Ah, yes, real life. If Project Runway leads one to believe that talented artists can pull together a gown fit for the red carpet, stitched together from toilet paper and heads of lettuce, and ready in under 24 hours, Eleven Minutes shows just how much of an uphill battle the fashion industry can be. There are wig makers and wacky shoe designers and exhausted assistants working for free, and decisions to make on lighting and gift bags and invitations and Chinese factories. And hey, look! There’s Kelly Cutrone and Carson Kressley! Mr. McCarroll is as likable here as he was on the television show—he’s a mercurial and witty man who manages to appear both unselfconscious and completely self-aware at the same time. He makes it clear that any help from Project Runway ended the moment after the finale (though the fact that he walked away from the $100,000 prize and mentorship, which would have had the show own 10 percent of his future earnings, is never discussed). And while he realizes he wouldn’t be getting any of the attention and buzz for his line without the notoriety that comes with TV exposure, it is clearly as much a hindrance as it is a help.

The title of this documentary refers not—as one might be forgiven in assuming—to the famous Andy Warholism of the shelf life of fame, but rather to the average time a runway show takes place. The amount of work that goes into making those 11 minutes run smoothly is truly mind-boggling. Directors Michael Selditch and Rob Tate (who met Mr. McCarroll when they made the Bravo special Project Jay) do a good job of hanging back and letting the inherent drama of the loony-toon world of fashion unfold. It’s not always pretty, and more often than not it’s completely unglamorous. But compelling it is, even when it is downright depressing (watching a sales meeting with reps from Urban Outfitters should be enough to dissuade plenty of wannabe designers). Of course, even after peeking behind the curtain and seeing all the pulleys and levers, there still is something exciting and magical about those 11 minutes, when the lights go down in the big tent and the thumping music starts to play. It’s fashion, after all.

Eleven Minutes opens Friday at Quad Cinema.

svilkomerson@observer.com

After 79 years, the 21 Club has abandoned its necktie requirement for men. Jackets, however, must stay on for now. [NY Times] 

Valentino Garavani is "categorically denying" that he maintains any designing input into the Valentino label, from which he is retired. [Vogue UK] 

Eleven Minutes, a documentary about Project Runway season one winner Jay McCarroll, will be released February 20. People's Revolution head Kelly Cutrone reportedly appears in it. [Fashionista]

The Target Corporation will lay off over 600 people at its Minneapolis and St. Paul headquarters. [WWD] 

We learned the difference between the man who buys a $300 shirt and the man who buys a $600 shirt at a fashion show sponsored by private concierge service Quintessentially.

After reviewing Stylista's lackluster ratings, we wondered when and if the rest of the world would see the appeal of Anne Slowey. 

We investigated The Edmont Society, the newest addition to the literary socialite scene. 

Christine Taylor told us that she and husband Ben Stiller have no problem sending their daughter Ella to play at Tom Cruise's house. 

We got Project Runway winner Jay McCarroll's take on the Daily Beast hoax. 

Last week, the Daily Beast ran an article that was supposed to display concept drawings by former Project Runway contestants for Michelle Obama's inaugural gowns. By mistake, a reporter named Hailey Eber contacted a Jay McCarrol, a musician in Canada, instead of Jay McCarroll, the Project Runway contestant. Mr. McCarrol, the musician, went along with it, getting a friend to do a drawing of a gown and leading Ms. Eber to believe it was authentic. The drawing was posted alongside other designs, but was soon found out for what it was--a hoax--by the Smoking Gun.

"I’m over it now. It’s guess it's funny," said Mr. McCarroll, the real reality show contestant. "I guess it keeps my name in the spotlight, doesn’t it? And I didn’t have to do anything—zero!"

Mr. McCarroll continued: "I called my lawyer—not to sue—but I kind of, like, didn’t know what to do. The design was fine, but I didn’t want to be like misquoted. I mean, this is for, like, the president’s wife! Not that anyone is reading that piece anyway, I’m sure." (Ouch!)

And what did Mr. McCarroll think of the design itself?

"My friend Anne called and said, 'Is that really your design? It looks like shit!'" he replied. "But I think it was fine."

Given the designer's presence at a Humane Society event, we wondered if he had any pets growing up that led him to feel strongly about the cause. But Mr. McCarroll seemed to get confused.

"What is it with the animal questions?" he asked.

Um, well. This is a Humane Society party, and they're kind of, you know, all about loving the animals.

"Oh yeah! Oh yeah! I forgot where I was," he said sheepishly. (No pun intended!)

"I have a cat now, Woody. He's my best friend. He’s a little snuggler--gets under the covers," Mr. McCarroll continued. "Also, growing up, we had cows and pigeons and dogs and goats."

Pigeons and goats?

"Yeah, I grew up upstate in the woods of Pennsylvania. Actually, right here," he said pointing to a map of Pennsylvania tattooed on his wrist. "I actually killed one of the pigeons once. I ran over it with my bike. But it was a total accident. I was like six or eight or something. I had a tricycle and I put five of these beautiful pigeons on the back. And there was this red pigeon and I ran over it. My sister like lost her shit. She yelled at me and called me an animal killer. I was six years old, I didn’t know what the fuck a pigeon was!"

As we were chatting with Mr. McCarroll, a photographer began to snap the designer's photo and Mr. McCarroll was suddenly looking displeased.

"Ugh, I hate these things," he said rather candidly, looking around at the photographers swarming around the socialite Arden Wohl.

"I live in Philadelphia and I don’t get any of it. I don’t mean to be bitchy, but it’s like … I think that’s like the most ridiculous thing that could ever happen and you can’t avoid it!" he said, pointing at the camera men stacked along the red carpet few feet away. "They, like, dragged me in there!"

Mr. McCarroll pondered what he just said for a moment. "But I guess the more I stand there and the more someone notices and writes, then I can have a beach house," he concluded. "I’m going to get to drinking now, okay?"

Mr. Lizalde, 35, whose considerable background in lingerie design probably kept him on the show for longer than most (including he) expected, came across like, as he put it, “a big crybaby.” But that stigma, he insisted, can be chalked up to the magic of sneaky editing.

“I’m not the kind of person that I shake your hand and all of a sudden I start crying,” he said, wearing his trademark shiny train-conductor hat. “So, for me, if you were to know the back story”—he paused, taking in a deep, shaky breath and rolling his glistening eyeballs skyward—“where the tears came from … it’s a whole different story,” he said, apparently trying to dismiss the topic with a few wags of his hand.

After moving on to greener topical pastures, Mr. Lizalde, who was standing next to fellow season-four eliminee Carmen Webber, was game to dish on the final five designers. “If I had to predict, I’m rooting for Rami [Kashou] and Jillian [Lewis],” he said.

Asked why he wasn’t rooting for Christian Siriano, the sassy, über-confident crowd pleaser and onetime Alexander McQueen protégé, Mr. Lizalde covered his mouth and chuckled mischievously. “I think there needs to be some more growth with that. We didn’t talk much, let’s just say that,” he said of their rocky relationship, before adding: “He’s 21! That’s all I have to say. I know that when I was 21, people, you know, they probably didn’t want to talk to me.” With that bon mot, Ms. Webber and an unidentified man who had just joined the gossip circle, nearly collapsed in stitches.

“He’s just now legal!” Ms. Webber contributed with a shout.

Mr. Siriano’s age may have been an issue for some, but Jay McCarroll, the 33-year-old winner of Project Runway’s first season, apparently doesn’t mind a little pupilage, however lawful. “Sex appeal! That’s about all,” Mr. McCarroll, who has been blogging for Elle.com, said of the young designer’s greatest strength.

So, then, he’s not too immature to take home top honors?

“No! We’re all immature,” the colorful bandbox devotee, who said he will launch a fashion line through QVC this summer, told us. “I’m immature and I’m 33. I’m an asshole and immature.”