Last January, Sunny Fong walked into a video store and bought a copy of Oliver Stone’s Alexander for $6. At the time, he was mid-transition from penniless designer to Project Runway Canada champ, which explains why he chose the movie he did. (It was on sale, says Fong of the three-hour bomb that got a Worst Picture nod at the 2005 Razzie Awards.) In his modest one-bedroom apartment in the Village, Fong watched the movie and began toying with the idea of a collection inspired by its over-the-top Indo-Grecian aesthetic. “I was kind of kidding at first,” he says, “but when I thought about it, I realized it might actually work.”

Five months later, he was standing backstage at Toronto fashion week preparing for a high-stakes showdown against the other two finalists, Jessica Biffi and Jason Meyers. The event, which brought out the city’s air-kissing mafia en masse, was also serving as the climactic final episode of PRC’s second season. It was among fashion week’s hottest tickets, thanks largely to the hype surrounding Fong, the show’s undeniable it boy; the drama further heightened the fact that all three collections would be presented anonymously. Reporters in the audience were even forced to sign gag orders so as not to spoil the suspense for PRC’s devoted at-home viewers. As the reality show’s statuesque, syrup-voiced host, Iman, emerged on the runway to introduce the contestants, Fong took a final survey of his models, arranging their Alexander-inspired leather and fur outfits. Moments later, when they charged the runway—looking like a tribe of extra-ballsy Bond girls en route to après-ski—it was obvious that Biffi and Meyers were cooked. “Everyone knew which ones were Sunny’s,” says a fashion editor who witnessed the whoops and hollers as the crowd took in Fong’s creations. “By the end, it was clear who had won.”

In ideal circumstances, reality TV offers unknown and untested upstarts an opportunity to display their talent. Susan Boyle, the now infamous 48-year-old Scottish spinster who became an international phenomenon after belting out a Broadway-worthy version of “I Dreamed a Dream” on Britain’s Got Talent, is a best-case scenario. More often, though, it acts as a platform for plucky fame hogs to embarrass themselves, while the more conniving and telegenic among them succeed. Fong was the front-runner from the start, despite lacking the kind of dramatic personality one expects when fashion and reality TV commingle. “I didn’t need to be extra-bitchy,” he says. “I didn’t need to be extra-funny.” As the other contestants self-consciously spun themselves into hyperbolic divas and enfants terribles, Fong remained professional, occasionally goofy, and focused on the fashion.