Booted Off an Island Called Manhattan
Barbara Nitke/Bravo
Michael Kors,a judge,and Heidi Klum, the show’s host.
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By HORACIO SILVA
Published: March 2, 2006
IN a recent episode of "Project Runway" the six remaining contestants were paired off and assigned to give one another makeovers on a budget of just $200 each with a two-day deadline.
Santino Rice, the designated villain in the second season of this reality show, vamped up a hippyish fellow contestant, Kara Janx, in a tight plunging jumpsuit that was so hastily made the shoulders and sleeves were glued together instead of sewn.
When one of the judges pointed out that the outfit was literally coming apart at the seams, Mr. Rice explained that Ms. Janx had been so elated with her transformation that she tore it jumping for joy.
In reality the prospect of a bona fide designer like Donatella Versace giving, say, Jil Sander, a makeover is about as likely as Ms. Versace letting her roots grow in.
But the episode captured the absurdist appeal of this runaway runway hit, in which aspiring fashion designers live together in New York, share a workroom and face weekly design challenges, often a ridiculous task like creating a garden-party dress out of greenery from the flower district.
Their handiwork is judged on the spot by a panel of experts and by the armchair critics in the television audience, who have come to include a large segment of the real fashion industry. The loser is booted off the catwalk in less time than it takes a fashion assistant to tape the sole of a borrowed shoe. In the same way that "The Apprentice" with
Donald Trump reveals little about the actual workings of a boardroom, "Project Runway," which is scheduled to culminate Wednesday night with the selection of a final winner, holds only a shaky mirror to the fashion world. The reflection is sometimes ugly and sometimes beautiful, but it's a compelling pop homage to the visionary outsiders who through sheer force of will and effrontery (and sometimes a bit of glue) adorn us in their dreams.
"Project Runway," which runs on Bravo, found its audience despite the failure of other behind-the-scenes fashion reality shows like "The Cut," Tommy Hilfiger's big-budget flop on CBS. "Runway" is Bravo's biggest hit, consistently winning high ratings for a cable show among prized 18-to-49-year-olds.
During Fashion Week in New York a catwalk show by four "Project Runway" designers was such a hot ticket that more than one industry pro seemed miffed at having to miss the presentation because it clashed with the
Ralph Lauren show. "What was Ralph thinking?" asked an editor from Interview magazine.
Such is the power of the show that even the lifeless host, Heidi Klum, who was once described by a former modeling agent as having "the personality of a German sausage," has become a celebrity, right down to her signature kiss-off, "auf wiedersehen" (because, as we know, German is the language of high fashion).
So too have the expert judges, the designer Michael Kors, with his ever-ready quip ("It looks like a 'Golden Girls' outfit that you belt and wear with leggings"), and Nina Garcia, the fashion director of Elle magazine, whose comments are usually limited to the technicalities of garment construction ("That hemline is uneven").
Ms. Garcia does, however, occasionally betray fashion-world ruthlessness, as when she responded to a contestant's on-screen meltdown with "I really don't need to be hearing this."
The show has hit a nerve with fashionistas in New York, where newcomers with "the total package" arrive every day, like so many hopefuls auditioning for a reality TV series.
But it also appeals to people who had never heard of overlocker machines or silk charmeuse. Strip away all the glamour — the L'Oréal makeup room, the Tresemmé hair salon, the celebrity judges — and the show is an old-fashioned talent contest, the perennial little black dress of programming.
Just as "American Idol" aspirants are forced to cover tunes in wildly varying genres — a hillbilly trying his hand at Donna Summer — "Project Runway" contestants also have to be able to juggle everything from designing high-concept lingerie (Mr. Rice's take was based on lederhosen) to an outfit for an Olympic figure skater (Mr. Rice ruffled feathers with a frothy confection likened to a Thanksgiving turkey).
These kids have to be able to cut it. And pattern-make it. Then stitch it.
And especially dish it. At the heart of the show's appeal is the campy dramedy that ensues when already brittle personalities, possessed of the ego and drive that drew them to the fashion world in the first place, are thrown together on a deadline. Viewers are transfixed not only by watching the contestants cut up their favorite outfits to make a dress, but also by watching them fashion their personas.
Naturally, part of the fun is also seeing these carefully constructed personas — the renegade, the technician, the fabulist — fall apart. Zulena Griffin, a former New York model turned costume designer for films, was booted off in Episode 8, but not before managing to have a breakdown in multiple personalities when she introduced viewers to her ornery alter ego Shatangi, a "tell-it-like-it-is sister."
Anyone with a pincushion and a dream is welcome as a contestant, regardless of color, age or sexuality. In fact homosexuality, which on other reality shows could be a source of tension, is an issue only when one of the frock-obsessed young men turns out to like not only dressing women but also undressing them. The biggest surprise is that the breakout personality is the show's least flamboyant or neurasthenic: Tim Gunn, the affable chairman of the fashion design department at the Parsons School, who like a father hen guides contestants through their weekly challenge.
With his top-drawer drawl, Banana Republic blazers and one-liners — "Make it work" — Mr. Gunn has turned into an unlikely heartthrob.
The personality clashes, deadlines and design challenges may be exaggerated for effect, but there is one undeniable reality that can't be ignored by the contestants or their real fashion-world counterparts: hype is not enough. Genius, that evanescent combination of talent, personality, drive and opportunity, is the rarest of commodities.
The nationwide searches on "American Idol" have yet to yield the new Aretha Franklin, and it remains to be seen whether "Project Runway" will unearth the next
Calvin Klein. "The stakes have never been higher," is one of the show's catchphrases, and it's never been more difficult to gain entree into the industry.
But "Project Runway" has history on its side: Yves Saint Laurent and
Karl Lagerfeld, arguably the two most influential designers of the last half-century, got their starts in fashion competitions.
It's interesting to contemplate the magic that either genius could conjure in two days using corn husks from Gristede's, as Austin Scarlett, one of last year's contestants, managed to do. Chances are that, even without a glue gun, they would make it work.
ooh lala it must have been nice for his fans. Project Santino would = 
for me..but anyway, good points, northern_song, and nice avatar! 
) I keep posting in here because I'm anxious for the next episode beyond belief.
Too bad she was eliminated, her collection was the best.
