Didn't I Feed You Yesterday__ A Mother's Guide to Sanity in Stilettos - Laura Bennett [27]
Craftsmanship is like a signature, it doesn’t change and I felt Jeffrey’s garments were not consistent with the work I had seen him do. The other two finalists agreed, and I decided I needed to say something to the producers. If I didn’t, I would regret it forever. I am known for my candor and operating without filters, but in this case I carefully considered the ramifications of speaking up and took the burden completely on myself, leaving Michael and Uli out of the equation. Ironically, “Don’t cause any trouble” had been the last bit of advice Peter gave me before I left for the finale. But this was not about causing trouble; if I was going to lose, it had to be because I simply wasn’t the best. I couldn’t accept going down against illicit work.
In the end I was satisfied with the course of action the producers decided was most prudent. Ultimately Jeffrey went on to win the show, and I was pleasantly surprised by how relieved I was by garnering runner-up status; now I wouldn’t forever be tied to having been a reality show winner and there would be no pressure to create a full fashion line for the following fall shows. I did feel that Uli was robbed, though; she should rightly have won. If Jeffrey sewed all of his garments himself, then I wish him luck. Otherwise, karma’s a bitch.
Someone said to me that not winning could be a real advantage. He was right. I have heard that contestants on Survivor get paid $10,000 to participate whether they win or lose. Contestants on Project Runway aren’t paid a dime. As Heidi would say, you’re either in or you’re out—of the money, that is. Either you win $100,000 or you go home with an empty bag. And after all, my dream was to watch the show with my friends and family, which for one brief shining season we did, from beginning to bittersweet end.
To satisfy my reality television cravings, I have had to start watching Top Chef. I’m not a foodie—I don’t cook and I don’t even necessarily enjoy eating—but I do love hearing the judges speak about the food and listening to the chefs explain their decisions. As it turns out, cooking is just another design solution, using sunchokes and geoduck instead of satin and chiffon. I’m right back where I started, as my family won’t watch with me, but this time I won’t be packing my knives and standing in any audition lines.
“There’s nothing like a root canal to secure some guilt-free me time.”
SIX AND THE CITY
EVERY NOW AND THEN, I’LL HAVE ONE OF THOSE days where I walk my feet off all over New York City, chasing down some fabric, picking up one kid, handing off another, meeting with a producer, going on an interview, having lunch with a friend, and dropping a pair of run-down Manolos at shoe rehab. At the end of that kind of day, I will enter my apartment to find at least five children and often twice as many, various adults, an unstable rabbit, and a tortoise named Frank. When I step off the elevator and into this wall of noise, the phrase “Women and children first” usually ticks across my brain, reminding me that there is a chance of rescue. Maybe this happens because the length of the place looks remarkably like the Titanic, tipped up on one end and spilling its sliding contents into the swirling subarctic waters below. Or it may just be an involuntary mantra that keeps me from jumping ship. Don’t get me wrong, I thrive on being in the center of a chaotic storm—I did grow up in New Orleans, after all.
People expect our home to look like one of my husband’s projects, which are featured frequently in magazines like Architectural Digest. He has an impeccable eye for simplicity and elegant, understated touches in the spaces he designs. In stark contrast, our loft bears a greater resemblance to the projects. I am always amused by the look of surprise when someone comes to our apartment for the first time. Once they’ve tripped through the obstacle course