Because it’s already been established that I’ll watch anything on TV, including shows like I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant and Monsters Inside Me (which was about incredibly cool parasitic infections), I decided that just because The Fashion Show was as much fun as underwear with an itchy tag I would still give a fair shake to Bravo’s latest attempt at filling that gaping Runway-shaped hole.
It’s called Launch My Line and it’s about people standing around half-assedly thinking up pantsuit ideas and then watching actual clothing designers make it for them. And it’s got the fashion twins Dan and Dean "DSquared" Caten as hosts and judges, two guys who together -- though great -- do not add up to one Heidi Klum. But so what. It’s a show and it’s on and I’ve got a jar of Nutella, a spoon and a couch. Fuggit.
The premise -- people with no business designing clothes getting their own line -- isn’t such a foreign concept in the real world, by the way. You think Kathie Lee Gifford did anything but sign over her name for that Wal-Mart line of bullshit child-slavery-pants? Did Cheryl Tiegs ingest mushrooms in the desert and imagine those jeans? Did that Garanimal guy sew a fuckin’ thing? No, he just had an awesome last name.
And that’s why I think Paper magazine’s homoclown Patrick McDonald and his oughta-be patented square-root-shaped eyebrows should just walk away with this competition right now. As far as self-described dandies go, he seems too busy picking out endangered species antlers to hot-glue to his skull to be mean to anyone. Also he has nutty ideas about what a woman’s coat should look like and he’s got the best “fashion expert” of the bunch helping him, this guy named Rohypnol or something, who claims to have been born on a volcano and throws hissy fits every few moments. I’m a fan of gays like this because my own fashion uniform consists of Red Wing boots, Dickies and t-shirts and I prefer other people do all the heavy flamboyance lifting. Takes the pressure off so I can go have a nap.
Other people on the show: Lou Rawls’ daughter (her shiny lady-dress won the week because it looked the most like an actual garment) and a flying-saliva-delivery system named Kevin who steals fabric, shouts a lot and drenches his fellow contestants in the process, wisely aware that spraying it is always more memorable than simply saying it. There’s also someone who looks like Lady Gaga and a bossy lady who knows Oprah and demands that her “expert” make clothes with “wowness.” And that's all I can remember. If they’d wanted their share of camera time maybe they should have thought about spitting on each other a little more often.
I’ll keep watching.
-- DAVE WHITE
Previously > Project Runway: Happy Ending