What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up, like Lorraine Hansberry? Or does it put on hideous clothing and affect sad little mannerisms and appear on a bargain basement reality show shot in Tyra Banks' basement starring a blonde hobo lady all gussied up and uncomfortable in fancy clothes? Well, that's what happened to eight or nine fashion wannabes who flounced their way through The CW's second episode of the tremendously silly and kinda boring fashion magazine editor competition show Stylista last night. Yeah, I watched the damn thing again. If you did too, or if you're just morbidly curious, sally forth with me after the jump for the minutes from this screechy meeting of the Sadness Club.
Oct 30, 2008 10:42 AM
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What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up, like Lorraine Hansberry? Or does it put on hideous clothing and affect sad little mannerisms and appear on a bargain basement reality show shot in Tyra Banks' basement starring a blonde hobo lady all gussied up and uncomfortable in fancy clothes? Well, that's what happened to eight or nine fashion wannabes who flounced their way through The CW's second episode of the tremendously silly and kinda boring fashion magazine editor competition show Stylista last night. Yeah, I watched the damn thing again. If you did too, or if you're just morbidly curious, sally forth with me after the jump for the minutes from this screechy meeting of the Sadness Club.
Umm... let's see. Where to start. Oh, everyone was awful. The first competition, the Assistant's Challenge, was to go to Elle's 'style closet' (I'm convinced it was not the real one, it was tiny) and put together an ensemble for an unforgiving mannequin. The clothes had to be selected using various fancy fashion terms, like "darting" and "empire waist" and "not ugly." Pretty much the only ones to not tragically fail were sassy (read: black) front-runner Ashlie (Ashlee? Ashley? Ashleigh? Veronica? Susan? Harper's Bazaar? Destin, Florida?) and Megan, the queen bitch with the weird muddled chin. As usual, the big-breastuhted Kate embarrassed herself by sucking on some helium and then going into a "shanti! shanti! shanti!" trance and wrapping the mannequin in swatches cut from neon hot air balloons. Then she knocked the mannequin to the ground and stood awkwardly, slowly farting. I imagine. Oh and Anne Slowey was all "I think she got dressed... on craaack" and I wanted to slap her because saying something or someone is "on crack" stopped being funny about ten years ago.
So Megan won the challenge and acted silly about acting bitchy—she does this thing in the solo interviews where she cocks one arm up, like this without the cigarette and it's like she practiced in the mirror how to pose while being evil—and assigned Ashlie (Tiffany? Cranberry Walnut?) to a shitty team. Back at the pad, the two titans clashed about how they don't like each other and Ashlie called Megan the devil's handmaiden and somewhere in New Orleans' Garden District Anne Rice was like "awww yeah, new book title y'all!" The other terrible, horrible, no good, very bad thing that happened back at the house was that Danielle, the poor lone overweight girl in the house, was filmed eating in every scene. Like it was either a sad part of her obesity or the producers were just being really cruel. And I felt really bad—almost bad enough to pour out my rosé and turn off the TV and go to bed! Almost!—and hoped she'd do well the next day, because she seems like a sweet lady.
And she did do well! The Editors Challenge was to go to a mysterious, ching-chongy, probably murderous, far East land called 'Chinatown' and find a hidden gem for white ladies who live in Danbury. You know, like a wedding shop (team fattie! Sorry), a super chinky tea shop! (TEAM LOSE, MEGAN. SUCK IT), and a spa (secret front for hookers? of course! it's Chinatown!!!!!) They had to get a story on the place plus photographs then, of course, put together a one-page layout. Everyone was fighting and bellowing at each other as they all desperately realized that literally no one in the room had any talent or ability for this whatsoever, so yelling seemed like the only option. Like kids in a bad school play. YELLING MY LINES ABOUT THINGS!!!!! LA LA LA.
Then poor Gay Dude began getting hives and having a panic attack. Like a srs panic attack that left him moaning and writhing on the floor. Oddly I too was moaning and writhing on the floor at this point, mostly because I was out of wine and the store was closed. But! Both we noble spirits soldiered on and I ended up staying up to watch something more edifying (Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning), and Gay Dude ended up going home. He got the ol' hives-ho. hahhahahahahahaha. Team Token Sad Fattie won and I was happy.
The only important thing about this show, really, is that Anne Slowey, despite being the Countess du Elle, cannot. walk. in. a. damn. pair. of. heels. She teeters and galoompfs and leans back on her haunches and like leads with her center of gravity to stay upright. It's spectacularly dumb and embarrassing for everyone involved. It's like the editor of Cat Fancy being allergic. But for some reason, Anne wanted to be on the show. Maybe it was her dream, to one day be on television. And was it realized, or did it fester like a sore, and then run? The show certainly festers like a sore and I fear I may run away from it.
Or will I just explode?
Send an email to Richard Lawson, the author of this post, at richardl@gawker.com.
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