I know we are all sadface, Persephoneers, that Shitgobbler Ven was not eliminated on last week’s Project Runway for making a horrendous dress out of his cultural heritage, which apparently consists of maxi pads and no imagination. Let us all join hands over the pentagram drawn in L’Oreal lipstick and pray to almighty Fashion Satan that he goes this week!
At the top of the episode, Shitgobbler was whining, sigh and renting of garments, that the judges just didn’t understand where he was coming from in our last episode. And I think that’s a legitimate argument. The judges had never seen a fabric flower before, ever, not once, on any continent, especially not from Ven the Always Doing Something Different Every Time, so their poor brains were befuddled with his masterpiece of distinctiveness! Poor Shitgobbler the Misunderstood. It’s like when the Earthlings met the crew of the star ship Enterprise in First Contact and they beheld a Klingon for the first time, with his weird forehead ridges and whatnot! It is astonishing that Michael Kors did not run away in wonderment at Shitgobbler’s startling fashion foldings.
After the designers finished making their honorary statue to Shitgobbler Ven and his amazing, fresh ideas (in the shape of an Always Pad with Wings and Leak Guard), they all went to Radio City Music Hall. They beheld the splendor of the Hall and found Tim Gunn dancing with the Rockettes. That man kicked so high I saw his make-it-work! And then the curtain rose and who should be there but Heidi Klum! She also kicked and kicked, but not as well as Tim, who also looked better in the sequin minidress, IMO. Dmitry said, “Oh, baby,” about Heidi, so I guess he disagrees with me.
This week’s challenge? Design a costume for the Rockettes.
Oh, I’m sorry. What I meant to say was…
BWAHAHAHAHHAH HAHAHAHAHA gasp gasp AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!
I may be proven wrong by the end of this, but the last time designers from PR had to create costumes for a theatrical production, they were stupid, impractical, difficult to move in, didn’t allow for/didn’t contain undergarments (and all women love to jump about with their tits slapping them in the face!), and were a bitch to get on and off quickly. So forgive me, as a lady with a theatrical past, for thinking that these outfits will mostly be terrible and useless.
Linda Haberman, Director and Choreographer, The Radio City Rockettes (she used to work with Bob Fosse, y’all!), chatted with everyone. The new look would be for special events the Rockettes put on all year ’round. They were told to make modern, glitzy outfits. Dmitry reminded us that he was a professional ballroom dancer from the age of seven, so swoon, and also his better be good.
Shitgobbler Ven lectured us all about you should not add beads and trims and whatnot to a costume, for that is wrong. Oh, yes. The Rockettes are not known for glitter and showiness. Who do you think they are, a dancing lady group?! This was my response.
Actually, I hope it’s flower. I want to see how many times this fucker can legit make the SAME THING and be kept around.
At the end of work day one, the designers went out to eat, like human beings do. Natasha apologized to Boris for being a bitch sometimes. Aw! Kinda. Shitgobbler Ven told stories about himself. (Please to imagine a violin playing whilst you read the next bit.) All his sisters are in their forties, and he’s twenty-eight, so that meant that he was always by himself, playing alone in the snow. Sniff sniff, sob sob, achoo achoo. Elena said she understood him more now. I understand that an adult, almost thirty-year-old man wants me to forgive him for being a shitgobbler because he played alone as a child? Flowa, plz.
Back at the work room, everyone had bitten off more glitter than they could fart. Elena appeared to be making a demented, yet kinda boring, majorette outfit. Tim suggested that she go to the Lord and Taylor accessory wall to find a baton. Oh, Tim Gunn. You are a unicorn amongst men. Sonjia was nothing but feathers, feathers, feathers, and I hoped she’d make it into something amazing. Tim advised Fabio to “Bitch slap that bitch!” The bitch in question being his questionable garment, rife with illusion and stripey sequins.
After his frown-inducing lap around the work room, Tim told them all he was taking them back to Mood with more money. Or, as Christopher put it, “You’re all fucked, change all your fabrics, get in the van!” Fabio, Dmitry, and Shitgobbler Ven elected to stay behind, as their sartorial dreams were already working out quite nicely THANKYOUBUTWEARESTUBBORN.
Sonjia got sad, so she video chatted with her adorable boyfriend, who said lovely, encouraging things, and then she cried, and then he cried, and then I kinda cried because why not, I’m PMSing and I will need Shitgobbler’s Dress for Not So Fresh Days soon.
Close to runway time, Melissa pulled up hard on her invisible, open-top zipper… and yanked the zipper pull right off the teeth because she hadn’t sewn across the top. Oh, Melissa Melissa Melissa. Several brave souls tried to put the puppy back on. They were never heard from again. Or they were, I don’t know. By the end, Melissa was sewing her model into the dress, and adding straps by hand at the last moment. Efficiency!
More than one designer was nervous on the runway. Debra Messing was the guest judge. Huh? I mean, yeah: pretty actress lady, okay. They said she is starring in Smash, which I had to go look up. It’s a musical show, so I guess that qualifies her to judge dance costumes. That’s what we’re playing, I guess.
Dmitry’s costume was smashing. Slashing lines of night blue sequins on one shoulder, across the bust, and diagonally the other way on her waist, ending in a fun skirt of black, beaded fringe. I loved it. It was sexy as hell without being sleazy or ice skater. “Glamorous,” Dmitry murmured, and yes, indeedy, it was. Heidi called it “edgy.” “Exciting, polished, impeccably made,” Kors said. Nina called it modern and chic.
Melissa’s outfit, for all its hope-and-prayer sewing, was adorable. She’d said her inspiration for this geometric confection in hot pink and black sequins were the art deco lines of Radio City Music Hall. Well, I didn’t see art deco, but I saw a lot of cute. I liked the free-standing, straight across neckline (although, is this now the third time we’ve seen this from her?), I liked the simplicity of the overall mini-dress shape as balanced against all the geometry happening in the patterns of fabrics sewn together. And yup, I adored the pillbox hat. And she’d, accidentally, colorblocked a black sequin “1” on her front. Better than a 2, I guess. Heidi called it a showstopper, but disliked the whoops “1,” and said it was too short. Kors like the dramatic graphic-ness of it, because you can see it from the back row. Nina called it a miss.
Shitgobbler Ven made a slate blue dance recital costume. You know what could have really livened it up? A FLOWER. I keed, I keed. It was a shimmery halter minidress, with a triangle of nude shimmer over her diaphragm. The Yawn Police came by to arrest him, but they died of snoring before they could haul him away. The waist was too high, to my eye. It gave her a stumpy proportion that was just criminal. Heidi said the fabric was nice, but that the dress had no design to it. Kors said he appreciated simplicity, but that you can’t let it turn into a yawn, and that it looked like an evening dress chopped off. Nina wanted more drama. Debra liked it. Hmmmmm. Kors said that every time there’s no origami rose, Shitgobbler doesn’t know what to do. He added that “Origami Rose” should be his drag name. LULZ!
Elena gave us a majorette from the time of the Pharaohs: Cleocrapra. Nefertootoomuch. It was royal blue, with stripes of silver in jutting triangle shapes here and there, and then some extra glittery shit thrown on too, for when you’re sinking, why not drown drunk? The skirt came to a point in the front and the back, and UGH. The band played on, and on, and on, in the key of Fail Major. Kors just shook his head and said, “To me, she looks like a Las Vegas cheerleader. Just tacky.” Debra called it a circus costume. Heidi said, “Cheesy, Las Vegas mall.” Elena got very emotional, and she seemed a bit lost between trying to make things that are more wearable than what she normally makes.
Sonjia’s purple and blue feather fiesta was fun and wonderful. It stood out from all the rest, due to her use of feathers, but also for how opaque and covered up it was in comparison, but still showy. Yes, it was a little chicken-ey, but I didn’t even care. The model was a spaceship chicken, so it was okay. The bodice had a high round neck and was done in an almost snakeskin-like purple and blue shimmer. The skirt and shoulders were bedecked in rows of shiny purple and blue feathers. It was almost like we’d landed on an alien bird world. I mean that in the best way. The judges disagreed. Heidi called it boxy and not “wow” enough. Nina worried that the feathers were too fragile for a twice-a-day show girl. Honestly, I had not thought about that, for I do not wear many feathers in my day-to-day life of eating macaroni and cheese and blogging. Debra said “a molting group of Rockettes is not really something that would be great.” Kors called it “crazy, disco turkey.”
I gasped when Christopher’s gorgeous salute to New York City came sashaying down the runway. Over a white, sheer illusion, he’d cut out the skyline of the city into the bodice in silver. It was amazing. Stunning. So freaking perfect for the Rockettes, you couldn’t help but grin. He added an adorable silver stripe sequin skirt with flirty slit on the thigh. Even the illusion top shimmered into a turtleneck, which I don’t usually like, but was fabulous here. My only quibble? The skyline strategically covered her nips — but no way could any sort of boob foundation garment be built into this. I guess we’re to assume that the dancers have such small boobs they don’t need them? But I’m guessing should this win, AND I WILL EAT MY HAT IF IT DOESN’T, that it can be fixed when it goes into production. (And that the “nude” bits (such as the zipper) can be adapted to all skin colors.) Heidi called it “stunning.” Nina called it New York at its best. Kors called it a Bob Mackie moment, and said it was a combo of stage presence and chic.
Fabio’s silver illusion and sequin mess of a dress looked all the more mess after Christopher’s. His, too, had a turtleneck, but it was in a droopy grey that was just sad. Over top, a silver sequin halter dress that managed to give the model droop-tit. The skirt was done in vertical stripes ending in points, resembling a drag queen gladiatrix. It was heavy and drab, despite the shiny shiny shiny. I think with a better-cut bodice and a burning of that sad grey illusion, this might have been something. This thing was safe.
Christopher won! And what a wonderful win. I would love to see the performance featuring this costume. Congrats!
Who would go home for their Yuckette costume? Elena and Ven plummeted into the bottom two. Heidi said, slowly and dramatically, “Elena…
Which meant that Origami Rose, the scourge of boobs and non-moddles, was out. OUT. OUT FOREVER. Gone from our tee vees. Away with his scowlings and faces and shitbird things to say! HOORAY AND DING DONG THE SHITGOBBLER WILL GOBBLE SHIT NO FURTHER!
What say you, blog friends? What were you doing when stupid face went away forever?!
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