I feel kind of refreshed now. I was dreading this new season. I mean, yeah, nothing can sink as low as the Los Angeles mistake, but last season was still sort of wobbly and only really engaging when Tim Gunn was sneering at Emilio.

But now we get longer episodes, more details, more behind-the-scenes stuff, more frequent use of Tim Gunn as a delivery system for the P.U. Face and in bold new interview cam moments, subtitles for whispered asides from all players, less reliance on the old way of packaging the show. They just sort of Febrezed the whole thing, and I'm glad. My film-nerd husband, seated next to me on the couch, says, "Are the Maysles in charge now?"

Anyway, it feels like they had a big brainstorming session and Heidi barked, "NOW YOU VILL FIX OR ELSE NO MORE LUNCH AND ALL-SEAL KARAOKE PARTIES AT MONTHLY OFFICE BIRTHDAY FRIDAYS!"

On to the episode:



It's not impossible to talk about all 17 of the designers on the new season of Project Runway. But it would take as long as sitting through Inception twice. I've decided that shoveling out tons of detail about these people, especially in the early episodes when the ones who make the least impression are going home anyway, is time unwell spent. I've got limited space.

Besides, I want to talk about Selma Blair and why she's so great.

First, she delivers facial expression only when necessary. And that necessity is determined by how much she hates what she's looking at. You can forget "smizing" forever. The new thing is "smelled a fart so hard." Like to the point where she has to breathe through her mouth.

But best of all she delivers insults with her internal SelmaTron-3000 chip programmed to decimate whatever gets in her cross-hairs. I have this thing called "The Pocket Mr. T" where you push various buttons and you get to hear Mr. T say Mr. T–ish bon mots like, "QUIT YO JIBBA-JABBA!" and other pitying-the-fool sentences designed to bring joy. I like to push those buttons when I'm talking to friends on the phone so they think I'm hanging with Mr. T and he's impatient over the how long our call is taking. But now I want a Pocket Selma Blair so I can always have the following chilly deadpan brutalisms at the ready:
"It's such an unfortunate pant."

"It looks kind of small town hick outfit night at the bar."

"It hangs in such a drab way. I'm confused. I don't totally mind what it could be."

"A little sad. A little backwards-bathrobe."

"I loved how fascinating it was, and I also loathed it."

"You'd find that in a weird kind of store in the mall with a name like Dazzles... where they sell, like, wigs and dresses."

"[silence combined with smirk]"

If SB could PLEASE become a permanent fourth judge until the show goes off the air, then if she could have her own show where she just walks around telling people the truth about what they have on, like just glide up to them in the supermarket for a dismissive appraisal, then capping it with a shrugged "I'm Selma Blair" before turning around and silently skulking away, I'd be a happy TV-watching man. I'd trade You're Cut Off for it.

In the end, someone named Gretchen won for a simple black dress that proved how seriously she takes it all. She's from Portland, they way everyone is these days. And I would like it very much if someone would feel the back of her skull for a zipper because I think it might be Leanimal hiding inside, trying to ignore Runway's strict term limits.

Now to go watch the Austin Scarlett/Santino show where they abuse people into wearing funny outfits and then laugh about it.