Please tell me you watched ProRun last night. Because I don’t want to be the only schmuck sitting in my office with puffy eyes staring out the window and wondering why, oh why, Malan was kicked off ProRun. Yes, his dress looked like something found down a Port-O-Potty well, sure his rouching was unsophisticated and student-y, indeed the asymmetrical bust line looked like something out of Beetlejuice, but my god, Bravo. He’s Malan Breton from Taiwan. He speaks seven languages and has a maniacal laugh. His gel usage makes Gavin look like a hippy. He wears velvet blazers and ascots and slippers with crests on them. Malan is the most marvelous, affected, Euro-freak I’ve ever encountered and I looked forward to an entire season of mocking/worshiping him.
Kicked off in Episode 2?
Quelle horreur. Talk about a bitchslap.
Worse, those idiots kept Vincent. Vincent, who can barely muster the emotional stability to thread a sewing machine. Vincent, who’s a 49 year old straight male and constantly on the verge of tears. Vincent, who might as well shove a dustbin up a model’s ass and call it fashion. Vincent, we keep.
You know who I blame? Guest judge Vera Wang. First of all, I haven’t liked Vera Wang ever since I read an article in Vogue about Vera’s pre-party routine in which she spends an hour in the bath and has holistic massages and meditates in her sensory cocoon and reflects on her heritage. I call bullshit. I bet she shaves her legs at the sink and slams a shot of courage while applying 3 year old mascara like the rest of us. Additionally, I hate Vera’s voice and tone and nagging, whining ridiculous opinions. Everything was inspired by fresh lilies on her mother’s nightstand or a croissant she once had while studying at the Sorbonne. Whatever.
Where the hell is that queen Kors? Fire Island? Palm Springs? And from the looks of next week’s previews, it seems we’re stuck with Wang again. I know that Michael Kors would never kick that Malan to the curb. He’s too watchable. But Vera, with her evil, swishy hair and pursed lips, looking so disappointed by the unattractiveness of everything and everyone, has probably never even watched the show, unwilling to lower herself. Vera’s only willing to enter the reality milieu provided she gets to pontificate on hemlines and haute couture. Vera has no sense of humor, and I bet if someone said something funny around her, she stare them down with her cold disapproval and dismiss them to fetch her some miso.
I’ll leave it to the other bloggers to dish on Kween Kayne and The Dread Butt Pirate Robert, because I’m still in mourning over the untimely dismissal of my personal hero and future butler, Malan Breton from Taiwan…
Update: I just read “Tim’s Take” on the Bravo website, basically a weekly recap from my best friend and yours, Tim Gunn. This week, Tim refers to Robert as “the epitome of sophistication and quiet restraint.” Are you shitting me, Tim? Or rather, are you fucking Robert? Because the last thing Miss Barbie outfit designer should be described as is sophisticated. I was stumped at Tim’s response to Robert at the casting special, as Robert displayed his trite, poorly constructed Jennifer Love Hewitt collection. Robert, however, is a former student of Tim’s, and thus, must be a genius. I pointed out to Mikey last night that Robert is a man upon whom homosexuality is completely wasted. He’s simply a bad gay. He’s not funny, he’s bitchy in the wrong way, he’s far too kiss-assy, he’s totally fake and his designs, Tim Gunn, are unoriginal, uninspired and uncool. Something’s up here, and I’m going to get to the bottom of it…