Last night Tim Gunn visited Project Runway's four remaining designers in their hometowns -- their disgusting, smoke-gagged hamlets. With their polluted families running around. And their dogs. Tim wore enough sanitizer over his face and body that it hardened and looked like a beekeeper uniform. And for reasons unexplored, Tim Gunn was a jackass to the designers! For real! Let's revisit his frosty rendezvous and ask ourselves whether the right designer -- Jay or Mila -- went home at episode's end.
Now that the four remaining designers have been chosen, we flash-forward a couple months and bear witness as Tim journeys to each designer's home as they finish their Bryant Park collections. He starts with Seth Aaron, who will undoubtedly turn cartwheels and skip around the room upon seeing Tim. Best for Tim to get that plebeian nonsense out of the way first.
Seth Aaron
Tim flew to Vancouver, Washington, where Seth Aaron had dutifully sewn almost two dozen completed looks. That's far more than any previous designer had completed at this point, except for Season Three's Laura Bennett, who sewed her six children against the wall because their runway strut was cliched that afternoon.
"Seth Aaron!" Tim caws. "This is incredible. Incredible. Miles and miles of clothing. Must've taken months. Can I just add another thing? One more note? OK. Well -- you will lose. I am POSITIVE. I am serious. You seem a little dumbstruck. Do you hear me in there, loser? When Bryant Park comes around, I'd like to see most of this gone. Everyone knows you can make on-the-go circus jackets. Try again. This time make it likable. And not so -- loser-accessible. Bai."
That's about how it went down.
Seth Aaron, who clearly thought he was almost done (if not totally done), was pissed -- and justifiably so. He'd just gotten a hot haircut for Tim's visit, a post-What Not to Wear spin on Nikki Sixx, and it fell on blind, old, gay eyes. According to Tim's notes on the Lifetime website, Seth Aaron had spent up to 20 hours a day sewing what really was a magnificent set of looks -- black-and-white jackets with zipper detailing, checkered sportswear, tinges of ringmasterly drama. But the fact is, St. Gunn was right. For the final collections, the judges howl, jitterbug, and juke only when the contestants prove they've evolved. For Seth Aaron, his "evolution" was technically impeccable, but wholly a retread of his past triumphs. Still, if he impaled Tim with one of Maya's spiky purses right then, I wouldn't have reported it.
Oh, wait, he did force Big Gunns to jump on a trampoline. You know Tim couldn't record that in his Trauma Diary fast enough. Well done, S.A.
Emilio
"Disagreeable Emilio." Does that rhyme? I thought of it and want it added to common parlance. What about Disagreelio? Perhaps "I got a warm case of the Disagreelios today"? Go on! Take it! It's for the people.
Tim met Emilio in his New York apartment by the George Washington Bridge. The two have had a hostile courtship, and according to most of the other designers, it's due to an abstract concept called "Emilio sucks." More baffling than his surly, arrogant demeanor, though, is his collection up to this point: A sloppy melange of dowdy, upchuck-colored scraps that wouldn't flatter even the most ferosh of hos. Tim prepared himself to comment.
"Emilio, I know you have a strong vision of what you want, but how shall I phrase this in a way that won't compromise your artistic -- EFF IT, YOU BLOW. You blow. This is a collection of blows. Your grandmother would wear that olive-colored blow to the market. That jacket-shaped blow belongs on a lesser member of Parliament Funkadelic. It's a blowvalanche! Take cover."
So ended Tim's critique. Emilio was perturbed, but maybe for the first time ever, he ended up following Tim's advice. Tim also called the collection "old and drab" which must've hit Emilio where it hurts -- in one of his stupid hats.
The remaining two designers, Jay and Mila, must compete with each other to nab the third and final spot at the final judging. Tim did visit the two at their respective hometowns, San Francisco and Los Angeles, but that's less interesting than the three-piece collections they've created for the judges' consideration. Let's rag on some monochrome monotony for ten minutes, eh?
Mila
Certainly pretty. The plays on volume, mod culture, and sportswear are stark and photogenic. But this is maybe more predictable than Seth Aaron's collection, which seemed streamlined for the Marie Claire demographic. Mila did a more expensive version of her usual shtick, and while that's to be expected, it just isn't revelatory. Nina Garcia noted that she probably couldn't put out six collections a year based on this aesthetic. I don't know if that's true, but for right now, her one-and-a-half-ideas seem like a sure bet for fourth-place finish.
Jay
First, the highlights: Jay's use of shin-guards (Michael Kors gave them a fancy name, but "shin-guards" is so American Youth Soccer Organization. It stays.), simple lines, and incredible pants make this triad a bigtime stunner. It goes south for me in the coherence. The shin-guards do some of the work, but not enough to counteract that these look like three women from three collections. The color palette is especially disconnected.
But which collection would a fashion buyer prefer? Three looks that must be rendered in black-and-white in order to seem relevant, or three looks that could be retooled in a number of colors and fabrics. My bet would be the latter, so Jay should probably win.
Alas, no dice: Mila is sent along to fashion week, and Jay is left to clean up the dreams Michael Kors coated in bile. That means we're in for an Emilo-Seth Aaron-Mila finale, which should be... insufferable-giddy-stuffy! All right, fine, I can't wait. In the meantime: Enjoy our upcoming interview with Jay Sario, where he ask him if Tim really eats dinner with your family when he visits, or if that's just the television trying to trick us. BRB, y'all.
ยท Runway images taken from the implacable Project Rungay.