OhMyGod. I don’t think you’d need that much Purell to ride the real NeNe.
OhMyGod. Chillax. It’s not lipstick on my teeth, it’s red Crayola. I’m a dude.
OhMyGod. Don’t be such a babe, Babe. It’s just a reaction to the manscape wax.
OhMyGod. I know, right? How hot is that purse? I almost kept it for myself.
OhMyGod. Srsly. Where is the app for the ejector seat? This bitch hasn’t shut up since LAX.
OhMyGod. OhMyGod. OhMyGod. OhMyGod. OhMyGod.
OhMyGod. I just got that manscape joke. So completely the opposite of funny.
oh mon dieu.
Je vais mourir. Littéralement mourir.
Look it it up, kids…because The Rachel Zoe Project just went Internationale.
As in: Paris.
New York Fashion Week has already come and gone faster than last season’s hemline.
Been there. Done that.
The City of Love is the New Black. So you knew Rachel & Company would pack up a few of those Titanic cargo crates and head across the pond to Paris Fashion Week to get their gawk on asap. If Rachel could ever finish packing, that is.
We started this week out with a scene from Chanel Hoarders as Rachel combed rolling rack after rolling rack for the perfect Parisian wardrobe. And accessories. And shoes.
She needed to be able to morph back and forth between her multiple fashion personalities with ease, which meant she would need to bring her Stylist Hat, her Designer Hat, her Obsessive Shopping Hat and at least 4 OhMyGod I Just Got My Bangs Cut Hats. And 7 turned out to be the lucky number.
Suitcases, that is.
Whereas the rest of us poor people would simply shove 7 pairs of underwear and our fat pants into a carry-on and call it a day, Rachel needed 7 full suitcases. Just because.
Even without his ever present iPhone 5 calculator, Rodger quickly realized that the additional airline fees they were about to incur would easily pay for two of the air control towers that the Government just shut down this week, and he wasn’t happy.
That new crazy Jekyll & Hyde hair he’s been rocking made it look like he was just about to blow a maj nutty on Rachel, but it never happened. I think that whacky coif is starting to mess with my head, too.
You don’t need a Just In Case raincoat, lady. Look at the Effing weather report. Rodger said Effing a lot this week, like when a little boy learns a new swear word at school and uses it over and over until someone spanks him.
After loading up the plane with all of Rachel’s luggage and then draining out half the fuel tank and kicking off the co-pilot so the thing could actually get off the ground, they headed to Paris for some runway shows.
No sleep. Just runway shows.
And speaking of jet lag.
Two things that drive me crazy: Squeaky Laryngitis Voice and Bad Editing. Yup. Rachel lost her voice. And her fashion continuity.
As Rachel and Rodger bickered and pickered on each other during the entire limo ride to the Marc Jacobs/Louis Vuitton show, look at what they were wearing. Memorize it.
Now unless the driver pulled over at Le Gulf statión and they changed in the bathroom, I can’t explain how they both got out of the limo in a different outfits.
Who knows. The way Rodger was flinging around his grandé Starbucks and complaining about excessive airline surcharges, I suppose there is a chance that he could have hosed them both down with espresso. thus requiring a quick back seat Prom Night clean up.
But I doubt it. I’m leaning more towards nobody paying attention in the booth.
And knowing that they brought a combined 8 suitcases between the two of them, I can’t imagine that they just kept wearing their two favorite outfits over and over again. That, and the fact that the first set of outfits made another appearance later in the episode on what sounded like the same day.
Or maybe Rachel really does have a Time Machine now and they really did keep jumping back and forth through the Time & Space Continuum to ensure that they didn’t miss any A-List shows. That, like Marc Jacobs himself, would be unfathomable.
Ok. Done venting.
The Jacobs show was a big a** production complete with Mall of America escalators and so many models that Rachel was literally rendered temporarily mute by the out of body experience.
OhMyGod. So emotional. I can’t. I just can’t.
Apparently while I was in the kitchen getting snacks, the new Pope or a never before seen religious deity had come down the escalator in the finale, because Rachel couldn’t even talk about it after the fact.
I just can’t.
Then it was off to the Giambattista Valli show.
Air kisses and more air kisses. Rachel even went back in for two more cheek pumps after she had already walked away from Giamby.
Not to be confused with Jambi, of course. That was Pee Wee Herman‘s genie.
Then Rachel and Rodger, in one of their Time Machine outfits, headed to a meeting with their International Sale Rep Polly King. And just in case her W-2 job title had you completely dumbfounded, Rodger quickly stepped in to explain that Polly was in charge of repping their sales internationally.
Oooooh. Now I get it.
Turns out that a number of items from Rachel’s Spring line never made it to Polly’s showroom, and that’s not good. Especially when some of the MIA pieces are Rachel’s faves. Polly want a maxi?
Good, cuz nobody else does. Snap.
Back at the hotel, Rodger suddenly came down with either chicken pox, measles, bed bug bites or an allergic reaction to those long wool scarves he’s been dangling around in lately. Whatever it was, it was itchy and red and so drama-filled that we both needed a Benadryl by the end of his death bed performance. Those pink spots were Effed up.
Luckily Rodger survived to see another day, so next stop…the Valentino show.
That’s the show where Rachel gets kind of emotional and obsessed and can never pick a favorite. Which is exactly what she said about another show during New York Fashion Week. Literally. What she said. Ban-nan-as, I tell you.
She also literally thought that she may have cried during the Valentino show. But she either didn’t know fo’ sho’ or couldn’t remember. Really?
What is this fluid streaming out from under my new bangs? This hair is confusing me again. Why are bangs so Effing confusing? Babe?
Then it was time to ride some NeNe. Or so I thought.
No secret that I do love me some Real Housewives of Atlanta. Especially Ms. Leakes.
She’s very rich, you know.
Unfortunately, it was the wrong NeNe. False alarm.
Sister Pamela did a quick drive-by and dropped little baby Goy Berman off at the park so Rachel and Rodger could spend some quality SkySky Time together.
That’s right. Skyler and Auntie Pammy were in Paris! And SkySky wanted to ride the carousel.
The one with the Neigh Neighs. The merry-go-round horses.
So no NeNe riding tonight, boys. Sorry.
OhMyGod. The carousel.
Maybe it was Rachel’s 8 inch Louboutins. Or her past imaginary bout with vertigo. Or the fact that she didn’t seem to realize that merry-go-rounds actually…I don’t know…go ’round, maybe?
OhMyGod. Don’t ever take that bitch sky diving if this is how she’s going to react to a carousel. OhMyGod. OhMyGod. OhMyGod.
You would have sworn that thing was spinning around like one of those high tech centrifuges that split atoms in a nuclear research lab. It was as out of control as her new bangs.
She actually died a little. A few times.
Only the fumes from an industrial sized pop-top bottle of Purell could revive her. Luckily, since the birth of The Burberry Baby, Rachel had developed quite a few germaphobic tendencies and never leaves the house without big googly oogly sunglasses and hand sanitizer.
Everything that she and SkySky could potentially come in contact with got a thick coat of Purell, which is ironic considering that Rachel built her entire fashion empire by dressing celebrities who don’t wear underwear on the Red Carpet. Whatev.
But babies will be babies, and stylists will be stylists. So after SkySky had digested a couple of non-toxic Crayolas, it was time to hit the Chanel show.
This was the show that literally feels like the First Time…every time. And this time it had gigantic wind turbines that spun almost as fast as the Carousel of Doom and could probably have kept the Superbowl stadium lights on after Beyoncé‘s half-time show.
And then there was Karl Lagerfeld. With the wildest, widest matchy-matchy tie and shirt combination that Paris has ever seen. Air kiss. Air kiss. Dying.
As Rachel headed off to who knows where to sanitize who know what, Rodger and his international BFF William met up to do a little lady shopping. Rodger needed to pick up a little sumthin sumthin for Rachel, and only William’s superpowered StyleEye could laser beam straight to the Best. Purse. Ever.
If it was possible for two men to have a little schwing over a vintage pocketbook, it happened in that little boutique. Scha-wing.
We’ll always have Paris, Bill.
Then it was off to the Van Cleef & Arpels museum jewelry preview, which was being held in what I believe was the USS Enterprise Holodeck from the second Star Trek television series.
I swear. Nothing but clear acrylic vacuum sealed tubes with magically floating jewelry that looked like the pipes that used to shoot down hot soup whenever Captain Picard got hungry. It was pretty sweet, and I kind of wanted one for my action figures.
Our favorite Makeup Boy Joey Maalouf was there too, but he wasn’t allowed to speak or touch anything. Just like last time. Whassupwidat? Do I have to start an online petition or something to force Bravo into lifting the gag order and letting Joey be fabulous again? Because I will.
Dude has way too many scarves to not get some air time.
After beaming down from the Enterprise, Rachel and Rodger headed to the Elie Saab show and then on to a Nicholas Kirkwood shoe orgy.
Which was really more like a super-sized Saks shoe department inside an art museum, but it did the trick. Shoes for miles. Like a porno bookstore, but with footwear instead of magazines full of crusty big girls.
Rachel almost blacked out a few times.
At some point while Rachel was outside having an afterglow cigarette, Mandana and the Zoebots managed to get all the missing collection items shipped out to Polly just in the nick of time, so now the entire UK could also turn their noses up at sparkly maxi dresses.
But Rachel was not giving up on those pieces. She needed to stand for what she believed in, even if the rest of the world was going to keep tripping on the long hemlines and buy the QVC stuff instead.
And that right there put forth a lot of unanswered questions.
The RZ Brand hasn’t quite figured out it’s target audience yet. Or what they want.
Who is the RZ customer and how come they don’t like long dresses but seem to enjoy those flameless candles so much?
And don’t even get me started on Rodger’s hair.
I just can’t.
