Sunday, September 7, 2008
FUCK PROJECT RUNWAY! I'M PROJECT REALITY!
Former "door worker"at Studio 54, now mucho caliente fashion designer, Maggie Barry, has been my friend and often styleguide for 20yrs as of this summer (OH. MY. GAWD CHANDLER BING!) . Of course, we met as really fashionable pre-schoolers at BabyBar in East L.A..
Don't remember it?
I had the chance to be regaled by La Barry yesterday on the eve of L.A.'s Fashion Week (which, by the way, is the only real fashion week in the U.S. outside of NYC. Raaahly Dahling, how long before they do Duluth Fashion Week?). My how time flies, I remember Maggies' tour de force at the first fashion week. Well, sort of. It might have been in a loft or a parking lot or maybe I wasn't there ('ludes, sweetie, 'ludes.).
So, as always, Maggie had a great story abouit her encounter with the (blech) "FASHIONISTAS" at Project Runway. You know Project Runway don't you? Of course you do. It's that show that used to be really good but now should be replaced by "Boyle Heights Cholos" ( now there's a show that will have Lauren Conrad running for The Hills!). Project Runways' supposed premise is taking unknown designers and making them known. Known. To fags and middle aged "Hipsters" with flat screen TVs mounted on the wall where a decent Nagel print should be.
Google as you read, it makes my job much easier.
What the hell was I on about?
Maggie! Project Runway!
K, Project Runway revels in such "design challenges" as sending it's "quirky" contestants out into the world to buy everyday things such as grocery store items to fashion into evening gowns for leperous one legged Latvian midget half breed drag queen hookers who hate the color marigold.
Or some such thing.
The show started out pretty cool. It's hostess is former Nazi Heidi something. The "judges" are a bunch of middleaged fashion death row "dead idea talking" types. There's some chick named Nina from some magazine they sell next to mints in the checkout line, some old wrinkly guy, who I guess was big in Japan in the 80's (but so was I. Google my ads for GoGo Yubari sweaty sportdrink) and guest "celebrity" judges like Sheena Easton. I wish.
As they say in cliche land, the show recently "jumped the shark" when they picked that annoying little hair hopper, Christian ("FIERCE!") instead of major league real fashion designer and total hunk Rami Kashou. Of course, Christian ("FIERCE!") is exactly what America wants in it's fags.
In walks Maggie (who, btw, was dealing with these nattering nabobs of negativety and running a major editorial shoot at the same time.) who procedes to explain the real world of fashion to them.
Maggie made it all the way to the end when that mouth of hers decided it had had enough of this pretentious bunch of mid level execs at whatever network this travestie del moda is on. It seems this bunch of "fashionistas" (btw, if you are a fashionista then you're not a fashionista.) had the utter temerity to question La Barry on her credentials as a designer, A "real" designer.
Holy watch the bile flowing at warp speed Batman!
"If you design something, make it and someone buys it, you're a designer".
Of course how Maggie ever made it to the finals with her rapier tongue and total fag sense of wordplay is beyond moiself. When she told me she had tried out I just assumed she meant as a judge. What was I thinking? That would have meant moving the show into a warehouse/afterhours club with an area for fashion tot dj's to sleep off their Flinstone baby meds freakouts.
How cool would that be?
So, these bilious barnacles of mediocrity start grilling Maggie with such questions as: "do you really think your line can be worn on the Red Carpet (which, btw, is the be all and end all of every non-fashion persons' knowledge of "fashion". If Tara Reids' nasty little nipples fell out of it on the Red Carpet at the opening of the Glendale Olive Garden it must be "fashion" Not to mention, "Fierce!".
"The Red Carpet is more than the entrance to the Golden Globes!", Maggie said with just a hint of exasperation in her voice,"my clothes walk the Red Carpet into the MTV awards and the Bet Awards!" "Golden Globes!?!, my shit is a schizophrenic hodgepodge of Rock&Roll, Fashion and SEX!". You either get it or you don't!"
Amen, sister gurl mama!
Let's make sure you aint twisted. I always rely on Maggie Barry To get me through any styling conundrum. I had to give America Ferrera some clothes to take on her first big press junket to Sundance. Now, America is fucking gorgeous, but, she aint no size -2/5. I never doubted that Maggies Clothes would work on her. America gave you you titties AND ass in Maggie. AND it was tasteful and hot! Everyone from Tina Turner to David Lee Roth to Cher and Lenny Kravitz have rocked her shiznit! In addition, Eva Longoria and any starlet worth her (I was) Miss Tulsa sash has worked the Barry on the Red and Black carpets. Recently I was watching E! (fuck you! I wanna be a Kardashian! The big one, not Kim) and Niecy from Fresno 911 of all people had on Maggie. They made a two commercial thing out it as Niecy tried to reach her stylist (yeah, Niecy got a stylist, what you got?) to find out who had designed her dress. Note to Maggie: Design a discrete "go to" for the fashion clueless but cute.
Maggie has been featured in Vogue, Bazaar, THE NEW YORK TIMES!, and gawd only knows how many editorials around the world. Honestly, Maggies work for MAJOR rock stars has reached audiences far wider than the latest Belgian, non-fat soy latte pretendabe's., so how Dare THE CUZIES ON PROJECT EVEN DARE QUESTIONS HER FASHION CREDENTIALS!?!
YOU BITCHES GAVE THE WORLD CHRISTIAN! AND "FIERCE!" BOW DOWN TO THE GODDESS, YOU TAKE HOME AN BRAVO/LIFETIME PAYCHECK TO YOUR STUPID MID-CENTURY APARTMENT JUST NORTH OF SANTA MONICA BLVD IN WEST HOLLYWOOD WORM SMEGMAS!
But, I digress.
Whew! Sometimes, I get a little carried away when it comes to clothes. Witness my obsession with quirky shoes and bright colors.
Let me tell you something. To this day I have a 20yr old Maggie Barry faux leather crocodile vest with a straight edge closure across my chest. My "Silverlake" ltd edition T-shirt with metal grommets still gets me laid (or used to, sorry Edgar V.)! It's falling apart so rock&roll that Pete Dougherty asked me to join Babyshambles ( I SO would have, but, I, for the life of me, can't remember the recipe for crack. Fuck!)! Do not question Maggie Barry and her bonafides fashiones around me.
Ok, get this. Maggie is working on the coolest stuff right now.
Stop. Did I mention Project Runway passed on Maggie? Quelle Surprise. That's French for, WHATEVER. Like Maggie said, "anybody can sit in a cubicle designing shirt collars all day, that's not fashion." Nor is finding new uses for garbage bags and lettuce.
I'm just saying.
Anyways (by the way, I went to "champagne" brunch with Gigantor today. FUCK!), Maggie is not only coming out with a new shoe line, she's also teamed up with legendary hat designer to the Hollywood studios, Baron Hats, for a new line of killer hats. In addition Miss Attention Deficit has launched her own cult perfume line (youtube her, DAMN do I have to do EVERYTHING?) and she has a line of , GET THIS, what she described as "Drag Queen dresses in a bag!" Ok, I'm not sure what the fuck she was talking about (how rarely I am), but, I know if it's Maggie, it's gotta be good!
Secret. Secret. Don't leak it.
Fo get dat! Maggie recently completed a top secret editorial for an online magazine that's actually the fictional magazine of a show that's returning from hiatus soon.
Hints: Lipstick. A big fire. Obama! Obama!Obama! Cindy Crawford. Dead hot Celebrity. Figure it out on your own.
AND on 13 October 2008 (how very Euro of me) Maggie is presenting her most over the top fashion extravaganza for Fashion Week. It's going to be a Rock&Roll "Victorian Circus Orientale"!
You don't know what that means, but, I do. Trust. Fab.
Go to www.maggiebarry.com and BEG for tix! Tell Miss Barry I said she must admit you! Of course, she may laugh at you without remorse. But, hey.
Btw, did I mention Maggie Barry is a family affair? Long before Angelina got Brad (Jennifer Aniston. Poor Bitch.) Maggie had married the hottest, tallest hunk of banyan tree and produced two way cooler than those Pax and Zahara kids. In addition, her sister Carolyn is the glue that holds crazy together. And me. At my lowest Carolyn was always there to say, "it will get better."
I love me some Carolyn.
I'm such a white girl, I'm ALL weepy.
Go! To Maggies' site and drown in her munifecence (is that spelled right or even used in the right context?)!