Runway Jury: What Becomes a Legend Least?

THE SCISSOR MONKEYS try to switch it up this week, and all I can say is ... stop that.

Words like "fashion legend" are thrown around on this show like so many Keithy scraps, but all this crying wolf mean when the wolf finally does show up — fangs and breastbone bared, hair akimbo, fiercely wrap-dressed — the designers have used up their drama on Natalie Portman or whatever and it's all they can do to applaud wanly. Oh, who am I kidding? Those bitches go INSANE.

After pushing through a huge set of doors upon which "DVF" is drawn in 10-foot-high black lettering, moaning, "Where are we?" "I wonder who it will be?," the ragsters are led into the regulation stadium that is Diane von Furstenberg's atelier. In case they still don't get that this is special — or in case they haven't been watching the 10,000 DvF American Express commercials that have been blanketing the airwaves — la Furstenberg herself appears at the tippy-top of a three-story-high white-ass staircase and descends with all the pomp and nobility of freakin' Turandot. There is shrieking; there is gasping. Kenley cries like a newborn, Jerell is entirely verklempt. DvF herself looks fabulous, but she needs a little color on her face. Just some tinted gloss — anything.

The challenge is to design a look inspired by Fursty's Fall 2008 collection, whose theme is "A Foreign Affair." Holy cats, now we're talking! Let's just count off the deliciousnesses:

1) Marlene Dietrich
2) Cabaret singer
3) Spy
4) Berlin
5) Shanghai
6) DvF's own fabric closet

MYSTERY SEWING MACHINE THEATER
Signs of dissolution begin early. Stelluh's being a big princess about how high up her desired roll of fabric, and even through her tears (yes, she's still crying), Kenley manages to help her get it down. Terri picks up "some whack mohair" and gleefully chooses silk in a fireworks print. A fireworks print. I just want to make that clear. Suede is just going to do what Suede is going to do, because Suede is a tautologist and wants to play with a camo print, echoing the "spy" theme.

Everyone's doing at least three pieces because DvF's looks were all about layering — Berlin gets cold, yo — but Miss Kenley is making ... a dress. "Is everyone doing three pieces?" she whines. Dude, make your dress. Own it, eat it. Blayne has picked up a bunch of hideous neon, of course, and has the nerve to talk smack about Terri's aesthetic which, please. Sew a pair of pants that fits and then we'll talk. The mice in "Cinderella" do a better job fitting their client.

GET BACK IN YOUR BOX
Tim Gunn has concerns. Hooboy, does he have concerns. We're all sick unto tears of Christian Siriano's little catchphrases, but if there's a time to resurrect "hot tranny mess," that time is now. There's a shortie cape. A slinky hoodie. Harem knickerbockers, a camo-print gown, a South Beach coverup, fireworks print. The level of fug in the workroom is at, like, Code Red.

What these kids need to learn is the difference between having a style and being a hack. Terri may make pants all the time, but they're damn good pants. And Kenley's way with a structured sheath is impeccable. They have distinct aesthetics they're adapting to the specificities of the challenge.

Meanwhile, almost everyone else is second-guessing themselves into paralysis. Stelluh's weakness being that she can't, y'know, sew, she's making tailored pants and a lace-up vest, which demand impeccable workmanship. Both Korto and Suede are working floor-length gowns in breezy materials that look very hostessy — one has to wonder whether the '40s signaled nothing more to them than "Women covered up a lot." It doesn't stop Joe or Jerell from running up miniskirts. It's just — ugh. Headless chickens one flapping feather ahead of DvF's gently smiling jaws.

PANIC ON THE STREETS OF 7TH AVENUE
Fern Mallis (yay!) is sitting in for the still-ailing Neenagahcia; Diane von Furstenberg is the guest judge; Michael Kors is orange and ready to go.

No one listened to Tim; that much is clear. He told Korto the yellow lining inside her gown's shoulders looked like a bra strap. He asked Joe what was up with his Little Red Slutting Hood. He questioned the taste of Suede's unbecoming print. No one changed up their designs one whit. And you know what you get for not listening to Tim? You get ...

LET'S START THE SHOW
... silky knickerbockers with a cropped trench and neon-rainbow neck-puke, that's what you get. From Blayne, of course. "Pantaloons!" bellows My Heterosexual Viewing Companion, all hopped up by the prospect of hearing Sarah Pailn's speech later.

If you're Jerell, you get a miniskirt under a thick, is-it velvet? jacket belted with a thin bright-blue belt and some kind of silk leopardy Dress for Success blouse.

If you're Joe, you punt the whole thing. Take a dive. Can't take the "queens"? Get out of the workroom. He's made a, um, I can't even — you can see it for yourself on bravotv.com, under "Rate the Runway."

Korto's long black-and-white gown has a really striking pattern, and she's underlayered it with a pop of bright yellow. But the "bra strap" effect is in place, as is a soft short jacket that looks bathrobey to me, a pet peeve.

Suede, jeez, there's just a whole lot of "Wha?" tonight. Gross cream, brown and green print hostess skirt under a grayish top that does not fit at all; not a sleeve on the horizon.

And Joe isn't out, because Stella is. I think Joe's is worse (the Who Should Have Lost Brigade stirs, rhubarbing), but the biker vest and trousers in taupe glen plaid are horribly sewn, and she's tossed a mini-cape over the whole thing because, I don't know, because she's crazy? 'Bye, Leathuh Lass; we shall miss you.

THE GOOD NEWS
Kenley stuck to her guns and gets top-threed thanks to a gorgeous, beautifully made sheath in one of the busy, infinitesimal prints she cherishes. The lace hem is flirty and she's echoed it with a high collar that gives the "Shanghai" effect.

Terri's gray plaid pant, fireworks blouse and covetable car-length coat look more contemporary than classic, but the design is true to her aesthetic, well-made and looks Furstenburgy.

I haven't mentioned Leanne yet because I have a wee problem with her winning design. The dress is gorgeous; the dress is perfection. The dress will be on me just as soon as I clear up a little confusion on the part of AmEx over whether last month's bill was paid. Midnight blue, liquid satin, floor-length, with a flattering dip in the neckline and a ravishing bodice, and an adorable, surprising ruffle of fabric down the back seam.

That said, I hate the jacket. (Rotten tomatoes and ad hominem remarks about my credit rating go below.) It's a play on the trenchcoat cropped to military-jacket length with a lavish double collar, but the mole color is dreary and the fabric so heavy Leanne clearly had a bitch of a time constructing it with any finesse. Who wears a military-style jacket over a to-die-for ball gown?

I do agree with Leanne's win. Did she make more of an effort than Kenley did? Yuppers. Did she succeed as impeccably with every stitch of her design? Not by a long shot. Kenley's laugh is annoying and she's a monster drama queen, but I have no problem with her doing one thing and doing it well, nor do I have a problem with her musing that she's looking to design something DvF's collection "needs." It didn't sound arrogant to me; it sounded as if she was looking at the collection with a critical eye in search of a style lacuna, if you will, and filling it in, rather than aping DvF's distinctive looks already on the runway.

Anyway, Stella's was "an ebullient departure," as Tim Gunn so Tim Gunnly put it. She will be missed. Until she gets her own show — holla!

Line of the Night: "That stylist wearing a muu-muu ... didn't know any better" — Stella on last week's judging by Rachel Zoe.

Next week: As a skeptic, I am offended by the astrological motif of next week's episode — the designers create a look based on their partner's sign — but as a grudging longtime viewer of "America's Next Top Model," I thrill to the fact that "PR" stole an idea from Tyra. Booty-tootch!