Another season of Project Runway has drawn to a close, dear readers. Let’s start the show.
I hope you have a cocktail handy, because you’ll need it to get through this sham of an episode. Let’s start the so-called show.
Welcome back to the runway, dear readers! Let’s start the show.
Rockettes! High kicks! And by God, sequins! Let’s start the show.
Between my birthday and the Jewish holiday, I almost forgot about Project Runway! Don’t worry, dear readers, I will spend my Days of Atonement repenting the lateness of this post. Let’s start the show!
Pull on your coats and boots, dear readers, and let’s pretend it’s time for fall fashion. Are you ready to hit the Runway?
Welcome back to the runway, dear readers. Let’s start the show.
Before I begin my epic feminist rant about how Ven represents everything wrong with our culture, let’s have a toast out there for the women, “real” or otherwise. Because after this episode’s travesty, I need a fucking cocktail. Let’s start the show.
It’s time for a fashion designer, two fashion magazine editors, and an underwear model to define women’s work wear! Get out those crack pipes, dear readers. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.
Excuse my perpetual lateness, dear readers; I had another travel-filled weekend that left me little time for snark and judgment (well, about Project Runway, at least). Can you forgive your travel-weary blogger? She is, after all, a “woman on the go,” whatever the fuck that means. Let’s start the show!