OMG, is that from American Apparel??
Here’s the thing. I know I’m no great thinker. My entertainment choices are nothing to be proud of. If I had DVR, I would probably tape The Real Housewives of Orange County. When I see a heinous accident on the highway, my urge is to pull over and take photos. But Project Runway (which I love and will watch as long as it’s on, despite the headline of this post) is beginning to offend my intellect.
It’s not just the blatancy of the sponsorships/product placements. I can accept the fact that I’m pretty much watching an hour-long commercial, but can’t it at least be a commercial for something fashion-related? Can it not involve The House of Spandex, for God’s sake? Can Tim Gunn not be moved to say things like “Is there some way to mitigate this? Maybe with these feathers?”
Ahem. So, in case you missed it, the designers made a bunch of sparkly hot pants for some scary false-boobed lady(?) wrestlers last night. Ricky’s pile of crap was apparently less good than all the other shiny vomit on the runway, so he went home. And the truly amazing thing was, he didn’t seem to be crying. Does he only cry out of joy and inspiration and pride? But not when things suck? Weird!