Maxie Say Relax: The Project Runway recap

Maxie is confused. Maxie realizes that she didn’t really know Suede at all because Suede plays cello and Maxie plays cello, and that makes Suede and Maxie sort of kindred spirits and Maxie admits that she prejudged Suede because of his random tuft of blue hair and idiotic need to refer to himself in the third person (Maxie doesn’t know how Suede does it; Maxie is exhausted doing it for one paragraph) and now Maxie feels bad and Maxie would actually enjoy playing a Vivaldi suite with Suede one day, because as they say in the symphony world: “Cellos before hos!” (See note.)

Speaking of the hos—er, the lovely ladies on the show—I do feel that I was wrong about both Leanne and Kenley.

I thought Leanne was a mousy little design nerd, a wallflower, a bit of a doormat. In truth, she’s a cold-blooded killer. Seriously, did you see the way she snagged Suede’s model right out from under him? And not only that, left her own model a quivering mass of insecurity right there on the runway? And she did it with a smile on her face. (It’s always the quiet ones. . .)

Onto Kenley: I’ve expressed my ambivalence toward her in the past. I’ve always seen her as the Veruca Salt of Project Runway—a talented but spoiled little daddy's girl. Still, there was something appealing about her cheerfulness and outsized confidence. But lately, I’ve decided she is more creepy than appealing, what with the hyena laugh and the constant whining and the complete inability to accept anything even remotely resembling criticism. Bottom line: NOBODY is mean to my Tim Gunn. Nobody! Maxie no likey. (Yikes, that’s hard to stop. . .)

As for Korto, I’m so relieved that Jerrel mentioned her junk in the trunk. It really was turning into the 100-pound badunkadunk in the corner. I’m just glad that her ass is out of the closet so we can all go back to our lives.

Have the models become increasingly irrelevent on this show, or what? After the predicted model bloodbath, we find out that once again, the models are dismissed. Instead, the designers would be designing for each other; with each designer assigned a musical genre to channel. (Quick aside: Weren’t the designers who had to design for Jerrel and Suede at a marked disadvantage? I mean, how many times have we been told that designing for men is a lot harder? Who can forget the tragedy of Carmen’s swatch shirt from last season?).

Here’s how it broke down:
Korto was country (before country was cool) and designed by Leanne.
Leanne was hiphop and designed by Kenley.
Jerrel was rock and designed by Suede.
Suede was punk and designed by Korto.
Kenley was pop and designed by Jerrel.

Korto and Jerrel pretty much rocked it. And mad credit to Kenley for parading around in that pop onesy—not many women of her size would have the guts to do that and she looked pretty darn good.

But Kenley clearly has no idea what a hiphop outfit looks like. No, it’s not oversized—nice try, Tim—but it is fabulous. Think fur, and bling, and divalicious attitude. It didn’t help that Leanne gave the most diffident hip hop walk in the history of runways. (LL Cool J was appalled.) And, in Kenley’s defense, someone from De la Soul probably would’ve rocked her cropped leather jacket, floral shirt, and high-waisted jean ensemble—in 1991.

I actively despised Leanne’s country outfit because, well, it was ugly. Everyone liked her “palette” but on what planet does violet, doody brown, and gold go together? Planet Color Blind? I did love, though, how Korto turned into a living Nancy Sinatra song when she popped on those boots. Get down with the ho-down, girl!

Hooray, for Korto. Not only did she win—she did it designing menswear. And bravo to Suede for channeling his inner Johnny Rotten on the runway—even if he did look more like the forgotten designer from Heatherette.

Suede’s outfit really wasn’t so bad—and Jerrel looked Lenny Kravitz-licious in it. I truly think this was a case where Suede lost more for his body of work than for this particular outfit. In my opinion, both Leanne and Kenley failed far more epically than he did.

So there’s poor Suede, standing there like some horrible late 70s flashback, having to suffer the indignity of not just losing, but losing while sporting that hair.
Oh well, as Suede so eloquently said it himself: “Guys, you will see Suede rock it. Suede’s leaving.”

Next week: Everybody cries!



*Actually, celli is the plural of cello. But it didn’t rhyme with ho.