After Christian Siriano was crowned the fiercest designer in the land on Project Runway’s fourth-season finale, we felt happy but slightly empty. Not because we didn’t think he deserved the win, but because we hadn’t gotten our dramatic fill. There was no fighting. No abject horror. Not even a whiff of impropriety. What kind of self-respecting reality show fields a finale full of talented, qualified contestants who neither sabotage each other nor do anything to make Heidi Klum want to vomit on her shoes?
Thank God the Project Runway finale is upon us once more! It’s been nearly a year and a half since neck-tattoo enthusiast Jeffrey Sebelia was crowned last season’s winner and, at the very least, we’re jonesing for a new victim to insert into those terrible Saturn ads.
Thank fugging God: The nausea and shakes we were experiencing at the thought of being denied the Oscars this year has finally given way to the nausea and excitement at having our Academy Awards fashion dreams — and, hopefully, nightmares — granted anew. Will Ellen Page bring out the Converse, thereby tragically dooming herself to becoming the Cybill Shepherd of her generation? Will Ruby Dee and Javier Bardem lock eyes across the red carpet and kick off a torrid love affair for the ages? Will Clooney show up wearing a potted plant as a hat? (Likely.) Join us, as we bask in the healing glow of Ryan Seacrest's delicious veneers, and find out.
As we watched the parade of sob stories and screeching girls on Wednesday night's premiere of America’s Next Top Model, it got us all misty and nostalgic for the knuckleheads of yore. How much more poetic if Tyra Banks had used her tenth — tenth! — cycle to celebrate the nutjobs who got her there?
Just when we thought Fashion Week held no more surprises, we discovered that, as usual, we were wrong. After all, if sharing air space with K-Fed, J.Lo, and Liza Minnelli (L.Mi?) wasn't enough to shake us out of our jaded, hard-hearted cynicism for a moment, nothing is. And though the last eight days were often exhausting and occasionally eye-crossing, they were also, as ever, tremendously fun. Here are a few highlights:
When we emerged from the cab at the Donna Karan show on Friday afternoon, we finally got our first gander at some PETA protesters. There were only two of them, but they had gone all out, as apparently Donna Karan is currently PETA's Public Enemy Number One, judging from how people are breaking into her house and whatnot.
Because it took us 45 minutes to get to Lincoln Center in rush-hour traffic, we might have been a little late for Tommy Hilfiger. And because we might have been a little late for Tommy Hilfiger, we might have missed the chance to sit in our actual assigned seats. This may be how we ended up loitering in a glass-enclosed balcony, fighting for a spot past the folks in standing room who'd gotten there at a reasonable hour. And that's how we found ourselves at our lowest Fashion Week point, both emotionally and physically: kneeling on the carpet, peering through people's legs down at the front row below.
It's not often that we completely geek out for a celebrity, but when it happens, it's generally only because we bump into someone from an Aaron Spelling drama and become embarrassingly unable to contain ourselves (like when we saw Nat From the Peach Pit at our grocery store and called out to him in the parking lot, which is practically against the law in California). Tragically, after a bottle of complimentary Prosecco at Cynthia Rowley's show on Thursday, one such moment occurred in which our cool vanished like the Great Wall of China under David Copperfield's mischievous hand.
Lindsay Lohan was rumored to appear at the Calvin Klein show on Thursday, but we saw neither hide nor hair of the leggings-loving former redhead. Tragic, yet not surprising: LiLo seems like the sort to ditch. We also wondered if we'd see Kate Bosworth, since she's appearing on CK billboards all over town.
During a week that's all about forecasting and setting trends, we're starting to think the biggest one is that 10 a.m. is the new crack of dawn. Thank God for Mariska Hargitay, without whom the front rows at Vera Wang this morning would've felt as lifeless as our hair after six days of heat-styling.
Listen, we know we've said a lot about Vincent Gallo that has been, shall we say, unflattering. But we can't help that we noticed this: At Anna Sui's show in the tents Wednesday afternoon, Gallo sat next to a little girl who spent most of the show leaning away from him and at one point held her invitation up between them. However, and here's the shocker, we felt bad seeing that.
Eliza Dushku officially learned the hard way the First Rule of Fashion Week: Don't arrive at the same time as J.Lo does. When we noticed Dushku and her brother Nate at Wednesday's Marchesa presentation, we scampered over to check out her dress and then completely forgot about her the second we noticed La Lopez and her svelte hand warmer, Marc Anthony, a mere two feet away.
There is something comforting about walking into a show and finding Donald Trump already seated and looking resplendent in the front row, as we discovered Wednesday morning at Michael Kors. The Donald was, of course, accompanied by wife Melania and spent most of the show sharing a running commentary with her, patting her leg, and passing out mints to the people around him.
We thought the Tory Burch presentation on Tuesday evening would be sort of a snore: pretty clothes, no celebrities. Little did we know that we'd find ourselves in the middle of a romantic drama — just the way we like it!
Whenever we arrive at a show and see a huge line snaking along the building and way down the street, it's always a relief to see that people like Tim Gunn and Plum Sykes are languishing in the same queue.
Given that its front man is something of a celebrity-friendly designer, we decided to forego the usual brow-furrowing and crowd-scanning at Marc by Marc Jacobs in favor of simply asking a PR girl for a general idea where the famous guests might be concentrated. Looking at us like Marilyn Manson's head had just burst forth from our shoulders — and, we think, erroneously assuming we didn't know the difference between this clothing line and its upscale Marc Jacobs sibling — the event staffer said, "Oh, this isn't the one that celebrities come to."
>Monique Lhuillier's show is traditionally jam-packed with pretty young things in the market for pretty new things to wear, and Tuesday's show was true to form. In addition to reliable old Sophia Bush, who seems to be losing her voice after her week of nonstop yapping, we spotted Entourage's Perrey Reeves — a new face, thank goodness!
The 10 a.m. start — practically the crack of dawn, really, what with being two whole hours before noon and all — of Tuesday's Badgley Mischka show apparently deterred the likes of Rose McGowan, Amy Smart, and Heather Graham from rolling out of bed and doing their hair. (Or maybe they were just downtown for the Giants parade? At the polling stations?