Project Rehab

"Tim's influence at Parsons was a turning point," says designer Diane von Furstenberg, who became CFDA president in 2006. "It put the school on another level." Donna Karan credits Gunn with infusing the program with an intellectual rigor that blends artistry with commerce. "He brought the real world into the school," she says. Over the next two years, Henri Bendel and Saks Fifth Avenue picked up student lines. Since 1999, the school's enrollment has nearly doubled.

Along with Parsons's metamorphosis came Gunn's. "There was always this sense that Tim was incomplete professionally," Swearer says. Gunn, the gay, stuttering son of an FBI agent ("My most painful memories were at those father-son football games," he says), had pursued a number of creative passions in his earlier years -- concert pianist, architect, writer. But it was only years later at Parsons, after decades as a middle-tier administrator, that Gunn's calling was revealed. "Tim found out he was an entrepreneur," Swearer says. "He was like a genie in a bottle who didn't know he was in a bottle. Once he was out, it was just a brand-new Tim Gunn."

"Tim was like a genie in a bottle who didn't know he was in a bottle. Once out, it was a brand-new Tim Gunn."

Gunn received a call in January of 2004 from Jane Lipsitz, a producer working with Miramax and the Weinstein Co. Heidi Klum had pitched Harvey Weinstein an idea for a reality-TV show featuring aspiring fashion designers, and they had sold it to Bravo. Lipsitz was looking for an industry consultant to help them behind the scenes. Gunn was skeptical: "I said, 'Fashion reality?' I figured they'd be pulling twentysomethings off the street going, 'Hey, do you want to be a fashion designer?' " But when he found out the producers had done Project Greenlight, a canceled HBO show he admired about amateur filmmakers, he signed on.

After several months of working with Gunn, Lipsitz decided he belonged onscreen. "We thought he could be a conduit between the fashion world and the average person at home," she says. Gunn was flattered, but Bravo took convincing. Despite his polished wardrobe, Gunn was an unconventional choice for a reality-TV personality. One colleague described his reserved affect as more "botany teacher in a high school in the Midwest" than style impresario. Eventually, though, Bravo warmed to the idea, and Parsons, where Gunn remained as chair, became the backdrop for the show.

The first three episodes of Project Runway bombed. The show had debuted right before Christmas in 2004, but despite the poor response, Bravo believed there was an audience out there for it. As a last ditch effort, the network decided to broadcast a rerun marathon over the holidays. By the time episode four aired during the second week in January, viewership had skyrocketed. The first season got an Emmy nod, and its cast of dysfunctional designers and Klum's "auf Wiedersehen," became instant pop-culture fixtures. But it was Gunn -- with his schoolmarm critiques, tough love, and verbal agility ("It's looking very happy hands at home granny circle," he cautioned one designer. "Resolve it.") -- who became the breakout star. "You can tell he's a teacher," said a fortyish female fan from Queens, as she waited in line to see Gunn on The Daily Show. "He never talks down to people; he encourages them." Adds Runway's Klum: "Tim really cares about the designers. The audience loves him because they sense that."

Two years after the Runway debut, Gunn spent the Christmas holiday agonizing over McComb's job offer. Gunn was intrigued but intimidated: The ills of Liz Claiborne made his restructuring of Parsons seem like a weekend of crocheting. Besides, he wasn't looking for a new job -- he assumed he'd retire from academia in another 15 years. At the same time, Gunn recognized that the Liz Claiborne gig could make him a player in an industry he had watched from the sidelines for his entire career. Plus, there were his own financial interests to consider. "People think I'm getting rich off of Project Runway," he confides. But "if I didn't have a day job, I'd have to live at the YMCA!"

In January 2007, Gunn met McComb for sushi in the Bryant Park Hotel. He told the CEO that he'd quit Parsons and take the chief creative officer job on one condition: that he wouldn't have to dial back on his celebrity extracurriculars. "I didn't have to think about it," McComb says. "I told him I wouldn't want him to give it up."