Project Runway: A View From the Husband Seat

I’ve been watching Project Runway every week– I just haven’t found much to say. So I thought I’d turn it over to my husband Diego for a week and see if someone with congenital black/dark blue colorblindness* could find something interesting about this rather stitch-by-numbers season from Lifetime.

Watch as I rue the day.

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So I’m thirty seconds into watching Project Runway with Heidi Klum and already I’m wishing my water bottle was laced with cyanide. It’s not the fashion designs that have me gripping the couch– I haven’t really seen any yet. It’s the designers. The show opens with each of them saying a few carefully edited words about themselves or their designs or butterflies, I can’t recall specifics, but know for sure that I am going to enjoy hating one or all of them over the course of the next sixty minutes. But let me not get ahead of myself. Allow me to open with a few words of my own regarding ME.

First of all, I know nothing about, and care even less for, fashion. I was recently appalled to learn that I owned nine pair of shoes. Michelle assures me this isn’t outrageous for an adult male, but I am inconsolable. When did I become such a spoiled prince? I mean, I grew up in household where three pair of shoes and two pair of jeans were standard. As an adult, I continue to view clothes in very practical terms: society dictates that I must wear them while buying groceries at Trader Joe’s or going places like church, so I do. If I end up looking good, it is the result of a happy accident or entirely Michelle’s fault. I don’t think I’ve purchased a single article of clothing for myself in over fourteen years. I’m her live action Ken doll, sports car not included. Truth be told, I cannot even distinguish between dark blue and black dress socks. But, you know what? They go on your feet! Who cares if they don’t match? And if you’re wearing dark blue or black socks with shorts, no amount of reality TV watching is going to save you – it’s just straight to fashion hell for you! Now I may not know fashion, but I am no stranger to reality-based TV and am (not) proud to say that I watched the virgin seasons of Survivor, Fear Factor, American Idol and The Running Man starring Arnold Schwarzenegger.  Now that we’re better acquainted, let’s talk reality-based fashion TV, shall we?

Three minutes into the program and I’m twelve minutes worth of lost. So many people and designs to remember and what happened last show and even more butterflies. I don’t panic, but rather, default to what I know best: reality-based people. More specifically, which people am I going to root for and against? Or perhaps just against. This Nicolas dude is a co-workers’ worst nightmare, as is Shirin. It’s “When Snipey Met Whiney.” There are others, but I have already wished a pox upon both of their houses. With that box checked, we move on to the challenge I wish for both of them to lose in spectacularly dramatic fashion.

Heidi announces that the designers will have all new models for this challenge. A collective gasp echoes from the group which signals that I should care about something. It turns out the “models” are recently divorced women. In single file they march onto the runway wearing their expired wedding gowns. I’m a bit uncomfortable on their behalf until I learn from Heidi what the designers must do next. The challenge is to design an entirely new outfit, using the aforementioned wedding gowns, that will help these women move on to the next stage of their lives. From this point forward, Tim Gunn collectively refers to this group of women as “The Divorcees.” Thanks for helping them move forward, Tim!

“I just get really happy when they finally let her shop.”
~Michele Weinberger
“Romy & Michele’s High School Reunion”

And so they go shopping, the whole lot of them. They run and pull fabric from giant paper towel rolls and other things, I don’t know. It’s all so confusing. I do know two things for certain, however. 1) they each have a $25 budget, and 2) I could do it better than them. How could I not? I am the viewing audience and I know all. It’s the unspoken contract between reality TV and its loyal public– every four years, Uncle Bob is transformed into an expert on the triple salchow, double toe loop and the importance of artistic interpretation.  Now that I am an expert on fabrics, I am certain that my $25 would have been spent on only the finest silks for my superior creation.

The designers begin drawing and sketching and sketching and drawing, fabric everywhere and after fifteen minutes of program viewing, I feel appropriately qualified to openly criticize their work. If I were on the show, I am confident that I would have a good shot of winning this challenge. There’s only one minor concern: I’m not really that strong at drawing. No matter. Drawing only serves to slow down the creative process.

At this point Tim Gunn enters the room. He’s a cross between Moses and a cosmetics department offer, providing insight from above to illuminate your path and every so often bestowing a free gift with purchase, as he does with Shirin, aka Whiney.  “There’s not enough fabric,” Shirin complains. “My client doesn’t know what she wants.” As Tim approaches her workstation, she hastily tucks two large, brown feathers into the chestal area, and begins to cry. Tim advises her to “just play” and have fun with it, spread things out on the table and discover the possibilities. I wanted him to be harder on her given the pox I had so carefully placed upon her home, however I was overcome with unexpected empathy. She just needed someone to recognize that she had been given a fashion lemon.  I hope this lesson of lemonade over whine is not lost on her. It’s hard to be a hater when it comes to key learning opportunities. House pox removed for now.

Before announcing “The Divorcees,” Tim wields his mighty staff and imparts a stitch of wisdom to the designers: the client should respect the fact that one designer will be going home at the end of the show. It is the designer’s job to meet client expectations and influence them away from poor design choices. Good advice, really. I’m starting to feel some love for this show– love which turns out to be short-lived when the designers begin talking again. Nicolas (aka Snipey) fits a Divorcee with his creation and she indicates her approval by announcing her desire to have his baby. He tells her she looks fabulous or fierce or something. Cut to an intimate conversation with Nicolas, where we learn what he really thinks about his Divorcee: “She looks hideous in her outfit.” I, personally, am relieved. He just saved me the trouble of ordering yet another pox removal. They’re so expensive these days.

Since The Divorcees are not professional models, they are required to participate in Runway Walk 101, the prerequisite course to Fierce Face 203, which in turn is the prerequisite for the capstone course, Career Strategy 405: How’d Tyra Get Her Own Damn Show? Now, let me just say that most of these women already seem to have the basics of walking down pretty well at this point in their lives. How much can we reasonably expect them to improve given limited classroom time and the inability to complete the capstone course? I guess we’re about to find out.

It’s runway time, and Heidi, sternly reminds the designers, “In fashion, one day you are in, the next day you are out. From nine only eight will move on.” At this point I’m earnestly nodding in agreement: truer words were never spoken.

It’s hard for me to articulate what transpired next as I’m still in a bit of shock.  Since the last time we saw the women — I mean, The Divorcees – they have tragically transformed into hip-swaying fembots, and not in the good way. Divorcee after Divorcee mechanically sashays down the runway until all the designs are seen by Heidi and the guest judges– some important woman from Jimmy Choo and a guy, I didn’t catch his name, but I’m pretty sure he was someone. Michelle and I exchange opinions on each design prior to Judgment. Personally, I enjoyed the triple salchow.

The designers are instructed to leave the runway while Heidi and the judges deliberate. Now, I’m fairly new to the world of high fashion, however, my guess is these words, when spoken in reference to one’s work, are not so good: space bubble dress, metallic garbage bag, Oktoberfest and– my personal favorite– pirate’s wench. Brutal. Now I’ve had some pretty tough performance reviews in my day, but can honestly say that only one of those phrases actually appears in my HR file.

The din of the cymbals signals the dramatic crescendo is upon us. As expected, several designers survive the latest challenge and gratefully leave the runway. Among the saved are Whiney and Snipey, the latter inclusion bothering me a whole lot more than the former. The bottom two designers are Logan and Epperson, two reality-based people who barely annoy me at all. At this point I’m not really invested in who gets the boot, but just so you know: Epperson is out. Apparently, he missed the mark for the assignment, which was to transform the wedding dress and not simply to use the greatest amount of fabric from the old dress. Epperson gets the “auf” on both cheeks as Heidi turns the knife in the heart of yet another design casualty. And it is at this point that I begin to feel something for the first time for poor Epperson. He has talent, no doubt. He just missed the point of one assignment and, in a flash, was demoted back to reality-based real life. In his audition tape, he stated his desire to become a household name. I wonder what might become of Epperson post-Project Runway? I’m given little time to ponder the possibilities as I am halted to attention by Heidi’s teaser, “Next time on Project Runway, you will be designing for a Grammy winning artist!”

Who could it be? Mariah Carey, MC Hammer? My interest is marginal at best until I hear a preview of Heidi doling out harsh and intriguing criticism, presumably to one of the remaining designers. I stare intently at the TV screen, eyes squinted as if to summon powers beyond my control so that I may be shown who gets the boot next week. No such luck. Could it be Snipey? Dangit. Who?! Now I must know!

So what has sixty minutes of reality-based fashion TV taught me about fashion? Well, first of all I’ve learned that fashion, much like football, baseball and whittlin’, can be a rather enjoyable spectator sport. It only takes a rudimentary knowledge of “the game” to have earned the right to criticize any player on the field. Secondly, Heidi scares the bejeezus out of me. And, finally, I’ve learned that the “but wait, there’s more!” phenomenon is no longer limited to the domain of late night television infomercials. It’s mainstream now, baby. And for the record, I wasn’t going to buy my fourth set of Ginsu knives, but it came with a free Food Dehydrator. I dare you to resist that offer. I mean, it’s a Food Dehydrator, man!

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*I believe they’ve located the gene on the Y chromosome.

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