Is there anything more loathsome these days than television in general? Yes, it’s Project Runway, the most morally bankrupt program to ever depreciate the value of my plasma TV. At least some corners of the wasteland that is television are managing to propagate hilarious stereotypes and re-enforce quaint Anglophilia. To be forthcoming with my disclosures, I don’t actually watch Project Runway; If that were the case I would no doubt have been long ago converted to the simpering masses of emasculated men and frothing-at-the-mouth women who watch this show.
No offense to those who actually do; for all I know this could be cultural commentary par excellence, and this blog post will do nothing but show to you my ignorant and curmudgeonly opposition to anything that does not on the face conform to my aesthetics and morals. And you would probably be right.
I won’t attempt to appeal to those who have long ago found in this show entertainment, intelligence, or any of the things which I claim the show to be in fact devoid of. Instead I will proceed with a completely uninformed but suitably vitriolic attack on all this show stands for.
Without further ado, a list, roughly organized, of why I deem Project Runway to be one of the seven horsemen of the apocalypse, and why if Gibbon had the chance to see the show, he would have probably committed his book to the flames, knowing that even his best efforts wouldn’t be able to stem the inexorable battle-march of Western civilization towards its own annihilation.
1. The Show is about Fashion.
Let’s get real, people. This is one of the things that dulls my brain when beheld in all its insipid glory: how can people spend this much time obsessing over which clothes will look best when bedecking some hollow-cheeked blonde from Eastern Europe? Yes, I know, I post things on my blog that could be construed as such; but really this is just me seeing clothing that I can imagine myself wearing. And that is the great distinction between fashion today and fashion proper. We’re not longer interested in wearing the clothes we see. We’re interested in seeing the clothes, nevermind actually wearing them.
2. It drives cultural discussion.
This one is by far the most stupefying aspect of this television show. Even the most utterly important shows on television don’t get the play that this one does. How can this be? I mean, when the hysteria surrounding Project Runway hits its fever pitch, it’s hard to turn one way or another without encountering some further aspect of the ungodly worship that this show somehow enjoys. I mean, liveblogging the damnable show? This is incomprehensible!
3. Its name.
“Project Runway.” Say that out loud. It’s impossible for me not to curl my lips and sneer as I’m saying these words, even when I impose upon myself some artificial respect to the subject matter. “Project Runway.” It hints at a possibly risque, possibly scientific aspect of the show. As if some shadowy government entity has thrown its support behind this utterly essential foray into the unknown regions of dressing up models, a region only governed by Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle. “Project Runway.” It’s the sort of name that on the one hand can be said with a sinister tone, as if to remind the listener that this is not some ordinary television show–“we’re making real progress here.” It’s also tailored to be invoked by a girly voice at least 25 times a day. “Oh my god, did you see Project Runway last night?” These are the words that will come to me from beyond the grave.
4. It cannot be stopped.
This one is probably the worst. When you hear how much this show is talked about, when you see just how much play it gets online, and when you see how much of a cash cow it must be for Bravo–it’s almost perfect in all its malevolant genius. Some executive has finally figured out how to get every single girl who has access to her parents or her own disposable income in front of a television. You can imagine Bravo’s advertising account bursting at the seams, and you can only forsee legions of shows like this on the horizon, like some Mughal horde of cultural drivel, battering down the last, tattered fortifications that surround my sanity.
I had a few more reasons on my mind, but to be honest the more I write about this show, the more it grows as an irritant to my sensibilities. Before this post devolves into some ugly session of self- and rest-of-world-hate, I’m going to let my reader go on his/her way. I can recommend a cool jacket for them, though.