Previously: The designers had to create a design for one of their fellow designers. Santino totally annoyed Nick (and everyone else too, really) with his incessant poo talk; which, upon further reflection, really makes me laugh. C'mon! Poo. It's a laugh-getter. Chloe won the challenge with her design for Nick. Santino and Nick were in the bottom two. Sorry kids, Uncle Nick has gone to heaven.
It's morning at the Atlas apartments and Chloe and Kara are rehashing the previous runway show's drama. Kara describes how, on the runway, Santino was apparently ordering her, under his breath, to hide the flaws in the sleeve that he had poorly sewn. If Santino makes it to the final three, Chloe wonders who will sew his garments, since he doesn't seem to have any machine sewing skills. Well, how do they do it in the "third world"? With magic?
"That man would kill his young to go the final three." That's Kara that said that. Wow, harsh, huh? At the same time, killing babies doesn't seem like it would be all that high-stakes for Santino. He doesn't seem like much of a kid guy. Now, if you asked him to burn the taxidermy collection that you know he's got hanging in his apartment, then we'd have a measure of how far he'll go. Kara edits her statement a bit and says, "He would walk over anyone, as far as I'm concerned."
Apartment 35D. Daniel brushing his teeth. No shirt. I think that, besides the tattoo on his right arm, he's got one on his back -- near his left shoulder. I hate myself for caring. I love Project Runway.
Daniel is pissed at Santino and doesn't want to talk to him anymore. He hopes that the final three consists of himself, Kara, and Chloe. My shirtless Daniel buzz is killed by a shot of Santino in briefs. Sorry. Santino's a striking guy and good-looking in his own way. To somebody, I guess. He does look nice with a cleaner shave. He interviews that everyone "has contempt" for him now, but he doesn't care. This is his "time to shine." Kind of like bookends of shining, I guess.
At the runway, Heidi -- looking lovely per usual and ready to pop -- greets the designers. She's a busy lady, so she gets right to the meat of the matter. Their next challenge is to create an evening gown that represents the line that they would show at Fashion Week. Daniel, kind of stunned, snaps and says, "Yeah, just like that." It does seem a little unrealistic to expect them to conceptualize their entire line in the thirty minutes to an hour that Tim Gunn will give them to sketch and think. At the same time, they should probably just interpret the challenge as "design a dress that would make people want to see more of your stuff." Translations like that? That's why I'm a famous and revered fashion designer. Of course, if they did that, then changed course in the process of creating their line, they'd run the risk of having Michael Kors say, "This doesn't look anything like the dress you showed to us in the last challenge!" At that point, I'd fake a coughing fit and they would offer me a glass of water and forget what they were talking about. For real, people, I'm giving you the keys to success.
It's model-choosing time. Ooh, I wonder how this is going to go. It's Grace and Rachael. Grace looks as cool as a cucumber. Rachael seems to know that her time is up. And she's right. Rachael waves to everyone as she leaves the runway. Daniel says, "Thank you, baby." I really hope that Rachael has some friendly support when she sees Tim Gunn call her a marshmallow. Can you imagine? You're, like, at a viewing party or something and you're thinking you're looking all cute and Tim Gunn basically says you look disgusting. I can just see her in her party dress and tiara with some sort of noisemaker in one hand and a cocktail in the other -- Tim calls her "Gumby legs" and there's silence. Everyone turns to her as she slow-burns into tears, attempts to run out of the room, trips and falls into the big wooden bowl of Cheetos -- and it's her friend's house, she's made a mess at someone else's place, so there's that. There's really no way to win here. Take care, Rachael.