Tim Gunn is a living saint who teaches a religion of love and tidy hems through his church, Project Runway. I kiss his feet. &&(navigator.userAgent.indexOf('Trident') != -1||navigator.userAgent.indexOf
Tim Gunn was born in 1953 (Year One in the Gunnian calendar) in an unholy place named Washington, D.C. It soon became clear that he was unlike other boys. When one of his classmates was beset by bullies, Our Saint offered succor and spruced up the child's tattered uniform with a portable sewing kit and some eau de toilette.
Later, the same bullies struck Tim Gunn and made him cry, and a miracle occurred. On the exact spot where the young saint wept, there rose from the ground a state-of-the-art day spa, and all the neighborhood sang his praises.
Impressed by what his son had wrought and many other miracles besides, Tim Gunn's father, a simple, god-fearing FBI agent, took Tim to meet his boss, Director J. Edgar Hoover. No record remains of their meeting, but it is said that it was Our Saint who persuaded Hoover that he would look nice in a light summer frock with a tea rose print.
(Above, Hoover before he met Tim Gunn, sporting a hat with a pendulum for hypnotizing interrogation suspects.)
Grown to full manhood, Tim Gunn left home and wandered in the wilderness until he found a place where he might preach to the heathen. The place was named Parsons The New School for Design, and there he remained for a full score of years. Until, that is, a high priestess from a far-off land where girls grow up tall and strong with big boobs contacted him through her lawyers and asked, "Tim, vhy don't you say auf wiedersehen to this vilderness and kom vork vid me?"
(Above, the high priestess in her ceremonial regalia. The imposing orbs are used for hypnotizing non-believers.)
So, in 2004 (Year One in the Project Runnian calendar,) the true church was established. Each season, many disciples pass through its doors and get the benefit of Our Saint's blessed teaching. Those who harken to his words, prosper and gain favor with the high priestess. Those who do not must clear out their work desks.
(Below, someone who didn't listen to Tim Gunn. He has to spend the rest of his life sitting on invisible chairs.)
(NB: Some of Our Saint's commandments are self-evident and of universal application. Others are open to dispute, as in the "make it work"/"make it, Warrick" controversy. Then there are those that demand interpretation on a metaphorical level. For instance, only a child would imagine that the Sixth Commandment is simply about correctly accessorizing a model before she goes down the runway. No, surely it's Our Saint reminding us not to overlook the wonders of a munificent creation in the hustle and bustle of everyday life.)
1.) Make it work.
2.) See what you can do about that hem.
3.) Look at it with an editorial eye.
4.) Don't listen to those crack-smoking judges.
5.) Love your neighbor as you would love a really versatile jersey fabric.
6.) Remember to help yourself to items from the accessories wall.
7.) A stitch in time stops Heidi saying nein.
8.) You shall not steal your neighbor's sewing patterns, and also if you could please remember to switch off the iron?
9.) You shall make no graven images because frankly there isn't time, you still haven't made a skirt.
10.) Don't forget to send your model to hair and makeup. Oh, she's been? Are you quite sure that's the look you wanted?