Team Gunn!

Buckle up, folks; it’s gonna be a delusional and sadistic ride. The big team challenge is finally upon us, and it’s never been chock full of more morally and fashionably repugnant drama. Oh, it’s good. And I mean, “not deleting off the DVR for a while” good. We may have started out a little slow…they opted for a game of designer kickball line up instead of the norm “let’s all keep the same model because they’re really just walking hangers to us” tradition, and Peaches gave us all a giggle after she was the last one chosen. At least she’s not a sourpuss about it. She knows she makes dresses for Ladies Who Lunch out of upholstery fabric. She gets it. (Seriously though—Why does the winning designer’s model still get a prize this season? They’re so not relevant. Even in a 90 minute time frame…Not relevant. Guess that’s one lesson learned from the ill-fated Models of the Runway.)

Anyway, before we get to hear about the actual challenge we have to grit our teeth and turn our heads as the Garnier man painfully reads off cue cards. The designers nod and pretend that hair will be an important part of this challenge, but they really know it’s just that time of the season for PR to earn those Garnier promo dollars by highlighting their new flex hold hairspray and molding putty. On with the real show!

The teams broke out as such:

Team “We’re So Awesome, Let’s All Just Go Blow Each Other”: Gretchen, Ivy, AJ, Andy, Christopher and Michael C.

Team (Time out: You know when you had to do group assignments in school and there was always one loser cluster that just stared awkwardly and mumbled at each other? That’s them. Time in.) “Blah, Blah Mumble Pants”: Valerie, April, Peach, Mondo, Casanova and Michael D.

So here’s the deal: Each team has to pick a trending style and textile from the Fall 2010 lines and make a mini collection. Each team gets $1000 to spend at Mood and subsequently all the designers wet themselves. Apparently they don’t know how to divide because that’s about $160 bucks each. Um, enjoy your polyblends? Team Blow Me chooses menswear as womenswear and camel (because nothing says new and hip like head to toe camel and pleated pants), and Team Blumble Pants chooses military and lace (things seem to be looking up for this rag tag group of misfits). I don’t know if it was Mondo’s lens-less glasses, April’s deafening monotone, Valerie’s inner Gidget or Casanova’s perky man nipples and Arabian Night slippers, but they started to do something right. Granted, their looks weren’t mind blowing, but they were visually interesting, individualistic, but still cohesive. That’s what we call success in reality design competitions.

The all-knowing, Sir Timothy Gunn, Knight and Protector of Useless Flotsam and Jetsam did have one critique for our loveably confused Puerto Rican: blouse is reading matronly. What followed can only be described as a delightfully entertaining train wreck of Latin emotion. In las palabras de Casanova mid breakdown, “I’m making clothes for old ladies, sluts and flamenco dancers. I’m effing tired. I’m even getting fat!” Te amo, Casanova. Te amo your grandma garments and your weak grasp on the English language. After a pep talk from his loquacious model, “I mean, like, your stuff is so pretty. And if you, like, like it. That’s what’s important. Yeah.”, our boy manned up, grew some huevos and pulled it out.

On the other hand…Team Gretchen’s a Wench is too busy high fiving each other to actually design anything that’s not total and utter crap. Nothing but a sea of beige and future broken dreams to be seen. Gretchen continues to stick her nose in to everything. “Even if I’m not sewing a garment, I feel like it’s still partly mine” (because you’re a giant, giant douche nozzle), and everyone continues to degrade poor immunity-clad Michael C. for his not-cut-on-the-bias-cowl neck. Anyway, people keep shouting out things like camel lined leggings, grandpa sweaters and palazzo pants, and I know things are not going well. Tim, the Grand Master of Liz Claiborne, calls your “collection” ho hum. Of course it’s ho hum; everything looks like Tatooine Sand People casual wear.

Eventually the one-day-challenge (seriously getting tired of those) comes to a close, and runway day is quickly approaching. Gretchen makes a to-do list with lipstick and the designers are off, leaving only a dust trail behind them.

But enough chit-chat. Let's get to the runway.

First up: the obvious winners, Team Better Than You'd Thought We'd Be

Valerie. Not too much to say. Seems a little boxy. Whatev, it's totally safe.

Peaches. Doesn't look like a couch, so I'm pretty happy. Her model looks ragamuffin rough though. She get in a brawl before the show?

Mondo. I want to set the mustard tights ablaze. Other than that it works. Love the shoulder detail.

Christopher. Looks like he focused more on the lace than military, but well tailored, so...booyah. Wasn't crazy about the right arm whispies though.

April. I'm just so not a fan yet. Don't know if I ever will be. Pretty sure that's a pleather collar. I couldn't even see the rest of the outfit.

Casanoooova. Adios matronly, hola hot pants. So proud.

And to follow: The obvious losers, Team Gretchen's Bitches

The team of "we ain't been nothing but winners or leeches to winners" decided that their collection would be more cohesive if each abandoned his or her individual style and designed (aka sewed what Gretchen told them to) pieces for each outfit, resulting in a fashion melting pot of khaki crap. And so, I let the crap speak for itself.

ASCOT! Ok, I couldn't hold it in. There's an effing ascot. It screams Delta stewardess 1976. And the legging with the camel panel. Woof. Gretchen, I know those were your idea. I saw you weirdos high five over them.

Ivy should be put down. I know, I know, I couldn't hold it in again. A bell shaped vest. Red wool tights. Shapeless blouse. Pleated maternity shorts. Disaster.

Nothin but ugly, right? Ok, I take that back. The pants are not bad (Pants, not leggings. The leggings are horrid.) And you see the one suitable blouse? That's the one Michael made. The Michael that Gretchen and the rest of her mignons are about to throw under the bus. And with that, we enter the part of the show producers must have deemed the "Gretchen Won't Shut It" footage. There are no words. None. A small portion of the interchange went something like this:

Wench: This is a collection that we love. So much love. We made it for ourselves. We made it for us. We made it for you. We want to form a civil union with this beautiful collection and bare its children. ("And beat any one who calls our clothes babies ugly!!," screeches Ivy)

Nina: But the proportion is terrible. The colors are ghastly. Who styled this?

Granola No Mo: I mean, I guess I styled it. But I mean, it was like trying to dress up a gremlin. You can't fix a crappy collection with bangles. Even though my conception was ingenious, trolls must have come in during the night and made those Mr. Rogers sweaters and not-good-enough-for-80s-Bea-Arthur vests.

Kors: What are you talking about? I thought you loved this collection? You just said you loved it.

Ass: Uh, buh well. It's just. Buggah--JUST REMEMBER WHO YOU WANT TO SEE MORE FROM. I WON ALOT. YOU LOVE ME. YOU MUST LOVE ME NOW. TAKE AWAY MICHAEL'S IMMUNITY. Rawrr gropgrop graag.

Heidi: Ratard. Get off my runway. Donde esta mi Casanoooooova?

In the end, despite the judge's disclaimer of not taking past performance into account (cough, cough bullshit), somehow the brain behind this collection, the main contributor, camel slave driver and stylist is safe for another week, and AJ's skinny arms are booted for a poorly executed shirt dress. (Can't really argue with that. Now this, this, is an occasion for a double elimination, kids.)

But the silver fox Tim Gunn has something to say. So I'm gonna let him say it:

I have a few words for Team Luxe, I fundamentally do not understand your behavior and demeanor and affect on the runway. I don’t get it. I don’t know why you allowed Gretchen to manipulate, control, and bully you. I don’t understand it.

You take it!! You take it and you like it! How does it taste, you denim boustier wearing she-devil?

And with that I leave you... Anxious and waiting for next week's episode in which we hope everyone else has their ah-ha moment, brought to you by Mutual of Omaha, as Ivy did, and realize that Gretchen must be put in her place. If others don't sabotage her next garment with a faulty steamer or over heated iron, I'm sure Tim Gunn will. And it shall be glorious.