So, we meet all 700 of the new designers straight away. Seriously, it seems like they add more every year. 16 this season. Next year, they are just going to ask all of Spokane, Washington to participate. After much experience, I've noticed that I sort of predict the people that I think are going to be great, the people that I think are going to suck, and the people that are going to provide the drama.
Great -- Korto Momolu, Wesley Nault (because he's cute, sue me), Stella Zotis (AMAZING-- she makes her clothes for "hookers, pimps, or anyone tough enough" to wear them) and Kelli Martin.
Suck -- Suede (refers to himself as "Suede"), Leanne Marshall (shoot me if she says more than two sentences this season, she seems so boring), and Kenley Collins (just a feeling).
Drama-- Jerell Scott (he has memorized the gay reality show quipster handbook), Blayne Walsh.
The first challenge is a redux of the grocery store challenge from Season 1! And Austin Scarlett is the guest judge!! He's wearing so much foundation these days. Half of the designers choose tablecloths as material and Tim Gunn totally gives them a dressing down in the workroom. He's totally over this bullshit. The bottom three are Stella (garbage bag dress), Blayne (weird bathing suit thing that was, in fact, maybe awesome), and "very successful" Jerry Tam (blah rain coat made of… shower curtain). The top three were Korto for her tasteful dress with produce neckline, Daniel Feld for his plastic cup dress, and Kelli for her vacuum bag and coffee filter dress which was creatively treated with dyes and bleach. Jerry thankfully goes home, meaning we get more of Stella and Blayne. All three of the top three were pretty great, but Ohioan Kelli pulls out the win!
For a look at some of Runway's most fabulous figures, check out our gallery.
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.