Jeremy Eaton

Did you know I was this close to bypassing the high-paying world of television column writing, and becoming a world-renowned fashion designer? WELL, IT'S TRUE. Let me tell you, I have all the attributes necessary to knock Paris, Milan, and New York right on their big fat asses, including: flamboyancy. The key to flamboyancy is screaming whenever you walk into a crowded room. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! Oh, CALVIN. How ARE you?? Well, YOU LOOK LIKE SHIT. EEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!" The second attribute one needs to be a fancy-pantsy fashion designer is the ability to ingest grotesque amounts of cocaine. (We can put a check in that box.) HOWEVER! The most important attribute of all is impeccable taste in clothing—unless you're wearing it. Ever notice the way fashion designers dress? It's as if someone roofied them, and they woke up in clothes chosen by a color-blind four-year-old crackhead.

I am lucky enough to possess all these attributes—and yet the world of haute couture was ultimately not for me. (You may remember my "Lederhumpin'™" line of ass-less lederhosen that was all the rage during Paris Fashion Week '97. And yet when I debuted my crotchless lederhosen in '98? Those bitches turned against me! The world of fashion is sooo fickle.) However, I still occasionally design outfits for desperate movie stars. Remember that swan costume Björk wore on the red carpet at the Oscars in 2001? I'm the one who killed that swan!

Regardless of my enduring passion for wrapping models in toilet paper, snipping out the crotches, and placing flowerpots on their heads—sitting on my ass watching television is where my heart ultimately lies. But here's the good news! Starting this week, I can once again fuse my two passions when Project Runway returns for its second season (Bravo, Wed Dec 7, 10 pm).

For those unlucky few who missed the greatest reality show of last season, Project Runway is a competition intended to sniff out the next great fashion designer. Germanic Amazon/supermodel Heidi Klum is the host, who administers a series of grueling tests for the contestants, all of whom are hoping to win $100,000 seed money to start their own line of clothing, and debut their work at New York Fashion Week in February. But that's not the reason to watch. As far as I'm concerned, these talentless hacks are a waste of valuable oxygen, and wouldn't know a pinafore from a spaghetti strap. What's amazing about Project Runway is that no other reality show allows their contestants to be who they really are: a group of cigarette-smoking, backstabbing, bitchy clothes whores.

Last season flourished with such great characters as Jay (the small-town freak who took home the gold), Austin (who puts the "boy" in "flamboyant"), and the evil Wendy Pepper (who wasn't so much evil as a self-loathing borderline psychopath). And that's what makes this series so great—these fashion designers are just like me: flamboyant coke snorters who dress like we tripped and fell into a homeless person's shopping cart. And that, my friend, is good television. By the way, did I mention you look like SHIT today? EEEEEEEEEEE!!!