Robert gets aufed (finally) for being boring, and a million souls cry out as one: how in god's name can a man who has designed for Barbie be so consistently boring? How is it even humanly possible?

Vincent wins a challenge (and the fan sites blaze with the fury of a million stars, all in super-nova) with a simple, tasteful black & tan sheath dress.

Jeffrey proves himself to be the most loathesome thing ever, beating out Santino by a TKO in the second round.

The challenge was simple: design an everyday ensemble for an everyday woman. Despite the fact that most of the viewers were duped into thinking this meant Martha Stewart, the everyday women who showed up were the designers mothers or sisters. Cute. Very cute. Most of these women are large. Really large, even if they aren't tall.

They aren't allowed to break into family pairings, since that would make things way too easy. Out comes the velvet button bag, and the fun begins.

Michael chooses Robert’s sister, Teresa.

Laura chooses Jeffrey’s mother, Pam, noting that she's doing it just to annoy Jeffrey, and who could argue with that reasoning?

Vincent chooses Uli’s mother, Heidi, who speaks little to no English, but that won't shut Vincent up for a nanosecond, and they seem to bond anyway.

Angela chooses Laura’s mother, Lorraine, and I think for the same reason that Laura chose Jeffrey's mom.

Kayne chooses Michael’s mother, Pamela.

Uli chooses Kayne’s mother, Judy.

Robert chooses Vincent’s sister, Patricia.

Jeffrey is left with Angela's mother, Darlene. They both look thrilled.

I need to digress here for a moment. Tim Gunn makes a big deal in "Tim's Take" on the Bravo site that Vincent won with Heidi, who is tall and slender and model-like. He (and pretty much all the other Vincent-haters out there, which is to say 99% of the Project Runway viewing audience) just rips on this fact as making things far too easy for Vincent. He (and pretty much all the other Vincent-haters out there, which is to say 99% of the Project Runway viewing audience) totally ignores the fact that Michael's model, the boring Robert's very un-boring sister Teresa, is not only willowy, but she is also very pretty, very young and can walk the catwalk like a pro.

Nobody out here in TV land is bitching and moaning that Michael had it easy, although there is a little grousing that maybe he should have won. Sauce for the goose, sauce for the gander, people.

Before anybody gets to work, everybody saunters off to Tavern on the Green to have a little brekkies and meet the guest judge, Michael Kors' mom. She doesn't seem to be as orange as her son, but they are wearing the same clothes, or at least the same jacket. Michael has on jeans and Mom has on something else. Black trousers? A skirt? Who cares. They also look alike. Totally.

There is champagne, and this leads to two discoveries about our contestants. Laura is pregnant with her sixth child (which prompts one of the funniest lines ever to come out of her mouth: something to the effect that nobody is EVER ready for their sixth child, but at this point, what the hell, she'll just toss it on the pile with the others) and that Jeffrey is a "recovering alcoholic".

That explains a lot about Jeffrey's atrocious behavior, but not all. That comes later, when we find out that he's also an ex-junkie and a co-dependent mama's boy. And an odious bully, cry baby and total asshat.

Anyway, after a lovely brunch where the mommies do what mommies do best: embarrass the bejeebers out of their offspring by dragging out the childhood photos, we follow the gang back to the workroom to confab and sketch and the first smell of trouble comes wafting out of Jeffrey's corner. He starts with the bitching and the moaning about having to design for a "real" woman and how he just can't fathom the plus-size woman and what is up with their proportions and wahwahwah. Note: Jeffrey's mother is another slender woman.

Sketching. Shopping. Commercials. Sewing. Back come the guest models and there is a total breakdown of civilization as we know it when Angela's mother, in response to a direct question from Tim, allows as how she's not completely thrilled with Jeffrey's choices in fabric, or maybe even his design.

This sends Jeffrey into the kind of inappropriate fury that only an alcoholic junkie can summon up. He attacks Darlene with all the snarling nastiness we have come to expect from someone who admits to being Santino's friend. He hisses, he spits, he bullies, he makes the woman cry. And then, sensing that perhaps this behavior isn't going to play so well in the heartland, he sends his own mother in to smooth things over. AND SHE GOES OFF TO DO IT.

Can you say enabler? Can you say co-dependent? Oh, Jeffrey just gets a little defensive sometimes. He doesn't mean it.

Woman, that sort of covering for his lousy ass and not making him take personal responsibility for his actions is what enabled him to become a homeless junkie in the first place. Once again, I am speaking from personal knowledge. I have the Artist Down the Street and her 18 year-old junkie son to watch and learn from, not to mention any number of friends and loved ones in my own past.

Well, it all just goes on and on from there. Jeffrey responds to her unhappiness by making something that Michael Kors refers to as Comme de Garçon goes to Amish country. Frankly, I think that Michael had to work long and hard to come up with that, and it is nowhere near as brilliant as the paper brioche or the Appalachian Barefoot Barbie of last season. In point of fact, the editors could have left that particular bon mot on the cutting room floor, and it would not have been missed, nor would it have made it to the extras on next year's DVD.

Vincent refrains from making too many goofy faces, and despite the language barrier, comes up with a totally elegant day dress for the totally elegant Heidi-Uli's-Mother. Heidi-the-host asks Heidi-Uli's-Mother (in German, and boy does her face light up when she gets to use the mother tongue) how she feels about the dress, and H-U-M responds in kind (complete to the lit-up face) and H-T-H tells the rest of the judges that H-U-M loves her dress. We got it, even without the translation. I wish I spoke German, because I sort of wonder if that was really the question or if it was "So... Is he really completely insane, and was it torture to work with someone with only one foot on this plane?"

Michael Knight made a tidy little shirt dress for Robert's sister, and he made it completely reversible, because, he explained, she's a business woman who travels a lot, so the thought was to give her two dresses in one. This guy is a freaking brilliant, brilliant designer. Not to mention that he can construct that kind of garment in one day.

Laura makes one of her usual silhouettes, which, unfortunately doesn't work quite as well as could be hoped on Jeffrey's enabling mother.

Angela takes Laura's mother a woman of clean elegance and style (apple? tree? as we say in the hood: ain't no denying who that one's mama is) and turns her into a fringed piano scarf with an ugly purple shoulder bag. Lorraine gives it her best shot on the runway, and does nothing to prevent us wanting to poke our eyes out. At least there are no "signature fleurchons" (No. I am NOT going to let that go, ever.) anywhere to be seen. That doesn't mean that they aren't somewhere in there, hiding.

Robert makes two tents, one in scarlett and one in black, throws them over Vincent's sister and calls it a day.

Kayne mutilates Michael's mama by tossing her in a pair of capri pants just one or two shades lighter than her skin. This makes a short, round woman look even shorter and stumpier, and it isn't a flattering color, either. He also must have cut them a little off, because walking from the dressing room to the end of the runway has left her with wrinkles that look like she's been sitting in the center row on a cross-country flight on a budget airline. There is some sort of peach top which Kayne has unwisely accessorized with a strand of peach pearls. Nina announces "Matchy matchy" and Kayne's blood freezes, thinking this is his particular ticket to ride...into the sunset.

Uli makes a wonderful outfit for Kayne's mama. It is flowy, it is colorful, it fits and Kayne's mama struts it down the runway with the express intent of embarrassing Kayne to tears. Can I say that I like Kayne's mama?

There is a lot of debate in the fan forums about how Uli should have won, and I can see their point. But I can also see why Vincent won. It fit her body, and it fit her style. It was a timeless, very Euro-centric look from someone who normally can't get anyone to see what he sees. Maybe the fact that Heidi-Uli's-Mom couldn't understand a word Vincent said actually helped their working relationship.

In any event, despite the fact that it made Tim Gunn cry a little, Vincent won and Robert went home. In what was the most disturbing scene all night, Jeffrey sobbed like a little girl against his mother's bosom over Robert being sent home, because, he said, Robert was a nice person and these other people are not.

Knock, knock. Mr. Pot? it's Mr. Kettle here at the door for you.

Or, an Apologia for Vincent

Let me begin by saying that I like Vincent*, I understand his point of reference in most of the work he's done. I don't necessarily like everything that he's made, but I do recognize his departure point. What I don't understand is the intense loathing for him in the forums and fan groups of Project Runway.

Granted, this past week has seen that loathing come to a frenzied point, since he got to stay on when everyone's favorite little blonde unicorns and fairies girl Alison was auf'ed. But I think people would have been peeved even if it was BlahblahblahBobby who left the runway for good.
The universal dislike and disdain started the very first week, when he sent a perfectly respectable little frock out accessorized with a wicker fruit basket doing duty as a hat. It was totally awful, and made worse by the accompanying oversized sun glasses and the addition of dangling chains.



And yet...I saw echoes of the maestro Rudi Gernreich and the 2001 Space Odyssey fly girls.



In Episode 2, it was his green evening gown with the Jetsons-esque cap sleeves that had the internets twitching with distaste, but Miss USA liked the dress itself, and so did Miss Vera Wang. Except for the very couture element of the unwearable sleeve cap, the dress itself was simple, elegant and very, very wearable. Maybe if he'd let Angela stick her "signature fleurchons" on the straps instead, they would have won?



Episode 3, Doing it Doggie Style, saw Vincent doing another awful hat and a simple frock. He was derided for using knee-length leggings, but take a look at any fashion rag on the stands today, and you'll see that leggings are back. With a vengence. Also? The dog ensemble was a hoot.

OK. Here's where we need to address the real issue about Vincent. The guy is a total whack job. OK? The giggles and shits over the dog's little hat and coat were over the top, even for me, but Vincent amuses himself, and really not an anyone else's expense (AHEM, JEFFREY).

Vincent is a whack job, but not a nut case. Vincent, in his early interviews and bios acknowledged that New York and the fashion industry almost killed him. After watching six weeks of him, I can honestly tell you that it wasn't the pressure and New York that did for him, it was the 80s. It was sex and drugs and rock and roll. It was cocaine and quaaludes and way too much tequilla.

If David Crosby has said about the 60s that if you remembered them, then you weren't there, I say if you don't have some serious scars from the 80s, then you weren't THERE. I was, and let me tell you, I can recognize a fellow-traveller when I see one. You don't get Vincent's kind of crazy from smoking a little too much pot, or having a genetic propensity for mental instability. You can get Vincent's kind of crazy from too much LSD, but then, you generally spend the rest of your life puttering around in your sanitarium's garden, and producing no work whatsoever. **

Vincent's kind of crazy takes a lot of work, most of it in the form of little white lines, little white pills, way too little sleep and a lot, a fucking lot, of hard living. Been there, done that, never was indicted.

The last thing that I want to say that I like about Vincent is that he believes in his own vision. He may be batshit crazy and dead wrong, but he stands in the spotlight on the runway, looks Diane Von Furstenberg in the eye (thereby defying her attempt to turn him into stone with a single stare) and says, you don't have to like it, you don't have to see where I'm coming from, but I do. I know what I wanted to make, and I made it. Period. Love me. Hate me. Recognize.***

* Yeah, and I also just adore(d) Daniel Franco. Proceed with the proverbial salt grain.

** Example: Syd Barrett

*** He's a sistah soljah, from the belly of the beast, recognize! But even Vincent isn't as delusional and batshit crazy as Jade from last season's ANTM. See also the entry below, where I put a side by side of his "work of art" and a Miro.

I'm sitting at the dining room table, where I have my morning coffee and crossword puzzle. I also have a wireless connection, so I'm checking e-mail and updating my blog. That's efficient use of time and multi-tasking, you tasteless hos who put your make-up on during the train ride to work. So you may ask, what does Miz Shoes do on her train ride, other than take pictures of said hos?

Miz Shoes has read all several million words (in translation, please, I only wish my French was that good) of Proust's "Remembrances of Things Past." I have also read any number of other books, done any number of New York Times crosswords (in ink, thankyewverymuch), written hundreds upon hundreds of pages in my real journals, knitted several sweaters and handbags, and done miles and miles of hand applique. Miz Shoes has also listened to her i-pod, with ear phones that do not leak her questionable choices in music to the surrounding train car. She has been known, however, to snap her fingers and tap her feet. The horror!

Again I say to you: That is an efficient use of time. Also very civilized.

Miz Shoes would like to thank all of you who sent your good thoughts to the most excellent David Lee Cohen, he is doing much better and should be home by next week. No. I will not discuss with you all what and why he is in the hospital. It was not bariatric surgery, hair transplants, or any other form of self enhancements. That is all I'll say.

"It's a fine line between innovation and insanity."

Yes, Heidi, and I, personally, have been treading that line since birth. Maybe that's why I have no problem with Vincent. Even though I wasn't in love with what he made, he stated his intention: "I'm going to make art...like a painting." and he did it. It was stark, and very much in the spirit of Miro.



Ignore the color in the Miro, and just look at the lines and shapes, and then look at Vincent's ornamentation on his sheath and tell me that you can't see the influence/inspiration.
This week's challenge was to make something, anything wearable from recycled materials, hence the field trip to New Jersey. I loved Laura's comment about it was an ugly morning and New Jersey looked as ugly as it always does. You know, for a native of N'awlins, she has a totally New York attitude.


And while I am very, very sorry to see Alison go, I think the clip of Heidi saying would you rather look long and lean or lumpy was the kiss of death for Alison and her paper brioche (Oh. My. God. We have soooooooooo missed you, Michael Kors. The man has a way with the bon mot, n'est ce pas?).

The rest of the show can be summed up as follows: Laura is being given the Wendy Pepper snide bitch edit, Kayne is being portrayed (or is portraying himself) as Prissy McPrissyQueen and Jeffrey is just a whining, ugly, Shmoo-like, no-talent hack who, if he ever won a challenge, would prove to live the motto "Obnoxious in victory, bitter in defeat." He surely is bitter in defeat. He goes into every challenge with the attitude that he is clearly going to come out the victor due to his style, his vision, his talent, his genius, his glory that is Jeffrey, and comes out of every challenge dissing the winner and complaining that he should have won, and what the FUCK is wrong with the judges that they can't see to give him first prize.

Robert, bless his heart, made a charming dress out of silver mylar. It was not boring, and thankfully it was not as trashy-ho as he thought. It was enough to get him on to the next challenge, and nobody gave him shit from the judging chairs.



Uli made yet another dress without sleeves or a real neckline, which begs the question, does she even know how to set in a sleeve? It was yet another small bodice, full skirt and yes, of course, it had woven/braided elements. Even so, it was pretty.



Laura made another of her signature pieces, which is to say, witty, clean, elegant and with a plunging neckline. I loved the joke on the back of the skirt "For Nuts Only." I've always felt that I had an invisible tattoo on the center of my forehead that reads "Fucked up? Talk to me." and that anyone who can see it, is, and will. Which means that Vincent and I would probably be chatting to each other within moments of him seeing me across a crowded room. But I digress.

I'm sure that hearing the judges compliment Laura on her mylar strapping flower just made Angela's head spin, and not in a dizzy sort of way, but in an Exorcist sort of way. Angela herself did not indulge in her "signature" fleurchons (somebody please slap the pretentiousness out of her), but went back to her self-proclaimed roots and made some ugly-ass patchwork/overalls/mini-skirt thing. Woof. Can you say "dog" in French, Angela? Derriere de chien laid.*

Kayne (below on the left) made an atrocity that the magnificent Tim Gunn referred to as a high-school craft project, but he was only being kind to Kayne because he likes him so much. Kayne then got rid of the glued-on medicine bottle caps and giant paper cone pretending to be a skirt, and made a tin foil fairy dress. No, I am not making a double entendre. Even he was ashamed to send it down the runway. Which suddenly makes me wonder what Bradley could have done with trash. I think that he might have rocked the garbage.



Jeffrey's dress (above, right) didn't suck. In fact, it was very nice, and, like the judges I loved the trompe l'oeil** belt. Having said that, and finding that my tongue has not shriveled up, I would also like to point out that we have seen this same silhouette from both Jeffrey and his asshat friend Satan-ino in the past. Snore. Making it out of comic strips and tempera paint rather than dip-dyed muslin makes it no hotter.

The winner (and still champion) was Michael, who utterly blew the competition away with this:



He understood the concept of the challenge, which was about transformation. He took recyclables (plastic wrap, gold mylar and plastic burlap) and seemingly without effort made them look like organza, satin and linen. He is brilliant. For Jeffrey to bitch about Michael winning this is just mean-spirited. But then, we are speaking about Jeffrey, non?

*Which, as best as I can speak French, translates to dog-butt ugly.

** For reasons I cannot explain, today seems to be French day here at the house of shoes.

This is entry infinity in the roll call of things you should not be doing in public.

Within moments of uncorking her nail shellac, everyone in a 6-seat radius started coughing, hacking, sneezing, rolling eyes and generally being uncomfortable.

Do you think this selfish ho noticed? Of course not. Needless to say, but I will anyway, this application was the end of her morning beauty regimen, all of which was conducted on the train. I didn't bother with the make-up application photo, because really, how many of them do I need to take.

Unless...I decide to do an ironic (remember after 9/11 when everyone predicted the end of irony?) photo installation somewhere, of images of nothing but women putting on their make up in public. Which, now that I think about it, might be good gallery fodder. I'll put that on my list of art to make.

Anyway, I was sitting practically in her lap, and when I pulled out my camera, stuck it in her face and took not one, but two photos, complete with flash, she didn't even glance up. She was totally in her own world. The rest of us were merely inconvenient intruders in her personal space.

I have a brother, Biggus Dickus (he has a wife, you know). And regular readers of this blog know how rocky that relationship is. Love|Hate|Indifference|Resentment... and that's just how he feels about me! I also have a brother-in-law, the wonderful David Lee Roth clone, or as I like to call him, David Lee Cohen.

David Lee Cohen is in the hospital, having gone in exactly a week after his brother, the RLA, came home from one. He's been in there 6 days, and had at least 3 surgeries. Because of HIPAA, I can't get information from the hospital about him, and his poor wife is so fried by his hospitalization, her two little kids, and a currently invalided mother (who is also in residence) that I can't reach her to get any information, either.

The RLA and I are Very Nervous about David Lee Cohen. I keep calling the RLA and asking if he's heard anything, and that just makes everybody more nervous, because the answer is no.

I really don't know or care how you guys feel about prayer, but all the healthful, healing energy you can spare, I would appreciate you sending on to my brother-in-law. He's more of a brother to me than the one I was given by my parents, and I really want to see him up and around and yanking my chain again.

Thanks.