JOHN RUSSO, NBCWould you buy a used car from these people? From left, "Fashion Star" stars Nicole Richie, John Varvatos, Elle Macpherson and Jessica Simpson. Fashion Star
What: The premiere of a reality series where 14 designers compete to get their looks onto the racks of America's biggest retailers.
When: 9:30 p.m. Tuesday.
Where: NBC
Of course, the Diva is inundated with mail from across the globe: entreaties from PR departments, gift cards from adoring fans, requests for boudoir photographs and notes composed of letters cut from newsprint. (The latter correspondence is hastily turned over to federal authorities.)
Earlier this week, your tireless scribe ripped open her umpteenth padded FedEx envelope, pocketed the swag -- COLOSSAL VOLUM EXPRESS Glam Black mascara from Maybelline and an 0.8-ounce container of dry shampoo spray from Suave -- but paused before popping in the DVD screener for NBC's "Fashion Star."
Rubbing her newly waxed chin, a thought bubble appeared above the Diva's head: Does the planet really need another competitive reality series about fashion? Especially one starring "fashion icons" Nicole Richie and Jessica Simpson, the sartorial equivalent of "Dumb & Dumber"?
(Before we move on, let's get something straight: Dubbing Simpson a "fashion icon" is akin to calling McDonald's a five-star restaurant. Don't bother complaining. You know the analogy holds up; like Mickey D's, Simpson has made a fortune selling cheap, mass-produced crap that in the end will make you look fat.)
At first blush, the answer to the burning pop-culture question seems simple, like avoiding cow prints and remembering to never bungee-jump over the crocodile-infested Zambezi River. Still, just because there is a slew of fashion-themed shows doesn't mean there isn't room for another quality iteration.
"Project Runway" premiered on Bravo in 2004 and offered a frantic, fascinating glimpse into the world of high-fashion design. Hungry for fame, starving artists cut and sewed and draped their looks with their own hands, all the while sniping at each other with bitchy abandon.
Not only has it survived an acrimonious move to rival channel Lifetime and chronicled at least three beach-ball-in-the-belly pregnancies of its host and co-creator, Heidi Klum, it also appears to have outlasted her TMI/PDA marriage to Seal.
On Lifetime alone, the show has spawned triplets. There's "Project Accessory," where artisans embellish shoes with Swarovski crystals and make jewelry out of dung beetles. And "Project Runway All-Stars," featuring talented and not-so-talented runners-up from seasons past -- come on, why ask Sweet P. and her signature terry cloth caftans back? And, a personal guilty pleasure, "24-Hour Catwalk" presents a Shake N Bake version of "Runway" where designers have one sweaty, sleepless day to create mini collections that often look like the lunatic wardrobe of a roving band of Gaga groupies.
Though tarted up with ridiculously tight deadlines and edited for high, catty drama, "Project Runway" and its loving facsimiles -- Bravo's "Work of Art" and Syfy's "Face Off" -- document the creative process and celebrate artistry.
Competitors who send boring work down the catwalk before the flinty-eyed Nina Garcia and the endlessly quipping Michael Kors -- "she looks like a pole dancer in Dubai"; "she looks like an Amish cocktail waitress"; "she looks like a transvestite flamenco dancer at a funeral" -- almost always merit an auf wiedersehen from Teutonic goddess Klum.
JOHN RUSSO, NBCThe 14 up-and-coming designers on NBC's "Fashion Star." From left: Ross Bennett, Kara Laricks, Nikki Poulos, Lizzie Parker, Barbara Bates, Ronnie Escalante, Nicholas Bowes, Oscar Fierro, Lisa Hunter, Orly Shani, Sarah Parrott, Luciana Scarabello, Nzimiro Oputa and Edmond Newton.How well a piece will sell or whether anyone other than a malnourished Russian teen can actually wear it are secondary to its aesthetic appeal. The show's snotty, elite effect is part of its enduring charm.
"Fashion Star" is yet another "Project Runway" knockoff, but with all the artistic ambition bled out, like mixing your favorite red Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress with the white laundry and bleaching it pink.
With its tantalizing tagline ("watch it today, wear it tomorrow"), the show is one loud, high-concept infomercial -- and just as soulless. Each week, buyers from H&M, Macy's and Saks Fifth Avenue assess contestants' designs, which are put together by unseen "pattern makers and cutters." There are a few blink-and-you'll-miss-'em behind-the-scenes moments, but the emphasis here is on product, not process.
If a buyer chooses to make an offer on a designer's work, that dress or jacket or bathing suit is made available for purchase immediately after the show online and in select stores the next day. (For those in need of translation, "select stores" means "not on the racks in Cleveland.")
In the first episode, host Elle Macpherson hawks her new "intimates collection" to the pounding strains of "American Woman," as models in their skivvies, inexplicably wearing masks, writhe on motorcycles.
(Note to producers: Stanley Kubrick should claw his way out of the grave and demand royalties, seeing as you ripped off his orgy scene from "Eyes Wide Shut." Then again, even your Vegas dinner-theater sequence was kinkier than Kubrick's version, thanks to asexual paramecium Tom Cruise.)
Like Christina Aguilera, Cee Lo Green and Maroon 5 frontman Adam Levine on NBC's more human "The Voice," Richie, Simpson and John Varvatos act as "celebrity mentors," ostensibly there to guide up-and-coming designers to the grand prize, a $6 million contract.
In the first two episodes, style guru Richie offers sage advice to contestants after their looks have come down the runway, which sort of defeats the "mentor" function, but never mind. At one point, she informs Ross from Austin that the fabric of his palazzo pants is "grabbing" at the crotches of his models. (It really takes a trained eye to see that sort of thing.)
The bow-tied Ross -- whose muse appears to be Alexis Carrington -- breaks out in instant flop sweat as the buyers bridle at his "Dallas" chic. (Ross, here's a little friendly mentoring from the Diva: No celebrity coach on Earth can help you grow when your target client is Barbara Bush.)
Still, the only spark of soul comes from Simpson, who is shaping up to be the Paula Abdul of "Fashion Star."
Simpson tells Nicholas, a former Aussie model who says that girls don't know how to judge men's fashion -- despite the fact that two of the three buyers are women -- that she wants to smack him across the face.
Then there is her interaction with Oscar, a diminutive designer with a penchant for candy-colored bowler hats and making dresses that Varvatos calls "hootchie" and "4 a.m." (Oscar: If the fashion thing doesn't work out, and let's be honest, it doesn't look good, you're a dead ringer for Herv Villechaize when he played the tiny French henchman Nick Nack in the "The Man With the Golden Gun." Pray to the gods of Spandex for a remake.)
At any rate, as Oscar stands in the spotlight, sniffling because he risks elimination, Simpson offers these comforting words: "I had a dream that I gave birth to Oscar and I had to change his diapers!"
No, we don't need this competitive reality series about fashion. But slap a video of that very scene online immediately after the show, and I'm sold.
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