THE BLING BLOG

Kim Said It First, But It Bears Repeating: "Getting Vincent Off"

Yes, Kim and I probably share a brain at some moments, because I really was going to title this thing "Vincent Gets Off" or "Getting Vincent Off" or similar.  And I still did.

I mean, really, now.  How many times do we have to see him in his tank 'beater undershirt, or his boxer shorts, or some combination of the two in various states of undress in the workroom, chest hair a-flyin' like something out of Austin Powers, droning incessantly about how fashion "gets (him) off."  Eww.  Gross.  Disgusting.  Even sitting on the grassy knoll in Paris...  talking about getting off.  Nasty.

And how about that sick, obsequious crap he pulled with Catherine Malandrino on the boat?  Wasn't that the best when Heidi read Catherine's scorecard and the comments?  "No.  No.  No.  No.  No."  Hee!

Here's a snippet of Vincent's totally delusional interview with Entertainment Weekly:

I was not kissing up to her at all.  I likened her to Anouk Aimée.  I don't kiss up to anybody.  When I looked at Catherine, I saw Anouk Aimée, and she just blows my doors off.  I saw a little bit of that in Catherine's style. I approached Catherine, and I said, ''I'm really fascinated by your style.''  But I don't think she liked my dress.  When judges see something new, they get intimidated themselves.  With Catherine and Michael Kors, I think there was a little bit of intimidation.  I might frighten other designers.  I really don't know.

Wow.  Uh, Vincent?  I know, I know!  You frighten America, dude.  Please go read the EW article.  He's utterly nuts.  I think, frankly, the on-camera editing did him a lot of favors.  He's cra-zee.

I guess sucking up to the judges ultimately didn't work after all.  Once again, I have to agree with Kim on this one.  Is Vincent, like, in some way reminding Heidi of Pappy Klum?  Is there some daughter/father guilt there?  Did she feel bad about the 401K or something?

I almost loved Jeffrey a little bit for grinding at his fat neck with the Remington and messing with Vincent's slumber.  Because Vincent was so far past his sell-by date.  He was shelf-rot.  Some upholstery with Judy Jetson sleeves?  Again?  Vincent, old man, hope you still have your COBRA.  Because it's time for those meds to be checked.  For real this time.

Now, Jeffrey.  Okay, so I don't love it when an obvious misanthrope who claims some kind of bizarro Santa Claus relationship with God (and also claims to know when God is drunk, or not, as seems to have been the case in Jeffrey's twisted mind last week and this week) states that he is "happy, joyous and free."

Those three words?  Spoken by Jeffrey?  About Jeffrey?  Uh, no.

Happy?  Only when he can make someone cry.

Joyous?  Perhaps at the sight of another's suffering.

Free?  The man is the definition of a person obsessed with himself.  No freedom in that, son.

That said, he was the only contestant who created anything that approximated "couture" in my mind.  Highly derivative, seen-it-somewhere-before, but yes, sort of couture-ish.  And his model worked it.  She looked like she was having some fun with that business.

And Kayne.  Oh, dear.  His days are sadly numbered.  As Nina said, the taste level just isn't there.  But did anyone else notice how much better that gown looked on the Parisian model?  Was it because she was much smaller?  Not sure, but I think so.  Anyone else notice how much slighter those models were?  I will be sad to see him go.  Because he's going next week.  He loves, loves, loves what he does.  But indeed, the taste level is not there.  However, Kayne will never lack for customers, God bless him.

Oh Laura.  I've heard the camera adds ten pounds.  Does the camera also add three month's gestation as well?  That belly didn't look like any three-month pregnant woman I'd ever seen...  But maybe that's what happens when you've had five pregnancies already?  Jesus H. Christmas.  Oh, bother, though.  I am a little tired of The Standard Laura Fare.  It works, and it works beautifully...  normally.  But it really decomposed this time.  Michael Kors really brought it to light, did he not?  Give her a feather duster and she's a French maid, oui?

Speaking of judges, how about guest judge Richard Tyler?  Love the mumbling, greasy Keith Richards-esqueness of him.  Obviously he missed his sitdown in the TreSemmé hairsalon.  What was in that hair of his?  The egg that was thrown from the balcony at Michael's model?  I have some RT boots and a suit in the closet, circa 1995.  Very severe, yet still wearable.  I digress.

Uli?  Well, not bad.  Definitely not couture, but definitely a close second place.  But again, I am a little bit tired of The Standard Uli Fare.  At least this time it was monochromatic.  Does she seem like she gets a bit defensive when criticized by the judges?  Crossed arms, Teutonic frown?  She doesn't seem the type to take direction well.

And sigh, Michael.  What can I say but obviously the judges love you as much as we do.  Because that dress was a mess.  And, yes, you were doing what Malan was trying to do with the ruching.  But you need some additional skillz.  No doubt you could be a master rucher one day.  Thank goodness you won't have to.  You'll have minions to do it for you.

(As always, check out BPR, Screaming & Punching, and El Manolo for astute commentary and quality PR post-mortems.  You have wait until Monday for FourFour, but it's always worth it.)

Jeffrey Obviously Knows God Well And Is Completely At Ease With Commenting On God's Doings

And not only does Jeffrey know God well, but apparently God smiles and frowns according to the things that happen in Jeffrey's life, and God lives and dies according to this same plan.

For example:  Jeffrey wins, therefore God is alive.

Lucky Jeffrey, huh?

Wonder what the good Reverend Falwell might have to say about this?  Oh, shiver.  Can you imagine that apocalyptic showdown?  The lights in my hotel room dimmed just from me pondering it.  Seriously.

More on this tomorrow.

This Here's The Highlight Of My Week Tonight!

I've been remiss in posting about PR the last two weeks due to travel and work issues.  But suffice it to say that what I have to say about the last two episodes can be summed up in one or two sentences.

Had Vincent been sent home two weeks ago for that bizarro, atrocious refrigerator box "dress" with swirly magnets, and he wouldn't have been there last week to win.  And maybe Alison would have.  Fin.

Please, please, if I can't get you the snarky goods on Project Runway (or even if I do) immediately refer to all of the following resources:  The Manolo, Kim at I Am Pretty NYC, Screaming & Punching, FourFour, and the inimitable Blogging Project Runway.

At this very moment, people, BPR has a Message from Cap'n Save-A-Ho' himself on the site!

More tomorrow, I promise!

So Much To Talk About, Back From Vacation, But Still On The Road

I am back from vacation, sort of, but still on the road.  Work this time.

So much to discuss!

Project Runway.

The Monterey Classics.

Jewelry shopping in Carmel.

Dangers of squirrels while shopping near Tiffany & Co.  (hat tip to Etienne)

It's late.  We'll catch up tomorrow night, m'kay?

Three Cheers For Captain Save-A-'Ho!

Finally, Michael wins.

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)

This Week I Did Not...

This week I did not...

...find it necessary to comment on this jeweler's inappropriate and tasteless memorial to the Twin Towers.  It was hard, but I did not.

...like some, mourn that Bad Keith was asked to leave Project Runway, in fact I was pretty chipper.  People who go through life thinking "The Rules Don't Apply To Me" actually had Bad Mommies, Keith, not Good Mommies.

...care to learn how to make a kakamamie rosette alá Angela.  I'd rather eat forty bags of Skittles.

...yearn for a $4 million, 24K, 100 pound Mickey Mouse.

...pre-order a Tim Gunn bobblehead doll.

...buy these.  Oh, but I wanted to.  They are so choice.

What Could Be Better Than A Pug Dressed In A Giraffe Print?

Quite obviously, everyone here at the Bling Blog was ecstatic with Uli's and Einstein's victory.  The dress was (minus the little jacket) was absolute perfection from pattern, to cut, to fit, to mélange of prints.

In short, it was beautiful.  And what I liked, too, was the look on her face because she knew she'd nailed it.  She had such a gleeful expression.

And Uli's adoration of her little cuddle-umpkins, the curiously-named Einstein, was very endearing as well.

Does anyone recall Einstein's obsequiousness when he buried his mug in her cleavage on the work table?

Classic Pug move.

Even Nixon and Linus, as proud of their puggishness as they are, scoffed a bit at the irony of naming a Pug after, well, a genius.  Pugs are known for many things.  Genius is not one of them.

Parading about in a glossy, giraffe-print get-up that says "Hey Ladies?"

Yes, most definitely.  If you have a Pug, you would concur.  If you have ever met a Pug, ditto.  One of our Pugs?  No doubt.

Even better, one that would've said, "Hey Ladies, Where's The Cheese?"  I think we might even have one of those around here.  Um, not really.

Katherine?  As for the aufing of Katherine?  Whatever.  Should've listened to Uncle Tim.  Green is my favorite color and she managed to make it look insipid.  The dog looked cuter than the model.

Angela?  I'm actually curious to see what sort of garishly creepy crap Angela will come up with next week.  Seriously?  That "English kindergarten teacher in Paris" was inspired.  Inspired by illicit substances procured from her solar-powered homegrown organic off-the-grid farm in O-high-o.  But yeah, inspired.  Crikey.

Michael?  Wow!  The top of that tweedy dress was beautifully constructed, no?  Can they please pay some more attention to him?  I would like to have seen more of the work that went into that.  Perhaps the editing is such that they're going to surprise us (!) with him later this season.  Idiots.

Laura?  Wow again!  Mongolian lamb, good stuff...  As much as she hated that little dog, she rose to the occasion, which did not surprise me in the least.  I wonder if at some point she will get challenged by Tim or the judges to move out of her trés elegant comfort zone.  Oh, definitely she will be.

Kayne?  Liked the Missoni stuff, but not the printed patent leather.  Kind of garish.  But the Missoni prints, yummy.

Keith?  He needs to have an unfortunate accident.  On purpose.  He's like benzene in the water.  He could've made spats or little red boots for that cool dog and won.  Instead he had to be a piss ant.

Vincent?  What's with the chapeaux all the time?  I would've been rolling down the runway trying to get that off of my head, too.  And the leggings?  What was that?

Bradley?  Smoking what Angela is smoking.  And if that could be in Elle Magazine, Nina, I shall not buy Elle Magazine.  It looked like a glazed Stay-Puft doughnut.

Robert?  Nicely done, as usual.  Chanel doggie?  Yawn.

Jeffrey?  Surprisingly not post-Apocalyptic!  Some actual construction.  Hmmm...  is there talent there?  Gasp!  He actually looked sort of giddy sitting there watching his work on the runway.  The bad man likes the little doggies!  Maybe not a sociopath after all...

Alison?  Poor thing, she really though she'd win, didn't she?  Not as good as Uli, though.  But formidable.  Were they throwing little visual daggers at one another?  The hair on the model was awful, if seen on the street, but perfect for the poodle ensemble.  I mean, really perfect.  She had the whole ensemble pulled together.  And she's so chipper.

Bonnie?  Is she still there?  Which one is she?

(photos from Bravo)

Heidi Klum's Diverse Branding Enterprise

Would you buy these from Heidi Klum?

Heidi's Fruit Flirtations™, or as I like to call them, Klummi Bears™, are quite the rage in Europe.  They're gummi candies that come in frutti flavors like currant, lemon, grapefruit, etc.  Fat free!

While they may be "My Favorite Candies" to Heidi Klum, I would personally rather have one of these Joseph Schmidt truffles and slowly, gingerly eat tiny nibbles of it over the course of 48 hours and not have another one for six months than have an entire truckload of Klummi Bears™ at my disposal 365 days a year.

Don't get me wrong, I adore Heidi.  But wait for the next offering...

I found these gorgeous (ahem) things via Heidi's website and a subsequent link to the Birkenstock site, where there are numerous shoes ostensibly designed by Heidi herself.  I picked the two most heinous ones, though there are quite a few other choices.  The electric watermelon safari hightops are $600; the blueberry limeade Birks are $340.  Eek!

Heidi, Heidi...

Oh, but looky here!  She ultimately redeems herself.  Fo' schnitzel.

The Heidi Klum for Mouawad Collection of fine jewelry is good stuff.  Take a look here and here and here.  Heidi is always wearing pieces from the collection on Project Runway, too, and they look flawless.

Heidi says she was inspired by a clover-patterned marble inlay at the Duomo in Milan, and thought the clover would translate well to jewelry as good-luck charm that women could have.

Simple idea, yes, but beautifully executed.  Elegant in its simplicity, right?  I dare say I prefer these clovers to those of Van Cleef & Arpels 70s iconic Alhambra Collection, which feels outdated and clunky next to these.

The collection features only precious metals and stones, including yellow and white gold (some oxidized to look black) and platinum, pavé diamonds and sapphires in blue and pink.  She incorporates the clever use of leather bands and cords (as seen in the photo) for a more casual look, as well as having many decidedly elegant looks for evening.

She couldn't have picked a more reputable, or heavier hitter than Mouawad to pair up with in the jewelry world.

Almost makes the Klummi Bears™ and Birkenstocks forgivable, no?

Carry on.

(photo from Mouawad)

Lamenting Malan Breton

I'm asking God, or Jesus, or Xenu, or whomever, to keep a watchful eye over this lovely boy.

He got the mean, unnecessary playground bitch-slap from the judges on Project Runway last night.

Okay.

Vera Wang?  Did you let a hamster chew off your bangs?  Is this the latest in Upper East Side avant-garde grooming?  Whatever.  Your gowns are beautiful, but your personal aesthetic is abhorrent.  Pukey.  How's that for playground?

Heidi?  Nina?  The (absent) Orange Mush?  Miss USA?  I still can't figure out what happened.  Editing and post-production are clever things, so we'll never know what quasi-evil machinations lead to their decision.

What I do know is that Malan should've stayed and both Vincent and Angela should've been auf'd, Trump-style.  I don't give Donald Trump a lot of cred for much, but I do like a good old-fashioned housecleaning when I see it.

And those two served one purpose to me:  to cancel eachother out.  Suggestions, though?

Angela, to take her annoying ass back to the cornstalks and the macramé and being the second coming of Yves Saint Laurent (spins in grave) or whatever it is she was doing that made her feel like she was entitled to be utterly lazy and not sketch and encroach on people's workspace at will.  However, she's no "feminazi."  Based on what?  Being picked last for dodge ball?  Gnat, yes.  Nazi, no.

(Of course a complete freaknik covered in prison tats should be the arbiter of character judgment.)

Vincent, to go get his bi-annual overhaul for his psych meds.  I'm not judging, Lord knows.  But it must be done.  Like getting the oil changed on the car.  It's inconvenient, yes.  But necessary.  Otherwise, the car doesn't run properly.  And Vincent, baby, you dropped a big chunk of the tranny on the highway about 5,000 miles back.  One thing, and this may just be what the cameras saw?  He was downright abusive.

Back to Malan.  Malan took the hurt Katherine put on him with grace and dignity.  He took it like a man.  A much bigger, stronger man than we saw on the television.  A man of significant substance.  Whatever, the gown didn't quite hit the mark.  But he had a vision.  Give the man another 20-40 hours and he would've had a damn masterpiece.

Oh, Malan.  This is for you.

I just want you to become Karl Lagerfeld.  But in a good way, not the actual Lagerfeld way.  Like without the creepy Lagerfeld fingerless gloves, the hydroponically-farmed Lagerfeld hair helmet, the Spackled and shellacked and stretched Lagerfeld skin, the big grouper-like Lagerfeld lips, the weird Lagerfeld jodphurs and the strange horse meat diet.

But with the celebrity clientele, the big fashion house behind you, lots of adoring fans, Moulin Rouge playing on continous loop on large plasma screens scattered about your well-appointed home(s), and all the Botox your sweet little heart desires.

And a really, really good family-systems therapist on speed dial to help you with that mommy stuff.  And the daddy stuff.  Which, sweet Jesus, is written all over your, poor thing, pretty face.

Perhaps I am really wishing you become Valentino.  Yes, Valentino.  That's exactly it.

We will miss your kooky, giddy laughter and your enlightened vision and your love for your craft.  You are so much better than these people.  As my new screaming and punching friend Catherine, put it so adroitly,

He actually spoke the words that every departing reality contestant who doesn't have a sociopathic ego must have thought: "I feel so ashamed right now."

A few things:

1.  No shame.  I revoke your shame.  I can do that.  Poof!

2.  I revoke your mother's "parent" card.  (subject to resissue, but she has to talk to the family systems guy, too)

3.  You will always, always have friends.  In the blogosphere, at minimum, you have thousands.  Your email in-box must be virtually unmanageable.  You probably even have stalkers(!) now.

We adored you and want to give you the biggest cosmic hug possible and invite you in for a cup of tea and hear your stories.  It seems like in this huge, crazy world, you seem to want to make things prettier, softer and more elegant.  More ethereal and otherworldly, yet attainable.  You're an original.

Carry on, Malan.

In Honor Of Tonight's Project Runway

Exhibit A.

Heidi Klum and Seal. 

Yes, emphatically yes.

It all works here.  Happy, comfortable, attractive.  Appropriately attired, beautifully groomed, and the picture of what "expectant" is supposed to look like.  Like they're expecting something good is going to happen.  Which in their case, odds are, it will.

She's lovely, he's handsome.

Everything works.

Now, moving on to the next photo we see that one of these things is not like the other.  Nor will it ever be.  No matter how much money it has.  See for yourselves.

Exhibit B.

Britney Spears and Toolio.

No, emphatically no.

Nothing works here.  They look like they're going to a malt liquor tasting by way of a bait shop.  She doesn't look "expectant," she looks gabsmacked.  She looks like she just figured out she's pregnant and that means baby(!).  But I give her way too much credit.

She's a wreck, he's a parasite.

It's a disaster.

Carry on.