The ‘Making the Cut’ host discusses the marvels of Derek DelGaudio, how Nora Ephron didn’t disappoint and why he’s tempted to steal a Picasso.
Tim Gunn, the impeccably turned-out fashion emperor of Amazon’s “Making the Cut,” traded his suits for a turtleneck and jeans during the pandemic. He even dared to don sweatpants, but only if there was no one around to see him.
“The silver-lining, fashion-wise, to this pandemic is that it’s taught me to respect and understand and, in fact, empathize with comfort dressing,” Gunn said.
Still, there’s comfort and there’s comfort.
On the day of our phone interview, the temperature was in the 90s, his air conditioning had conked out, and Gunn had a confession to make.
“Frankly, I’m wearing — I’m wearing my underwear,” he said, struggling to spit out the words before erupting into laughter. “And I’ll tell you why. It’s because I care about my apartment and what’s in it, and I’m sweating so profusely, I don’t want to get sweat stains on the upholstery.”
Seventeen years after first putting their style noggins together on “Project Runway,” Gunn and Heidi Klum are back as the tough-love overlords of “Making the Cut.” In the second season, shot on a ranch in Malibu, Calif. — it kicks off on Friday — 10 designers compete for $1 million to invest in their business, a mentorship with Amazon Fashion and the chance to sell a collection through the online retailer, with each episode’s winning garment immediately available for purchase.
But shooting the season wasn’t the crashing surf, expansive vistas and ocean breezes that Gunn had envisioned. Smoke from wildfires sometimes enveloped the set. And Covid-19 restrictions made for convoluted distancing proposals, like the suggestion that Gunn meet with contestants not in the design studio, but out on the lawn.
He was having none of it.
“I said, ‘This is too artificial, it’s too contrived,’” he said. “I need to be where they are. I need to see the bolts of fabric they’re not using. I need to see what that item is — on that dress form across the room. Why is it over there? Why have you rejected it already?”
“My goal is to get the designer to see what I see, or understand where I’m coming from, without telling them,” he added, before diving into his list of cultural must-haves. “In some ways, it’s sort of psychotherapeutic to get them to talk enough and to reveal enough to have that ‘aha’ moment of ‘Oh, I get it.’”
These are edited excerpts from the conversation.
1. Picasso’s “Gertrude Stein” at the Metropolitan Museum of Art
Before the pandemic, I went to the Met at least once a week. I haunted the place. I love all the curatorial departments passionately, but you would think that if I were choosing a favorite painting or sculpture, it would be from the ancient world. It’s not. It’s Picasso’s portrait of Gertrude Stein from 1906. And if I could steal anything, that would be it.
I’m just spellbound by the painting. The neutrals of it. There’s nothing that shouts out at you, yet it has such depth, and it has a lyrical quality. On the one hand, it’s quiet. On the other hand, it’s like a TNT explosion. I can’t get enough of it, and every time I go to the Met, I go to visit it. And regrettably, I’ve said this to a number of guards, “Why do you keep moving it?”
2. Derek DelGaudio’s “In & Of Itself” and “Amoralman”
I went three times, and I went first knowing nothing about Derek DelGaudio and not frankly being much of a fan of illusionists. I couldn’t get up from my seat at the end of it. When you enter the lobby of the theater, there’s a huge wall of little tickets, and on them is printed something that you may be: “I am” blank. “I am a teacher.” “I am a crack smoker.” “I am — whatever.” I stumbled upon “I am a good Samaritan” and picked it.
At the end of the show, Derek asked for members of the audience who had a real conviction about the “I am” that they chose to please stand. So I stood, and I’m waiting my turn, and I’m totally unemotional about it. But when he gets to me — I’m tearing up right now — and he said, “A good Samaritan,” I completely lost it. I thought, “How could he possibly know this?”
The book [“Amoralman”] is as captivating as the show was. He has a way of luring you in and then twisting things that make you challenge what it is you thought you understood about what just happened. I mean, I thought this is a man with an extraordinary gift, but he’s also quite an artist.
3. “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland” and “Through the Looking-Glass” by Lewis Carroll
I have reread those two books easily a dozen times. And at each juncture, I have new insight about them and their relevance to things that are happening to me. I reread them during the pandemic. It was in a way shining a light onto it, which was sort of metaphorical to what was happening not only in this nation, but in the world. And another case of don’t make assumptions, and the world really is turned upside down, and we’ll tumble through a rabbit hole and end up in a place that we’ve never imagined.
4. Gin
Why are there so few gin drinkers? Everybody’s drinking vodka or in some cases white rum. Ugh. I happen to be a huge gin fan, and I have had friends, my local liquor store, their acquaintances bring me their gin recommendations based on something unusual. And New York state gin is something people are talking about now. Now, if it’s not from the U.K., forget about it. It’s absolutely undrinkable. My niece’s boyfriend brought me a bottle of gin three weeks ago, and I thought, “Oh, this is thrilling, and it’s a beautiful label, and I can’t wait to try it.” Oh my god, I thought I was going to die of poison. [Walks to his bar to look at the brand] It’s dark, and it’s from Rochester. It’s a stunning bottle. It’s called Barr Hill Reserve Tom Cat Gin, and it has a lovely B on the stopper on top. [A loud crash] Oops. There goes my bar. It’s rejecting the Tom Cat.
I love Bombay. I usually have a gin and tonic, though I love a restaurant martini. I’m not certain that I like Tim Gunn’s martinis. There’s something about having a martini out that’s really fantastic. And something about having it at home that’s kind of sad.
I was excited about Season 1 when it was first airing. I couldn’t get through two episodes. I thought: “This is horrible. I can’t stand this show.” And I left it. Then when I came back for Season 4, I thought, “Good heavens, in some ways it’s a different show.” It struck me that it had matured in a way. I can’t get enough of it. In fact, I try to squeeze in one 22-minute episode a day just because it takes me to a happy place.
I’m a huge fan of the Diller-von Furstenberg philanthropy. We have the High Line thanks to them. And now we have Little Island. It’s so beautifully, sensitively done, but it doesn’t feel precious. You feel as though you could just throw out a picnic blanket and have a meal there. It’s a remarkable, remarkable piece — and frankly, I saw the architectural plans and I thought: “This is so ambitious. How can this possibly be executed?” Well, it’s even a greater statement in real life.
Another show I saw three times. The cast was brilliant. The writing’s brilliant. The songs are hilarious, if they’re not plucking at your heartstrings. I liked the movie. It certainly would not be one of my Top 10, maybe not even one of my Top 100. But the musical is one of my Top 10 musicals ever, if not the top. It’s just so delightfully told and uplifting, without being saccharin and ridiculous. Just plain laugh-until-you-hurt fun. I hope it returns to Broadway.
8. Nora Ephron’s Essays
Those essays are a bit like the written form of “Schitt’s Creek.” They’re just so purging and cathartic. She says what’s on her mind, and she calls things the way they are, and it’s done with humor and intellect and a great deal of irony. I’ve reread them and I’ve reread, and I laugh just as hard. Everyone should have at least one volume, and have it handy.
I say this with great pride. I still can’t quite believe it, but I was her dinner partner at a private home. She was very ill at that dinner, but she was effervescent and hilarious and delightful. I loved her. And I have to tell you, I approach these people I love so much very ambivalently because I’ve been disappointed. I thought, “I don’t want to hate her.” And I didn’t. If anything, I adored her even more. So I laugh even harder when I reread her.
9. “Cleopatra” by Stacy Schiff
By nature, I’m a very curious person and I thought, “I want to read about the fall of the Roman Empire. How did this happen?” I’ve been fascinated with Cleopatra for a long time, and this book is completely and totally captivating and compelling.
The world that Stacy Schiff paints for us is much more than Egypt and Alexandria. It’s really the entire known world from Mesopotamia and Iraq and Iran to the British Isles. It’s a phenomenal, phenomenal story. I’m going back to Trump and the U.S. and democracy. When you think about the shining highlights of ancient Rome, all of that happened within about 300 years. When you think about Egypt and Cleopatra, and the fact that she was a Ptolemy — the Ptolemys ruled Egypt for 300 years and then, over. And 300 years of the Romanovs in Russia, and then it’s over. So for me, it has been, “Oh my god, the United States. Will we make it to 300?”
10. “Two Fat Ladies”
Heidi and I and Sara Rea, the former [“Project Runway”] showrunner and uber-executive producer now, all had a vision about what we wanted to do on “Project Runway,” and no one would let us do it. When we left “Runway,” we thought, “Let’s pitch this vision.” And Amazon was thrilled about it.
I love interacting with Heidi. On “Runway,” we had such separate and discrete roles that we barely ever did. We wanted to have these interactions that really had nothing to do with advancing the plot — just having fun together and an additional window onto whatever it is we’re doing. And the inspiration for these scenes was “Two Fat Ladies,” which premiered in the ’90s. They would have little vignettes where they would go off and make butter or go to a horse race, and you loved them for it. You felt that you had this sort of intimate relationship with them and that you knew them better, and you really did. So I kept telling everyone, “Watch the ‘Two Fat Ladies.’ That’s what I think we should be doing.” And it is what we did.
Tim Gunn’s Happy Place Is ‘Schitt’s Creek,’ Washed Down With Good Gin - The New York Times
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