On a Saturday afternoon at Mood Designer Fabrics, spirits are hardly as light as the L.A. store's yellow silk and baby blue taffeta when talk turns to "Project Runway," which was supposed to have started its sixth season Jan. 20. It feels more like black muslin here -- dark and unyielding.
"I'm sad. My husband watched it. My card group watched it," says Melanie Murphy of Thousand Oaks, as she squints suspiciously at some green tulle that may become part of the five bridesmaids dresses she's making for her older daughter's wedding. She leans in and whispers, "And I don't think I can get my husband to watch a new fashion show."
Her younger daughter, Emma, 18, nods and glumly adds: "We all used to fight about the personalities and the challenges. It was fun."
Ah, those were the days, er, Wednesday nights. "Project Runway" made its entrance on Dec. 1, 2004, and went on to become a TV mainstay for the most eclectic of masses, with an audience exceeding 5 million for some episodes. Burgeoning fashion designers and logo addicts loved it, natch. But so did schoolteachers and accountants and burly firemen, who, reports had it, quickly took to Season 4 winner Christian Siriano's signature snide quip, "hot, tranny mess."
Now, with the show entangled in a heated legal imbroglio, die-hard fans are scrambling to darn the hole left in their ritual of tuning in to see Tim Gunn grimace at slowpoke contestants. And it doesn't help matters to know that the sixth season was shot right here in Los Angeles -- a first -- which makes the anticipation all the more acute.
But in true "Project Runway" spirit, some fanatics are designing creative ways to make it work without new episodes.
Take Kevin Jones, costume historian for the museum at downtown's Fashion Institute of Design & Merchandising. He plans to throw a "Project Runway" party this weekend by rerunning Season 3 or 4 (his favorites) on Saturday. "We're going to play games and make sketches during the commercials and between episodes," he says, and even lists the supplies -- crayons and markers and construction paper -- he will have on hand. Oh, and there will be pizza and sushi too.
Jones sounds aggressively upbeat, like someone who's just been dumped and refuses to admit he misses his ex. But then he gets wistful for the good times he had with past seasons. "I used to eat a bowl of Neapolitan ice cream while I watched every week," he says with a sigh. "I would miss work to get home in time."
