Manolo says, poor Alison, sent away for the crime of making her model look like the Ivanka Trump.
Yes, Alison’s outfit was the monstrosity, although it was certainly not worse than the terrible tinfoil fairy costume of the Kayne. But the Kayne with his stereotypically bitchy-flamboyant personality and the panicky Vincent, always on the verge of blowing the fuse, are “good television” and so the sweet and unoffensive, vanilla-flavored Allison was dumped. Do not worry, she is talented and nice and knows how to make the clothes, so she will be fine.
As for the top finishers, Michael, Jeffrey, and Laura, each was quite good, although once again, it was the Michael who stood out and deserved to win. His outfit it was beautiful and original and completely wearable, indeed it was the sort of thing that could be worn to the royal wedding…well, perhaps for one of the minor nobles, like one of Prince Michael’s childrens.
Likewise, Jeffrey proved himself to be the Master of the Trash with his marvelous and innovative dress. And where did that come from? To this point he has shown so little of the talent that this outfit seemed to be sui generis, as if it had emerged fully formed from his neck tattoo.
As for the Laura, Manolo is now convinced that this finish, third place, it is the best the Laura can hope for. Her dress was elegant, simple, and beautiful, but as always derivative. Yes, the dress was made out of the peanut sacks, but still we have seen this dress somewhere before. And this is the problem. She has impeccable taste, but her talent as the designer, it is to make beautiful tasteful objects that seem powerfully familiar. Because of this, she will be hard pressed to win the competition.
Of the course, the Laura, she is also turning out to be the prize bitch, one cannot keep her pie hole shut when she should. But because she is also very smart the Manolo believes that this behavior is partly calculated, but only partly.
As for the others: Robert appears to the Manolo to be sinking under the weight of his own despondency; Uli, the Little German Engine that Could, chugs along, able to make the flowing, shapless hippy dress even when given nothing more than the mound of shiny garbage; and Angela, meh. She needs to turn up the evil if she hopes to stay longer than her talent would justify.
Meanwhile, the returned Michael Kors continues to delight us with his scathing wit and catty bon mots. Indeed, the Manolo is now looking for the opportunity to work the phrase “looks like the paper brioche” into his everyday conversation.
And then there is Nina. Nina, Nina, Nina. So beautiful, so bitchy, so mean.
Nina, the Manolo feels this great and unaccountable affection for you. He would love to have the intimate lunch with you. The Manolo shall order the poached salmon and the green salad, you shall have the extra rare steak with the tumbler of scotch and the side order of bile. Such fun!
As for the guest judge, Rachel Zoe, all the Manolo can say is that she would have been the good choice last year, before she was over.