“I Mean…What?!?” – Abe Gurko

Who watched Fashion Star? OK, don’t admit it. I am kinda embarrassed to say that I tuned in. The format of Fashion Star is a bad combination of Let’s Make A Deal meets Antiques Roadshow meets To Tell The Truth. They should  re-name the show Have I Got A Schmatta For You. First of all, the little vignettes about each “designer’s” life is so uninteresting, it makes the American Idol visits to the finalists high school seem riveting, comparatively speaking. Attention: Television Producers… no one cares about these obscure hopefuls. I did not care about them on that show Scouted either. Anyone who cares must be insane and/or have less of a life than I do. John Varvatos should never have done this show. It’s not like Michael Kors and Project Runway, which worked for him and his business. Varvatos is leagues above the entire cast. Look, I only hope it helps him somehow, but what do I know? I always liked Nicole Richie, especially on the farm with Paris Hilton, but this seems like a stretch. I know she is very stylish, but whatever. Have been a big fan of Jessica Simpson since the Chicken of the Sea Tuna days, but it’s all seems so ill fitting, a term that applies to Fashion Star in many ways.

As mentors (and I use the term loosely) Jessica Simpson, Nicole Richie and John Varvatos do more clapping than talking. They applaud like every three seconds, and it’s weird. And let me say that Heidi Klum should not worry that Elle McPherson will steal her fashion show host thunder because yikes to her ability to be interesting. The blatant promotion of her lingerie collection that opened the show made me cringe. This whole show is one big commercial for Macy’s, Sak’s and H & M. Fashion Star reeks of, “What we won’t do for some prime-time placement”. And how dare they use language like, “We will discover the next fashion icon”. Icon? Really? Like a John Galliano, or a Coco Chanel? Perhaps the next Madame Gres is somewhere in Tuckahoe, Timbuctoo or some other God forsaken U.S. hamlet run by Evangelical Christians. Let’s bet a million dollars that won’t be the case. Especially that little weird El Salvadorian chatterbox who is cast strictly for entertainment value (and I use that terms loosely here) since his Hootchie Mamma dresses looked the ones above, which I found in the poorest section of Tulum, Mexico.