Runway Jury: Swan Fake

WHEW! WE ARE baby steps away from the tents at Bryant Park and all hell is already breaking loose.

Thanks to the heady new "Project Runway" universe of shifty, ever-changing rules, we're looking down the barrel of a Leanne-Korto-KENLEY showdown and it's gonna get — hell, it already is — ugly as toads.

Jerell won last week's challenge, got for his troubles a big basket of bupkis, was sent back to Do Not Pass Go along with the purported loser and the other two, and That Bitch put her hands in the air like she was just crowned Miss Pretty Pink Pony Princess.

What. A. Mess.

And now he's out, his inability to edit himself or use a steam iron or style a model or just take one thing off, Diana Vreeland-style, having doomed him to Austin Scarlett-worthy fourth place, fair and bloody square. For myself, I never care if I don't see another high-necked sheath of puffy party dress in two lifetimes, but off we trudge to Finale, Part Deux, stilettos in hand, coat askew, so exhausted we're seeing bobbins in our sleep. Talking bobbins. Hang in there, pigeons — we're so close! Pass around the Red Bulls and let's get this Bataan Death March started — woot!

Our scissor-monkeys have three months and $8,000 to design a collection, one of which will be tossed in the trash along with Nina's Elle contract. Kenley immediately calls sabotage "by all the other designers." It's so unfair. So unfair that she has to design a line along with these, these peons, these little nobodies. The peasants, they sure are revolting.

WELCOME TO MY PARLOR
Tim Gunn visits Korto in her Keebler Elf cottage in Little Rock. "I'm thrilled to be here!" he effuses. (Tim Gunn is so not thrilled to be in Little Rock, I assure you.) Korto is totally cute with her cute family and adorable daughter, and she introduces Tim to her "drum partner" and they get all drummy and it's so cute you could choke, considering the wedding-dress abonimation to come. Oops — spoiler.

She shows him the teeny-weeny green dress with the zippered front, little knowing the fear, confusion and pain it will cause on the runway. I say no more.

And it's off to see Leanne in Portland, Ore., which is where, for some reason, she lives. Her line is freaking gorgeous, inspired by the sea and waves, ice-blue and ivory, and I want it all. NOW. She entices him into a tandem-bicycle ride and it's almost as cute as Korto's little girl.

Tim packs his bags — no doubt with exquisite precision and including a double helping of whatever he uses to eliminate all appearance of having pores — and prances off to see Jerell's hot sister in Los Angeles. I'm sorry, I mean to see Jerell. He introduces a middling-looking white guy as "my love interest" (1: adorable, 2: you can do better, babydoll) and peruses the overworked, glitterific much of a muchness that is Jerell's line.

Cuteness abounds so far — yay! I love the Tim visits; they're so relaxed and, without the presures of the show, everyone seems to be on equal foo — whoa. A dark cloud is descending. Is it my ancient Zenith? My notes are blurry, the cats begin to growl and pace, My Heterosexual Viewing Companion (MHVC) throws his dinner plate against the wall in an unprovoked rage. (Jerk chicken — what's his problem?) Oh, no — Kenley controls the vertical; she controls the horizontal. We are in Brooklyn, surrounded by assy prints and an assy princess, high necks, Chicken Lady feathers. Tim tries to tell her edit, but his cries go unheard. Her eyes glow red — she isn't human anymore. No family, no friends, just a stunted, crabbed creature in a dark cave of loathing. Dear God, what have you — commercials.

I'm, I think I'm all right now. (Oh, and thanks for your concern, she added sarcastically, you'll never believe where I found my wastebasket.)

The designers return to the Atlas apartments for the final showdown. Leanne wants to "mark [her] territory," "Yeah, go pee on it," says Korto. Dang, I'm going to miss her when she loses. Jerell is stuck "sleeping with Kenley," only not in that way, and then Miss Lady K shows up, and everyone starts pounding their wine.

And there's one more challenge (two, actually): They each have to make a wedding dress. And they each have to make a bridesmaid dress.

MYSTERY SEWING MACHINE THEATER
Kenley thought she was the only one making a short bridesmaid dress and is furious. Seriously, that happened.

LET'S START THE SHOW; I CAN'T TAKE ANYMORE
Despite Tim Gunn's best efforts, a tugboat of tripe is unleashed upon the unsuspecting eyes of Nina Garcia, Heidi Klum and Michael Kors. Heidi had asked the designers to "amaze us" earlier, and right about now, she's bargaining with the man upstairs to give her those words back. You want amazement, Frau Seal? How's about this?

Jerell — oh, honey, no. A great idea executed horribly, it's a buttery, cambric-tea gown with beautiful ruching across the front that gives it a creamy, windlike texture, with a strapless bodice out of which explodes Bedazzled assery as if the bride in question couldn't wait to tear off her wedding gown and exposes her new husband to her scratchy, Bunny Ranch taste in underthings. The satin stops swirling at about knee length to expose — shudder — miles of gray tulle that is gray with the ivory it is gray and looks like Carrie Bradshaw got caught in a dust-storm on her way to marry that rat Big but Pat Field was all, "Make it work, darling! Be the crud! Now bring me my Bedazzler!" On her head ... you know what? Not even going there.

The bridesmaid looks is cheap, wrinkled blue-gray material with a fabric waistband into which Miss J has stuck a posy of plastic twigs. I mean wrinkled like flight-to-Tokyo wrinkled.

Korto — sorry — should have gone home for this. It's all pulled in just below the hips with her pet panels split across the front to make the hips look hippier; the bodice is insane in the membrane with stuff and things and things and stuff and pleats aplenty and giant ethnic jewelry and it's all so distracting I can't look at the screen.

The bridesmaid dress is a swingy mini with a halter top that took her 30 seconds.

Yeah, okay, so Leanne's is gorgeous. Love the rich-looking ivory satin, the wave-like folds of Leanne-noodles across the skirt, the simple bodice. Faboo. Desperate to wear this dress, I beg MHVC to renew our wedding vows. "You're not a shitass," he says, taking my hand. "You're the only person I don't want to gut with a fork," I sigh. Twenty years in December, people, don't misunderestimate!

The bridesmaid dress is in a seafoam green and if I have one objection, it's that the Leanne-noodles flop away from the bustline in an untamed manner. But really, it's near-perfection. I smell a winner.

YOU COME HERE OFTEN?
Let's being with Kenley's bridesmaid dress — a nice dark blue, shortish, with a well-tailored skirt that's a wee bit poufy and, as usual, too high in the waist to be flattering. Not crazy about the blue illusion netting at the neck — it's slightly ice-dancerish — but nice. And then there was this:

Oops, sorry. That's Alexander McQueen from his Fall 2008 collection, which showed in February, in case anyone's counting out birth-months like a suspicious auntie. Here's Kenley's wedding gown:

Mm, jerk chicken.

*I AM A MAN OF DESTINY. I WILL NOT DIE
But! The judges dig it, despite Kenley's rank attitude and annoying laugh and back-talk and deflated ego and delusional tugboat whatever. They recognize that it's a total and complete rip-off and don't even acknowledge that McQueen, being a grown-up, cut his gown with acuity and a razor-sharp sense of proportion — his way with asymmetry (not my fave thing) is breathtaking.

Kenley is in. Leanne is so in it isn't funny. Korto is in, to my vastly mixed feelings. Jerell, we knew ye — particularly your sternum; that we knew really, really well — and I for one am sorry to see your skinny behind sashay into the sunset. Keep it unreal, my friend.

Next week: Good God, what season is it, like, 267? And why can't I buy a Santino Rice dress yet? And OMG, it's MORGANZA!! The cat's among the pigeons, pigeons.

*Identify the origins of the quote and win accolades from geeks nationwide. Who will be crowned Top Designer? Your best guess below. And heck, let's vote for a fan favorite, too, since there will be no reunion show this season. Stellaaaaaa! XOXO, Gossamer Girl.

Photos courtesy Bravo; McQueen photo by Marcio Madeira; nabbed from Style.com