Let's do this. We're back at the Atlas Apartments again (and for the last time)! I don't know why that makes me so happy. It's like that summer between college and your first real job. Before embarking to LA, we get one last New York season. And the Atlas is like your parents shag carpeted basement. Not great, but oddly comforting.
Here comes some dude with a fedora and a shirt that exposes so much of his (super toned) torso that it begs the question, "Why actually bother with the shirt?" Seriously, bravo on the abs but, ew. He tells us that his name is Jerell Scott, and he's 28 years old and from Los Angeles. He's a "freelance designer." He says that he began modeling when he was 18 and we see some shots of a formerly afro-clad Jerell. Frankly, the photos aren't that great. I think he must have been a "freelance" model. He says that he couldn't afford the cool clothes, so he had to make them. We see his bio video. He's walking through his studio telling us the he designs for a very exclusive clientele. "From celebrities to Saudi royalty." We see a few shots of his work. It's dark and fancy, with lots of flourishes. Jerell says that he knows what he can do and that it's time to "take it to the next level." Isn't it always that time? The mannequins are like, "Time to tie your kimono." He says that he's sorry for the other designers, but they are going "to have to go home, one by one." Great, he's been studying. We won't have to worry about saying anything original or from any sort of organic, creative place. He'll just give us little stupid lines like that and we'll feel safe and the Earth will remain on its axis.
Suddenly, the orangest person ever, Blayne Walsh, introduces himself to Jerell. What the fuck? He's super tanned and has streaked hair. It's like Zac Efron was fused with Anne of Green Gables. It's bad. He's 23 and he tells us that he has been a fashion designer for 6 years. He pays the bills working at a coffee shop. He says that urban wear is his passion and we see a few photos of his stuff. It's kind of funky, but the pics are really amateurish. People sitting on rocks at the beach. He tells us that he has a ridiculous obsession with tanning. You don't say. He's so perfectly crazy looking. I don't know, I might love him. Unless he continues to write "Sup Holla!" on the chalkboard by the phone. I'm afraid that Christian Siriano may have ushered in the era of the catchphrase designer. If that is true, it will be very sad.