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.

I blame Angela for this. I do. The bubble skirt part, at least.

But let's look at this in depth, shall we? It is not just a bubble skirt, it is an Afro-Centric bubble skirt. My mind is just writhing in agony on the floor of my skull over the convergence of those several phrases.

It is paired with gladiator sandals, which, I suppose, could be from the same continent, if the Romans were in North Africa, which they were. Only. Look.

They are knee-high gladiator sandals, complete with a millionty-twelve buckles, only they zip. up. the. back.

What was left of my brain, just leaked out of my ear.

All of this is accessorized with a giant bag (de rigeur these days) with studs. Lots and lots of studs. A stud on every fringe/flap. And diamond shapes, outlined in studs. Which, to be fair, duplicates the shapes of the batik on the Afro-Centric bubble skirt.

Here's the close-up.

Still and all, that was way too much to see on a Monday morning, when I hadn't had sufficient coffee.

So poor, gently bewildered Bradley was finally let go. The only mystery was how he had lasted this long.

No, excuse me, the only mystery was how he had gotten to 2006 without knowing anything about Cher. The woman is ubiquitous. She can, and has, worn anything and everything. The only thing she wouldn't wear is a cropped tin-foil bag with turquoise appliqued triangles, which is what Bradley designed for her. And a pair of cameltoe trousers with the fringe on the front of the leg.

That was such a monstronsity that it would have made the poor baby Jesus drink gin from the cat dish.*
I loved this episode. In theory. I mean, I loved that the models got to pick their own designers, and I loved that the models got to choose their own icons. That had to be a bit of a trick, because there were two conflicting desires at work.

1. To be their own fashion idol, and
2. To be a fashion idol that their chosen designer could actually design for.**

So, there are elbows and hair and photos flying around and when the dust settles, the pairs are revealed to be as follows:

Uli/Diana Ross
Laura/Kate Hepburn (DUH!!!)
Michael/Pam Grier
Angela/Audrey Hepburn
Alison/Farrah Fawcett
Kayne/Marilyn Monroe (is there another Marilyn?)
Robert/Jackie O
Jeffrey/Madonna***
Vincent/Twiggy
Bradley/Cher

Sketching, caucusing, shopping at Mood. We see Robert fretting over his image as boring and matronly. Is that Robert or Robert's designs? There seems to be some overlap here, and I don't know why. The guy's been designing for BARBIE, and we know that she's hardly the matronly type. Anyway, Robert buys some beautiful blue fabric that's somewhere between robin's egg and Tiffany.

Kayne buys black and leather and nude stretchy stuff. I know, sounds like that should be Jeffrey's choices.

Jeffrey interviews at length and ad nauseum about how he should be winning everything and he doesn't know why he hasn't and nobody can sew a lick but him. It seems that with Keith Malfoy out of the show, Jeffrey has been freed to step in as the resident assholevillian/delusional whiner. Over at TWOP, recapper Jeff pointed out that Jeffrey shaves notches into his right eyebrow, something that had, blissfully, escaped my notice up until now, but which I now cannot NOT see. Thanks for that, Jeff.

They sew. Jeffrey and Angela get into a pissing match over the sewing machines. Jeffrey says that Angela broke one. Angela says she didn't. Jeffrey rants for a while about how there are all these amateurs in the sewing room who can't use a machine.****

Jeffrey won't let it go, and there is some nastiness all around. Laura (who has five kids, remember) finally puts on the Mommy voice, and while she doesn't actually say "Don't make me separate you two" (and wouldn't that have been great?) she does tell Jeffrey to shut it. That works just as well as you would expect it to, and there is continued sniping and grousing.*****

More sewing, more bickering. Robert (unwisely, as it will turn out) decides not to use the Bob Dylan's eyes blue fabric, but takes some sand-colored linen from Vincent. The models come back for more caucusing and fittings and we discover that Kayne's model Will Not Shut Up. Ever. At ALL. Kayne has the best line of the night when he says that she's a good model, and he'll work with her again, but there is going to be duct tape over her mouth.

Michael (who gets more air time in this episode than in all the previous ones put together, including his bio and intro footage) talks to his Moms (awww) and then decides that his design isn't what he wanted. So he rips it apart from the waist down and makes a pair of formal hot pants. Tim Gunn isn't so crazy about that (does Tim read Go Fug Yourself?) but allows as how, yeah, formal shorts are hott these days, so go ahead and make them.

Michael is working with the most beautiful shade of cerise satin e-VAH. He then makes a pair of formal hot pants that actually work. I KNOW. Go figure. But they fit, they aren't too short, they make the model look like several million dollars, and Pam Grier would totally wear this outfit. CHER would totally wear that outfit, BRADLEY.

Jeffrey interviews on and on and on about how he's a rock and roll designer and that he could design for Madonna any old day and he's sooooooooo gonna rock this challenge and he's whipping up a stage ensemble that is just going to wahwahwahwahGwenSteffaniwahwahwahLovechildwahwaahwahh.

Finally, we get to the runway, and YEAH!!! Michael Kors is back. But he must have had a vay-cay or something, because he is not up to his usual level of bitchy. The guest judge is Diane Von Furstenberg who may have stolen Kors' mojo. Or his bitch pills.

In the interest of brevity (and of getting done some of the work I'm supposed to be doing as I sit here in front of the company computer) I'm only going to talk about a couple of pieces. As can be expected, Laura nails the updated Kate Hepburn. High-waisted pants, cashmere-looking faux-wrap top. Caramel and pink, long strand of pearls. Perfect.

Uli channels
Dianna Ross, and I love the purple leopard print at the waist. Diana would totally wear this. So would CHER, BRADLEY. Uli's style is starting to grow on me, but I do wish she'd design a different neck-line once in a while.

Angela does something with yummy fabric that is intended to be an updated version of Audrey Hepburn, and the judges absolutely come all over themselves trying to outdo each others praises, but in my own opinion, I don't think that she would ever have worn anything with a neckline that plunged to her belly button. And also? winning the last challenge seems to have given Angela the impression that people actually like those stupid flowers, so on this dress they have grown to in size to something that I think she called cabbages roses, only in French. She's also placed them all the way around the hem, another frou-frou touch that doesn't jibe with my image of Audrey. But, hell, what do I know?

Alison does something with a highish waist and chiffon and calls it macaroni. Farrah Fawcett. Whatever.

Michael wins with this,
and for a damned good reason. It is flawless, although when Diane Von Furstenberg says that she wore a lot of hot pants in her day, and she'd wear these, I have a vision that makes me want to poke my eyes out.

Which would have prevented me from seeing Jeffrey's black satin diapers and asymetric leather bustier, and that would have been a good thing. Did I mention that there were ribbons, too? Jeffrey, here's a clue, and I'm going to give it to you for the love of God and Fashion: that sucked. Your designs all suck. Quit shaving the eyebrow, get the neck tats removed, and get a job in accounting. You and the rest of the world will all be a better place for it.

Vincent trots out something that isn't horrible, and the judges go for him like he's an antelope with a broken leg and they are hungry, hungry hyenas. Granted, the makeup was beyond attrocious, and the color way of his plaid was a little on the Halloween side, as opposed to the happyhappyjoyjoy of the 60s, but he had the black tights and the bell sleeves, and it was cute. I would wear it in a heartbeat. I'd also like to defend him referring to Twiggy in the past tense, even though that made DVF's veins stand out (farther) on her neck and forehead. I watch America's Next Top Model, and let me tell you, Miss Twiggy is not a fashion icon today. She wears cardigan sweaters and pig tails, OK? Twiggy in the 60s, past tense. Nevertheless, Vincent gets to stick around. Plucky comic relief?

Kayne's Goth Marilyn got rave reviews from all the judges, but frankly, I thought it made the model look poochy in the ass and belly. I love ruching as much as the next guy, and maybe more, but that dress was just ho. If he'd put a color other than flesh under the sheer black, maybe it wouldn't have been so awful (to me) but, ick. It didn't do a thing for me.

Robert's Jackie was universally panned, and mostly for the fact that it was linen. Apparently Jackie would never, never, never have worn linen because it doesn't hold a crease. See? Should have stayed with the blue. The Tiffany blue would have caused the judges to not notice the lack of pressing. Or maybe, if Robert had made a self-belt instead of using a piece of rope, the judges would have thought his suit looked a little sharper.

Finally, we have Bradley and what is there to say about this?



Nothing, except, you know? That really, really, really sucked. In every way possible, and in some ways that were heretofore unimaginable. As much as I would have liked to have seen someone else leave the runway before Bradley, there was just no way to defend anything about this design. Not the fabric. Not the fit. Not the cut. Not the color. Not the style, such as it was. Bradley, you were sweet, and funny and completely out of your depth.

Until next week, then, keep the scissors sharp.

* I don't actually know what that means, but I read it somewhere once and I thought it was so funny that I swore I would use it myownself some day.

** See above, re: Bradley being clueless about Cher. I'm sorry, but that one is still causing me brain cramps. How could anyone not be aware of Cher?

*** Am I the only person who, when I see/hear Madonna, automatically see/hear Robin Williams in Birdcage going "Ma-DONNA, Ma-DONNA, Ma-DONNA"?

**** Didn't she get sent home in the first episode? And isn't there one every season?

***** Did you know that snipe and grouse are both birds?