Finally, no? It's starting to unfold, isn't it?
We get to see him have a sweet conversation with the folks back home. We see that the best model, when given the opportunity, chooses to work with him above all other designers. We get to see him light up like a Christmas tree at the thought of dressing a modern-day Pam Motherfucking Grier. We get more than a few glimpses of the perpetual twinkle in his eye. We get to watch him swiftly and effectively jib ho in a stiff headwind, change his tack and take an even better course. We get to see his sheer, unadulterated joy when he talks about color and his vision and the why of hotpants as if he were splitting atoms. We finally get to see the creative machine that is Michael "Captain Save-A-'Ho" Knight from the Hood.
And can I just say Hail The Return of The Orange Mush? Welcome back, Michael Kors, we missed you dearly. Those pockets of Vincent's were "insane," there is no other word for them. And Heidi apparently celebrated by wearing one of your head-to-toe outfits with (let's be fair) those insane boots.
For that matter, can we make a permanent seat for Diane von Furstenberg? Because DVF is no mincing, shy critic, God bless her. And no poker face on her either. Did you see the glorious reverie on her mug when Michael's Pam Grier ensemble and Uli's Diana Ross homage went by? She was in some sort of 70s euphoric recall ecstasy talking about those hotpants. Wouldn't it be genius to have been a tube of that woman's lipstick back in the day? You know she saw it all. Loved the Twiggy smackdown on Vincent, too. Girlfriend was all, have some respect for Twiggy, she is ALIVE, you ninny. Watch out, dude, she will sic that bitch Barry Diller on you, and don't nobody want that.
A word about the models? Not bad, ladies. They were paying attention, no? Paying attention to the designers. I was very impressed.
I was, at first, positively mortified when Angela's model picked Audrey Hepburn. I think, truly, this was because the model fancied herself a modern-day Hepburn and come Hell or high water she wanted to play dress up. Because, really? Angela? Audrey Hepburn? No. And then? That dress was a little bit of magic. It really was. Hope it was not a fluke, because that was some real artistry. But to parrot Trey, "Why the Hell does she (Angela) dress like that?!"
And I even had to laugh a little at Kayne's apparent Tom Ford-esque misogyny shining through with his model Amanda. Though I'd probably have wanted her to shut up, too. The duct tape, though? This from someone who just lurves women? Riiiiight. Please note how this is inherently different from a man who tosses out a glib phrase like "Captain Save-A-'Ho." Because it is.
Does anyone else feel like Bradley occupied the space that someone else about a thousand times more talented and interesting could've taken instead? Adiós, Prince Valium.
Robert? What happened to the Tiffany blue fabric? And what is with you and the rope belts? By the way, fire that model, she has a sourpuss and can't walk.
Vincent? Still off your dosage. Not sure why you're still there. Insane pockets is right. There is a distinct element of the unhinged in everything you do.
Jeffrey? Whatever. You're just not the genius you think you are. That get-up (like all the others) looked totally Beyond Thunderdome, and not in a good way. Combat boots? Unflattering. And you, too, seem to hate women, one in particular, wishing for her to have a stroke. Nice. You have a daughter, don't you? Doubly nice. By the way, Madonna would squish you into a grease spot, because in spite of what she'd like us to believe, she's from Detroit and that neck tattoo of yours would incite rage in her. That, and the fact that you think you could dress her. You're no Gaultier, freakboy.
Alison? Very cute. Wasn't crazy about the Farrah thing either way, but she has skills and she's nice. Nice counts for a lot up to a certain point. Jury's out, I am not sure what to make of her. Final four probably. Something unexpected.
Laura? Well, of course, Katherine Hepburn. Of course! And still, not so predictable. Or, perhaps predictable, but predictably beautiful and of course a model would want to work with her. Of course. Please, continue the verbal assaults on the insufferable Jeffrey. It strikes a nice contrast with your sleek exterior to hear you eviscerate a shitbird like that.
Uli, Diana Ross has you on speed dial.
(photo from Bravo)