Work Text:
Dear diary,
Greetings, Los Angeles!
Have arrived on the West Coast with high hopes for the new season and our new place on the Lifetime schedule, which I believe replaces either one small slice of a Golden Girls marathon or the second half of a made-for-television movie in Jennie Garth either misplaces a newborn or escapes her stalker ex-husband.
Either way, have already made my apologies to far too many people. At least on Bravo, we were only replacing reruns of ourselves.
Ah, well. Onward and upward!
Day One
Upon arrival at the Title Guarantee Building Lofts, was ushered up to the roof where Heidi and I met the contestants and proceeded to imbibe quite a few bottles of bubbly with Samantha Ronson, a shrunken-in-the-wash Perez Hilton, and a mannish Cynthia Nixon.
All right, so perhaps "quite a few bottles of bubbly" is an understatement.
Later
Never mind. Was not drunk, it seems, as those were contestants and not hallucinations.
Day Two
Met with the designers at the empty Emmys red carpet to issue them their challenge before ushering them to the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising. Proceeded to silently edge away from Ari with graceful subtlety.
Later
Returned when the designers' allotted sketching time ended to find Ari doing a handstand against one wall.
Quietly experienced a frightening moment where, due to the patterned bodysuit she was wearing, I found myself misinterpreting her handstand as her simply standing there and became terrified she may have cracked under the pressure and somehow prolapsed her entire body through a very uncomfortable orifice.
Considering the designer in question, do not consider this a completely unrealistic option to ponder.
Later
Upon discovering Johnny engaging in a minor nervous collapse in the break room, issued him a comforting pep talk and embraced him with the hopes that some of my belief in his success might adhere itself to him.
Later
Somehow managed to maintain a poker face when Johnny declared to the other designers that I am a god.
Here's hoping they never find out about that fringe religious cult in St. Tropez, diary.
Day four
Am bitterly disappointed in Ari's departure. What impressive potential, to turn Epcot Center into a wearable garment!
Day five
Am now in the middle of mentoring the pregnancy challenge, and have already fielded fervent requests from five of the models for Logan to impregnate them so that they might be ready for the runway show.
May have to lock Logan away in my office for the duration of the challenge where I can keep a close eye on his well-being.
For his own good, of course.
For heaven's sake, you're a diary. You're not supposed to glare at me like that.
Day six
Have informed Malvin that I am not bored by his chicken-thigh pregnancy challenge creation.
Am also unable to stop imagining an albino Big Bird when I see it, but am definitely not bored by the mental image.
Day eight
Wore flip-flops today for the beach challenge. Successfully managed to hide my unnerved disconsolation at the way they suck at the soles of my already suffering feet. Feel as though a good portion of the day was spent walking across the tentacles of a blistering hot giant octopus tentacle.
Miss New York. May have drunk-dialed Daniel Vosovic last night and begged for him to come rescue me.
Either that, or may have finished off everything in the mini-bar and experienced an erotic dream that should perhaps not be shared with anyone. Hmm.
Day nine
After careful consideration, have decided that the only thing worse than deftly steering Ra'mon away from the urge to strangle Mitchell is having to put both Qristyl and Epperson in time-outs.
Also, have taken away their snacktime privileges and may even go to the lofts tonight and take away their naptimes while I'm at it.
Day thirteen
Have suggested to Johnny after examining his bloody-bird-attack monstrosity of a newspaper challenge entry that his creation needs work.
Appears to be very difficult work indeed to scrunch up an entire paper dress compactly enough to use as a basketball.
Day fourteen
Am thoroughly disgusted to discover that Johnny lied on the runway and fabricated some preposterous steamer accident that ruined his original newspaper dress design.
Suppose this could be seen as a correct excuse, however, seeing as how much steam poured from my ears upon hearing that line of malarkey.
Day fifteen
Made an awful mistake in the workroom today when I informed Epperson upon seeing his movie challenge dress that the ruffles "seduced" me.
May need to avoid the internet when this episode airs, as am not enamored of discovering fan fiction of yours truly doing something untoward to a frilly nightgown.
Day nineteen
Am busy mentoring the remaining designers through the wedding dress challenge. Seeing as how many unnatural fabrics are spread throughout the room, am tempted to keep firefighters on standby just in case someone dares to strike a match or causes static electricity or perhaps simply drinks soda and Pop Rocks at the same time.
Have comforted Shirin over her lack of fabric and her client's delirious ideas of what to do with it. May begin to charge money for my hugs, since it appears that they not only work to inspire creativity and verve but possibly also endow those who receive them with invulnerability and magic powers.
… on second hand, Johnny got a hug and look what happened with that.
Have also needed to remind the designers once again that the dominant fabric in their designs must come from their respective wedding dresses, as obviously the fact that a few of them were given the dresses in the first place slipped their minds.
Day twenty-two
Am in charge of an entire room of designers who've decided their challenge is to make a dress for Christina Aguilera which is the sartorial equivalent of the giant cake a stripper leaps from at a bachelor party.
Later
Have learned a new trick which amuses me immensely, in which I go into the workroom, approach each designer, and stare with deep silent concern at their garment with my fist resting against my chin and my brow studiously furrowed.
Have discovered this causes designers to stare fretfully at me and ask questions like, "You don't like it, do you?" or, "I was thinking maybe more sequins here?" or, "Do you think I should completely start from scratch?", at which point I make worried noises and move onto the next designer to act out the same apprehensive inspection.
Usually find myself leaving in a sudden storm of discarded trim and shredded hems, and deserve a medal for making it back to my office every single time before cracking up.
Day twenty-four
Have presented the next challenge to the designers, which apparently involves mining inspiration from Michael Kors' vacation photos.
After an encouraging visit to the workroom, am rather abruptly spotting more potential in the designers' garments than I am in the producers' ability to come up with refreshing new challenges. Have reached the depressing conclusion that while this season's crop of designers generates more creativity than the production team, neither appears to have matured past middle school.
Have decided to go back to my hotel room and lament the current state of today's upcoming fashion industry while getting inebriated off an entire bottle of Stoli, then calling Anderson Cooper and sobbing sweet drunken nothings into the phone just because I can.
Day twenty-six
In the midst of the remake challenge, overheard Irina claiming she invented big sweaters.
Or possibly sweaters in general.
Or perhaps yarn, or maybe even sheep at this rate.
Day twenty-eight
Must stifle the urge to ask Irina if she skinned the giant Scandinavian rabbit she's using as one of her materials for the Getty Center challenge with a knife or if glaring at it with her usual snide intensity was enough to scare the fur right off it.
Day thirty
Following a rather vituperative runway critique, have graciously given Christopher and Gordana their walking papers and am now celebrating wholeheartedly with Althea, Irina and Carol Hannah over their impending trip to Fashion Week. Felicitations to all three girls!
Later
Am on my third disavowal to Irina that regardless of her undeniable talent, she cannot actually go to Fashion Week alone.
No, even I must go.
Yes, Heidi too.
And no, we cannot simply hand her the grand prize now.
Day thirty-one
Have flown back to New York to my own unimaginable delight.
May have kissed the filthy carpeting in the arrivals lounge at JFK. With tongue, even.
Tell no one, diary. Tell no one.
Five weeks until Fashion Week, visiting Carol Hannah in New York
Have gone to visit Carol Hannah to check on her progress, only to discover that her most distinctive dress looks like an upside-down lavender toilet brush.
Was also put to work in the kitchen making biscuits. May need to keep the ruffly apron I wore.
Visiting Irina in New York City
After being greeted by Irina at the door to her apartment, am confronted by a small yappy purse dog who doesn't seem to like me very much. Have not seen a designer's pet more fitting of the cliched chestnut about pets looking like their owners since Laura's hard-shelled turtle whose crap I inadvertently took during season three.
Later
While on the way to meet with Irina's family and friends at a local restaurant, suddenly realized I've misplaced the microphone meant solely for my informative voice-over work during Fashion Week. Can only assume it was left behind when I visited Irina's apartment.
Oh, well. Am positive she won't do any unauthorized and jarringly out-of-place Fashion-Week-visit voice-over work in the meantime.
Later
… oh, for heaven's sake.
Visiting Althea in Ohio
Arrive to find Althea sewing her fingers off when not assembling saloon madam attire.
Also caught myself saying "Egads!" in public. Must remind myself to put a dollar in the "antiquated exclamatory slang terms" jar.
Ten days before Fashion Week
Have called Irina to inform her that the lawyers and producers decided that her usage of copyrighted images goes against the rules and must be replaced on her garments.
Denied her sudden and inexplicable request for my signature. Or perhaps a quickly drawn sketch done by me on a cocktail napkin of anything that comes to mind. Really, any sort of original artwork I might want to supply her with that relates even tangentially to New York would be appreciated.
Hung up after she questioned if the copyright would still count if she took photos of the shirts in their current state and screen-printed the photos over them. (Answer: Yes. Also, stop that. Goodbye, Irina.)
Day of designer arrivals for Fashion Week
Have visited Irina and Althea at the Hyatt to inform them that Carol Hannah has a spot of contagious stomach flu and may not be able to make it.
Politely ignored the unrestrained whoops of wishful delight coming from the direction of Irina's room when I left.
Three days before the runway show
Have announced to the three remaining designers that, surprise! They must create a thirteenth look for their collections.
Allow myself to wonder briefly what it says about this season's competitors that after five seasons of pulling the same stunt before every Fashion Week, all three designers appeared to be genuinely surprised by this.
Day of the runway show
Have greeted all of this season's eliminated designers before heading backstage. It appears Ari has come to Fashion Week as a deranged ventriloquist puppet.
Am pondering if one of the other designers played a vicious trick on the poor girl by implying this was a costume party or if she just woke up that way this morning.
Later
Upon emerging into the staging area, have discovered that no one is in line to go out onto the runway, and possibly even that the designers have forgotten there's a fashion show today.
Promptly flip out worse than I've ever behaved before by speaking slightly louder than normal.
Have also spotted Irina's models wearing those peculiar felt hats of hers. Silently debate to myself whether now is the time to point out to her that they make the models look as though their overprotective mothers were petrified that they might tumble off the runway and concuss themselves, but imagine it's too late now.
Later
Congratulations to Irina!
Have decided to put aside my distaste for many of the missteps that occurred this season both in front of and behind the cameras and put on a supportive face like always. Now that this season is finally reached its zenith, I can give Irina a congratulatory hug and breathe a recuperative sigh of relief that I will no longer have to endure a steady litany of accusations of thievery from all angles.
After leaving the runway
Appear to have lost my wallet.
May have simply dropped it on the runway. Perhaps Irina picked it up. No worries. Will just get it from her at the party celebrating the airing of the first episode, which I'm sure won't be too far off.
Months later
… oh, dear. May never get my wallet back at this rate.