Message in a Bottle
In this blog, we confess our love for Prince William, contraband street scarves, and grunge, and most of all this week's episode.
Before I even begin, this entire episode had me thinking of this.
So I thank you user Irollerdudek for uploading that video, which played intermittently whilst I was writing this entire blog. Charlie's dance haunts my dreams.
Plaid: So. Hot. Right. Now.
I refuse to travel without my buffalo check dress (my roommate calls it's my security blanket, but people in other cities need to see it). Kate and Wills are getting a Tartan for a wedding present (I got them a panini machine). I've even spent the morning accumulating all the Burberry knock-off scarves in Manhattan to swaddle myself in Andy-style for the remains of the day.
This was what I like to call an onion challenge. It's layered and it made me cry profusely. Time capsules. The past, but modern. But also cohesive with all those other pasts. 9/11. And plaid! Iman you are a cruel mistress.
I'm also pretty terrified most of the designers don't understand how the past works. C'mon Ro. Even if you're not a history buff, you've seen Apollo 13 right? Nobody was rocking shoulder pads while crying for Tom Hanks.
House of Emerald's decided to pump up the volume, while House of Nami's went straight metallic. Both houses were uber-neutral, which is a little snoozy. I wanted someone to go serious kilts. The fashion show could have begun with tiny Jeffrey carrying a bagpipe down the runway, cloaked in some sumptuous Ralph Lauren equestrian plaid--preferably wearing his Lil Kim wig.
Darling Dominique has found her muse, in handsome-haired David, and she made some sort of Harajuku/Soul Asylum look. But while she was getting her "Runaway Train"-on in between flirts, David's jumpsuit proved the opposite of the Seinfeld-ian theory. If he was trying to design something that Michael Jackson's grandmother could drive her Caddy to Albertson's in, I suppose he succeeded. Folks need something to wear while they grocery shop for pepper jelly and Saltines in (that's what my gran buys).
Also at Nami, we must address how much I love every time Calvin puts a dress on. Boy can prance, and gets more lovable as the weeks go on. If this is the hell that here go came, I'm into it. And you know what, maybe I'm destined to be a drunk homemaker, but I liked that wacky top he made--Iman! Betty Draper or I could totally rock it while ignoring Sally and smoking cigarettes.
Cesar, on the other hand, has no time for drag. He's helping Ro and Golnessa, and churning out dresses like mad. His origami-hand-painted napkin dress grew on me and then soared to the top of my heart, just like the paper airplane it vaguely resembled. The rest of the house really brought their game up too, Jeffery's cape was divine, and Cindy's coat also made me want to smoke cigarettes (but I won't!).
I'm no judge, but I have to say I was more into Nami. Maybe it's because I'm a sucker for gray (it's my favorite color) and romance, and maybe it's because I knew if they lost, we would lose Ro and his asymmetrical haircut forever. Nami can't survive on one good 'do alone!
But he had to go. It was meh to the 100th power. The bottom looks like something you'd wear to a job interview (not here), while the top was boo-zare (nice volume, but the plaid tucked in there was like, "Suprise, I'm bored"). Adios sweet haircut.
But at least he did leave a little easter egg for us. Did anyone else notice that Ro was wearing a yellow jersey for someone named Andre ("What happened to ANNNNDRE?")? Methinks that was no accident, and probably bad karma to align himself with that cryer.
What about you guys? Are you mad for plaid? Sad for plaid? Glad for plaid? An emotion that does not rhyme with plaid? Comment away.