joint than a Ping Pong parlor.

Daniel and Layana show a great black-and-white vested waitress outfit with shapes inspired by the diminishing arcs of a bouncing Ping Pong ball. The bottom is a mini-skort sporting an apron, out of which the model pulls a pencil and pad to take our order! This is a new concept that makes even Nina smile. Usually the models just pose and parade. I would love to see a fashion show where models actually did things like type a letter, or bake a cake, or fell a tree. I could bring my car in and they could fix my carburetor, the little grease-monkeys. Win-win!

Kate and Patricia have collaborated on a waitress outfit with a pretty pink top and leggings. Patricia’s not happy with the leggings, and I understand. It was right for the team, but how does it show Patricia’s unique style and talent?

Richard’s ball-boy outfit is a slim-fitting long tee with a harness for the ball-scooper that looks to me like bra straps, paired with black pants emblazoned with the “Balls Are Our Bizz” logotype. It’s a pretty cool use of the graphics, I’ll give him that. But since there are no bare legs (let alone balls) showing, I still vote for the gladiator mini-kilt.

Stanley shows a shirt-pants combination outfit for the ball-boys that’s set off with an orange tab belt. Competent if a bit staid. Again, no legs or balls showing. Next!

Next order of tailoring business for James Martinez: let out that jacket of his.

So we have the Dreamers versus the Realists. Which one are you, dear reader? Did you know this show would become a metaphor for the conflict between art and commerce, between imagination and cold-hard facts? Don’t you hope the Dreamers will win? Well, too bad! They have the lowest scores, so someone on their team will be out. And it’s James, whose outfit was sadly just not up to par.

The winning outfit is the cute vest and skort outfit by Hercule Poirot and Layana Negg. Since Monsieur has immunity, he grants the win to his mentee.

Realists keep it real.