I want to sew them.
Seriously, is anyone watching Project Runway? I mean, besides Sarah Jessica Parker, who only watched for herself anyway, and who had to make sure the gays still loved her after her turn as a throat-clogged homophobe in The Family Stone. The gays--we hate nothing more than a clogged goddamn throat. (Wait, do we? Oh, I'm getting a message: we apparently LOVE clogged throat. My bad. Erase, erase, erase!)
And, honey, this man could clog me anyday.
By which, of course, I mean I'd wear clogs for him. And only him. Though they might scrape the cieling.
Holy Jesus on crack, that man must be mine. It's gotten to the point that I can't watch Project Runway with my boyfriend without feeling like I'm cheating on him right before his very eyes. And though I'm marginally certain that he'd be into that*, still I order him into the other room to watch his other shows. And Rami Kashou and I fabricate beautifully together, in case you wondered. We silk charmeuse. Daily. We chiffon when no one's looking.
Okay, I'm fine now. Sorry for that. Whew. It was like I'd gotten lost and wild in Mood, wasn't it?
And I'm sure I'm not the only one who's gotten Rami-fever. Michael Kors looks so stiff every episode; his should-be off-the-cuff "Hey guys" always comes off calculated and cold, as if he's been repeating his lines for two hours before the show. "Hey guys," he's saying in the mirror, practicing emphasis. "HEY guys?" "hey GUYS?" "Hey. Guuuuuys." I can only blame the hotness of one Rami Kashou.
Anyway, I'm loving this Season, which I'd venture is the gayest season of Project Runway EVER. And I just didn't think it could get gayer than Season 2, with Andre and Daniel V. and Nick Verreos, who I wanted to be more brilliant than he was. And you know what I say: the gayer the better. It's like my approach to hairstyle: there's big, there's bigger, and then there's best.
Let it be known across the land: James Hall is a size queen.
Well, that's half true, anyway.