Project Runway 2, Week 9

Manolo says, Ayyyyyyyy! The tension! The tension! It felt as if someone’s head it was going to explode!

When the designers were standing on the runway, or sitting in the back waiting for the judges to pass their judgement, one could smell the sweaty desperation, one could see the veins popping out on the foreheads. It was indeed excellent television.

And the challenge it was likewise excellent.

The making over of the designers it has been the Manolo’s fondest desire from the beginning of this season of the Project Runway. Except for the Chloe and the Emmett, and to the lesser extent the Nick, the designers they have looked like the touring company of the Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome, the Musical!

They make the worst fashion choices for themselves, which are then displayed each week for our amusement. The idea that the fashion designers, as the class, they are themselves frequently the fashion victims it is something that the Manolo has explored in the past. (viz. Vera Wang, John Galliano, the Evil One, et al.)

Indeed, many designers they will simply give up and dress themselves in all black all of the time, thinking that non-color will deflect from them the criticisms of their poor fashion choices.

And so, as you can imagine, the Manolo he laughed out loud when the Michael Kors announced last night that he “would not wear the vest with the pink back”.

Of the course not, Michael Kors, you would not wear anything except the jeans, the black jacket, and the black t-shirt with the stretched out neck. (Yes, perhaps it did cost $300 of the American dollars, but it still looks as if you’ve been wearing it to the YMCA for the vigorous games of pick-up basketball.)

So the making over of the designers, it is something the Manolo has longed to do, to transform them from the random shambling heaps of hair balls and cleaning rags, into something more like sentient beings.

In the best of cases this it would not be the easiest of the tasks as the designers of the Project Runway, they are not the handsome peoples.This it is not the handicap in the world of fashion, as it is also true that many of the famous fashion designers, they too are ugly.

The Manolo, he theorizes that this it is because the ugly they are naturally drawn to the beauty.

So, the Manolo he could not but agree with the crude Southernism of the Santino, that this challenge it was like trying to polish the turd, trying to take what is natuarlly not attractive and make it into something that at the least does not repel.

In the end, the correct decisions were reached. Chloe made the Nick look great. Nick made the Daniel V. look silly. Kara made the Santino mildly less repuslive, if only by having his scraggly beard shaved, and taking away some of the crazy wickety-wack of his usual outfit. The less said about Daniel V’s dressing of the Chloe the better. And the Santino, he turned the Kara into the futuristic, natural-fiber, space hooker. Ugh.

Good bye to the Nick. You are the nice guy, who has much talent, and the Manolo he wishes you well, but your outfit it was not good.

Finally, the Manolo he asks the rhetorical question, other than the Chloe who would you hire to give you the making over?


The Senex Amator

Manolo says, behold, scenes from Plautus.


What the Manolo Is…

Manolo says, here, the day late from the usual schedule, is what the Manolo is…




Listening to…

The many internet friends of the Manolo, they are indeed exactly like the army of Davids.


Server Problems of the Manolo

Manolo says, Ayyyyyyyyy! The Manolo he has been having the server problems this morning, causing many crashes of the database. Many apologies for this.

However, do not worry, the Manolo he is the religious backer up of the posts and the websites, so that if the unthinkable it happens, the Manolo he is prepared.


The Fresh Prince of Darkness

Manolo says, even from his sick bed, the Manolo he still feels impelled to rise to do battle with evil.

Look at this lengthy article in the New York Magazine, which the Manolo has annotated below for your edification. It is like the horrifying, surreal, opera buffo stage version of the Paradise Lost.

Act One, Scene One. The curtain it raises on the procession of the damned, who shuffle across the stage paying obsequious homage to the Lord of Flies.

First, the aged crones in thrall to evil..

What can one talk about while waiting for Lagerfeld? Lagerfeld, of course. “Karl has the energy of . . . what? Twenty-five thousand Turkish elephants!” says socialite Anne Slater, wearing her big blue glasses and grinning up a storm. “He’s magnetic and powerful. I think he’s absolutely, devastatingly attractive.”

Then, the young slatterns, proud of their debasement…

“Karl is a genius!” exclaims Lindsay Lohan

Next, the handmaidens of Asmodeus, eager to share their shame..

“Karl is the one person that makes me shy,” says throaty Bungalow 8 owner Amy Sacco.

Then, the greater demons, odious, cloven hooved beings who dwell in the lower rings of Hell…

Giorgio Armani, André Leon Talley, Anna Wintour with her pretty daughter, Bee. “A conversation with Karl is not a fashion conversation—it’s a conversation, a conversation that embraces the culture of life,” says Talley.

At last, the minor-key fanfare sounds the approach of Hell’s dark master. The lights dim. Low fog swirls onto the stage, and there! Suddenly! The Arch-Fiend himself!

But then there he is—Karl! His stiff silver tie glitters like a saber. His black leather gloves are good for murder. He poses for the cameras wearing a ghastly grimace, an entourage of twenty Frenchmen and foxes waiting behind.


The grotesque retinue orbits his dim majesty in the danse macabre…

Guests with fingers curled around champagne glasses jostle to catch a glimpse, not quite crying the way they did in Tokyo last year at the opening of the biggest Chanel store in the world, but certainly eager to be entertained. “I think his hair is powdered, like from the 1800s,” says one socialite. “In fact, it is from the 1800s,” titters her friend. Paparazzi are yelling “Karl!” and bystanders are yelling “Karl!” and PETA is yelling “Karl!” the loudest.

Hark! The lone voice in the urban desert, crying out righteousness!

A dreadlocked white guy with Rollerblades slung over his shoulder streaks down the sidewalk and snarls, “Blood for money, that’s what Karl Lagerfeld wants. Karl is greedy! Karl is evil! Karl is wicked! Karl is . . . the devil!”

The guises of Manolo are many!

But, quickly the prophetic cry of warning, it is forgotten…

Lagerfeld is too busy, too smart, and too old to be brought into any foolishness, at least not that which is not of his own making. At 67—or 72, if the 1933 birth date on a baptismal record unearthed by German tabloids is to be believed—he is one of the most professionally self-realized people alive, keeping busy with an incredible twelve or so collections each year, an extensive photography career, a Paris-based bookshop, personal museum-quality furniture collections, the management of six homes, and staying skinny.

67, or 72, or 666? What are the few numbers among the friends?

Lagerfeld lost 90 pounds four years ago on a low-calorie diet—his book on the subject was a best seller in Europe—and has put on ten or so since. The new, skinny Karl is an improved Karl. The creepy fat guy hiding behind a fan has been replaced by a boogying hipster who hangs out with Stephen Gan and Hedi Slimane. “My people are zee cool ones, the rockers,” says Lagerfeld. “I get along with everyone except for men my age, who are bourgeois or retired or boring, and cannot follow the evolution of time and mood.”

The creepy fat guy behind the fan, he has been replaced by the Arch Demon Moloch in tight pants!

His look is an extremely conscious metaphor for his philosophy of fashion and life: Here, watch as I bring together the old, in my tall eighteenth-century collar and bizarre powdered hair, with the new, as seen in my ponytail and $2,500 Agatha leather pants, “the most expensive leather pants in the world,” he declares, with a laugh exactly like Count Chocula’s in its length and ridiculousness.

Count Chocula! In today’s world it is so hard for evil to even be taken seriously.

“In the whole world, there is nowhere I can go,” says Lagerfeld, in a tone that should have him fluttering that old fan. “Everybody has a camera, and it is flash-flash-flash, and I am a puppet, a marionette, Mickey at Disneyland for children to play with. In Japan, they touch me. I have Japanese women pinch my ass, so now I must say, ‘You can have the photo, but please don’t touch me.’ You cannot pinch the ass of a man my age! And I cannot go out without something for my eyes, because someone might throw chemicals in my face,

or Holy Water

and I would be like my childhood French teacher whose wife burnt him with acid, Mr. Pommes-Frites, can you believe the name. I can cross the street nowhere in the world, I can never go into a shop. Oh, it’s horrible, horrible.”

And thus, the curtain for the first act it comes down on the Evil One lamenting his new life: floating on the firey lake that is the modern media celebrity.

P.S. “Demonic Biker Priest?


Yeeee Haw!

Manolo says, perfect for the living room rodeo!

P.S. Many thanks to the Manolo’s internet friend the Wayne for sending him this ridiculous picture.



Manolo says, many thanks to those internet friends who have offered the advice and the sympathy. It has been much appreciated. Indeed, the Manolo he has taken all of the advice, and between the heavy doses of the chicken-soup laced with the nyquil, whiskey, echinacea, Zicam and the garlic, already the Manolo he is feeling somewhat less oppressed.

However, the posting it will undoubtedly be light today.

So, in the meantime, go to the Bride Blog and be amused by the Never teh Bride.



Manolo says, perhaps the Manolo he does not have the influenza of the birds, but he could not feel worse if he did.


Dzien Dobry!

Manolo says, it is too bad that the Manolo he does not read the Polish, for if he did, he would know what it is that the Polish peoples are saying about the Manolo.

Fashion Week 2006!

Manolo says, Ayyyyyyyyyy! The New York Fashion Week 2006 it is upon us!

Yes, it is the incredibly busy time for the Manolo. But, do not worry, later the Manolo he will give you some of his reactions to the shoes and the shows.

In the meantime, the Pajamas Media they are doing the round up of the links to the Fashion Blogging.


Manolo the Columnist

Manolo says, the Manolo’s most recent column for the Express of the Washington Post it is now available for the downloading. Today, the Manolo he discusses the shoes for the dangerous situation.

Dear Manolo,

Help! I’ve been invited to a business dinner at a fancy French restaurant, but I’m only a poor paralegal.


Manolo says, few things strike terror into the heart of the Manolo such as the words “business dinner at the fancy French restaurant”. Ayyyyy! There is such the great potential for disastrous career error through the misuse of the various unknown personal dining implements such as the the asparagus fork, and the oyster spoon, and the melon baller.

And so the Manolo he would have you look your absolute best, so that your undeniably impeccable taste in the shoes would naturally shield you from the extremes of Gallic scorn.

But, because this it is the dinner of business you cannot wear the most sexiest of the shoes, especially since it is the well know fact that the lawyers they are driven mad by the sight of toe cleavage.

So your toes they must be covered. However, your heel skin, it can be set free to roam openly in this slightly less formal setting.

Thus, the Manolo he would recommend to his friend the high-heeled slingback. Also, because this it is the perfect occasion for the appearance of the justly famous little black dress, the shoe it must also be black. And because the friend she is poor, it must be on the sale.

With these things in mind, the Manolo suggests the Odessa by the Claudia Ciuti. It has the slender straps, and the interestsing detail on the vamp, and it is indeed most attractive, yet it retains the air of professionalism. It is even on the sale, over 50% off of the usual price!

Odessa by Claudia Ciuti    Manolo Likes! Click!

State of the Fashion Union

Manolo says, the Fashion Tribes they have another of the State of the Fashion Union round ups over at their most entertaining blog.

One of the favorites from this round up, it is the Fashion Divas exhortation to Look Like the Grown Up!

Probably one of the worst ideas to ever evolve in the workplace was “casual Friday,” which has insidiously snaked itself into “casual everyday,” and it does not improve the work or the image of working women. There was a time, before all this “revolution” in the workplace, when everyone who worked dressed up. Once upon a time, when being a secretary was considered respectable, secretaries dressed smartly and had an air of importance (remember Della Street?). Then somewhere along the line, the position morphed into “just a secretary” and now some ladies feel that wearing “just about anything” is acceptable. A lot of “dressing for the workplace” articles focus on the “professional woman.” Divas, if you are gainfully employed in a company, you are a professional. Dress like one.

The Manolo he could not have said it better himself.