Still in their uniforms, the group descends on a fabric store, where Tim tells them that they have only $100 to spend on the fabric for a uniform. They have to stay with the existing USPS color scheme and, as stated previously, they can design for either spring or winter, as they choose. As they all mill around the store, Jay tells us that he's fashioning an "oversize logo" to go on his uniform shirt. He's afraid his choices are too "fashionable" for the challenge, but he wants to "put [his] stamp" on the project. Rob gets some help from a friendly young woman (she's just like a car!), and tells us in an interview that he expects his charm to be everlasting. "It's just the nature of who I am," he says. Yeah. He's kind of I'm Very Charming (But I'm Not Doing It Right Now) Guy. With everyone's fabrics chosen, the group departs the store.

Back at Parsons, Wendy fingers what looks like a navy blue tie, which...bleh. Clearly, something is bothering her. She explains in an interview that she was shocked to find, when she returned to her work station, that a black moustache had been drawn on the picture of her daughter she keeps at the desk. Because normally, her daughter doesn't have a moustache. Wendy heads into what appears to be a lounge where the rest of the designers are relaxing, and she declares that someone has drawn on a picture of her daughter. She begins sniveling as she says that she's sorry if people are angry at her, but that they should know this is "psychological warfare." She goes on to praise this "quintessential image of [her] daughter," talking about how the girl is "dressed up" and "looking up in the sky." Okay, first of all, I'm sure Wendy is upset, but the kid is not that dressed up. Second of all, the child is indoors, meaning she's not looking "at the sky." What she's doing is looking over to the side. At, like, a lamp. Or a person. Or Zoobamafoo. That picture really is a little bit less of a big deal, aesthetically speaking, than Wendy is suggesting. Anyway, she weeps to the rest of the team that this is her only copy of that picture. Which...in today's age, if you have a beatific picture that you believe is the "quintessential" picture of your child and you've never made a copy of it or done anything with it, you're not trying very hard to preserve that memory. You take a picture like that into a workspace, it can get dye or coffee spilled on it, it can accidentally get ripped...things happen. Sheesh. Wait, am I reminding myself that I hate Wendy? What a waste of time. Because I already knew that.