A day without internet feels as if I’ve fallen down a well like that little Texan girl, and I have no idea what’s going on up in the real world because I’m trapped in a communication-free vortex.
More importantly, I’ve yet to forget my important thoughts and feelings about last night’s ProRun and I’m desperate to get them down.
Tim Gunn, what happened? My god, it’s been a rough year apparently. Tim looks like pasty, old shit. And he’s either completely let himself go or is aging like Robin Williams in that movie, Jack. That’s not stopping sugar daddy from kissing the adorable yet bitchy Keith Michael’s ass. Andre who?
I love that Heidi Klum, but she’s getting bitchier and bitchier every season and watching her offer “opinions” on the portfolios of contestants like a fashionista dilatante annoyed the artist in me. Models don’t have opinions.
Nina Garcia, you are not important to the show. You exist because you’re foreign and offer a modicum of critical credibility. You’re boring, you’re not funny, and while often articulate, fair and correct, you and your flashcards bother me.
Michael Kors is obviously jealous of the Tim Gunn attention machine and has spent his entire hiatus not designing his fabulous American sportswear for fly-over states but coming up with snippety quips in a pathetic attempt to one-up and out-gay our Tim. Impossible! Michael, you’re not the flamer old homo with the sassy lines. You’re the flamer old homo fashion expert. Act like it.
Malan? Oh Malan, you are my new favorite person alive. Malan claims to be from “all over. I was born in Taiwan, so you know…” He has the most ridiculous yet marvelous accent and I’m desperate to have him to dinner parties because no one’s ever worn an ascot in my house and I’d love him to make up stories about how he races cars with the Crown Prince of Monaco and plays polo with Masai warriors at his Kenyan ranch.
I want Laura Bennett to design every outfit in my life and I was so inspired by this ice queen, I actually dressed like her today. She’s, thus far, my absolute favorite designer on the show, even though I wasn’t wild about her Cotton Club, J-Lo goes to court winter coat, I was so into the green dress with the red rose and flapper ensembles, not to mention her art installation home, I’m calling awesome now.
Vincent will be kept on the show for the sole purpose of mocking his crappy ass style. I went to fashion design school with some chick who designed like Vincent, always shit falling off her garment on the runway and incorporating ridiculous things as accessories. Frying pans aren’t purses. Hello, Tim? Wouldn’t we call this “student-y?” I am not interested in Vincent, nor do I have any sentimentality towards his fragile mental state. Vincent’s out!
Keith Michael, Tim’s new boytoy, is totally fabulous because he’s a cocky asshole, which I love, and I think it’s wonderful how he keeps announcing he has, by far, the best taste of anyone in the world. That may very well be true, as his clothes were flawless. But that’s a hard claim to pull off whilst wearing a sweaty short sleeve white henley.
There’s some Barbie dress designer named Robert who’s already talked trash about working for Isaac Mizrahi, which I believe, but it’s still no-class to diss a former boss on episode one of a show you know he’s watching. Plus, I thought his portfolio was crap and his runway dress barely passable, and even then, only if you’re Audrey Hepburn.
Oh, oh. And we’ve got the perfect, mid-west gay from Oklahoma who designs pageant dresses and I promise you, will cry constantly. I’m delighted that we’ve got some Midwestern homos on the show. I’m from San Francisco. Mid-western homos end up here. I’m bored with those high-falutin’ New York queens, in their Barney’s Co-Op ensembles and seared Ahi. I love me some country gay.
Oh, there’s the rapper guy who designs disgusting ho clothes, but he’s so friendly, I can’t help but like him. I hate his clothes. I hate his teeth. But he’s a big one for the handshake and eye contact and it’s unexpected, so I’m cool with him. For now.
Jeffrey, the psychotic, LA rock stylist almost lost the challenge, which is ridiculous. Granted, he’s obnoxious (I didn’t know they still made hand buzzers) and I’m hardly a fan of his neck tattoo (Yeah. We get it. You’re hardcore. How do we know? It says so on your neck) but his clothing was perfect. How the judges put him on the shit list with two untalented idiots is beyond me. Jeffrey, by the way, is the new Santino.
Alison, the flawlessly beautiful girl, makes me want to become a lesbian. Or a murderer, because she has no sense of humor and nothing interesting to say, which makes me want to kill her. Also, I hated her designs and did not understand why she felt the need to ruin a perfectly cute jumper with sea-shell body armor. But she’s hot. And hot always wins.
There are some other people I don’t care about, too, but I’m far more focused on my TimTim. Tim Gunn is the new media darling, as far as I’m concerned. Whatever I can do to forward the show biz career of this glorious gay I’ll do, because number one on my list of things I love about my favorite show in the world is everything Tim Gunn says or does. Ever…