The scene is familiar. Hosts, despite a five-minute friendship, laugh and joke as if they met in the trenches of Gallipoli, 1915. Wide-eyed contestants nod along as if they're in on it, too. There's 'raw talent' in the room. There's a cash prize, too. Wowee, they're even in LA, Los Angeles - the City Of Angels!
Yes, upon first glance, Next In Fashion appears to be another indistinguishable brick in the insurmountable wall of reality TV: 18 up-and-coming fashion designers (some of the best in the world, we're told) battle it out week-on-week for the notable sum of $250,000 and the opportunity to sell their wares on luxury retailer Net-A-Porter. We've seen this before. With aspirant potters. And second-rate cruise ship singers. And drag queens, and, really, any sector that suffers an ambiguous 'hard to get into' door sign. Our thumbs hover on the menu button once more.
But look closer, and Netflix's latest hit is an actual hit, and with good reason. Hosts Tan France and Alexa Chung, though full of shoulder slaps and 'what is he like?!'s, are well-grounded in the industry (a pre-Queer Eye France enjoyed tenures at Selfridges, Chanel and his own ventures, while Chung was long courted by blue chip designers before setting up shop alone). There's a respect on display between judge-and-contestant. What's more, episodes aren't punctuated with tearful breakdowns, or the unnecessary scything of a designer's dreams, or a season villain that coins a catchphrase about being a head bitch in charge, or something.
Next In Fashion eschews those dramatics, largely because it wants to be about fashion, just fashion, and only fashion - and that's the show's biggest strength. The focus is always brought back to the clothes (that includes menswear too, which is refreshing) . One bad week means anyone is vulnerable, even if they do make good TV, or fall into the meme-able, well-worn mould of 'the sassy one'.
This is also how the show maintains distance from its closest sibling in reality TV's canon. Project Runway, an earlier Bravo-born competition, is now on its 18th season. So, where Heidi Klum and friends largely began searching for talent in earnest, the ratings, merchandise and Twittermill have all played a part in its corruption. Producers arguably want quarrels, not clothes. That's an undeniable factor in Project Runway's decline, and minus a former-winner-turned-current judge – a buoyant red carpet designer in Christian Siriano – you'd struggle to name any other notable alumni.
So, while 22-year-old Kady from Kansas may be quite the Cézanne with a glue gun back home, Next In Fashion's raft of contestants are already halfway to winning. There are several Central Saint Martins grads, the London art school that played teacher to Alexander McQueen, and Riccardo Tisci, and Phoebe Philo. There's a designer that helped catapult Fubu to fame in the Nineties. There's even an academic in the associate professor of Philadelphia's Moore College of Art & Design.
These are the sort of people that wouldn't want their respectable CVs muddied in the bogs of standard reality TV. And it shows. Each week, themes are established, and well-crafted looks trot the runways that have impressed industry insiders and spectators alike. "The competitors are already so established, and I wanted to wear so many things that came down the catwalk," says Harper's Bazaar's digital fashion editor, Amy De Klerk. "They're not just talented, but experienced, able to design with commercial nous, whereas other similar shows often feel a bit too art school."
This is still reality TV mind, and not solely built for insiders (who, on their ninth show of the day in Paris, so often boast all the verve of a hospice nurse). France gets awfully upset about sending contestants home at one point. Guest judge Kerby Jean-Raymond of Pyer Moss storms off set in anger at judicial indecision. But these are slight moments peppered into a body of really impressive stuff: chevron panels meticulously stitched into white leather trousers; a polished rock-themed outfit for people who don't really like rock; even a hoody crafted with the finish of a Savile Row sage.
The models wearing such looks hang around for a little too long at the runway's end, posing a little too Derek Zoolander as they do so. Such are the discrepancies with the fashion industry IRL. And for all its merits, the show isn't quite the perfect fit: a teamwork-focused element sees too many designers bid adieu in the show's opening half, and even the untrained eye can see that 36 hours is not enough to make a suit from scratch.
But, for all its flaws, Next In Fashion manages to unify the newcomers and the old hats and the general viewing public. It does so by making good TV about good people who are genuinely good at their jobs.
Sound familiar? No, we didn't think so either.
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