Fashion, they tell me, is ultimately supposed to be about feeling good about oneself—be your best every day! your clothes are your calling card! All that miserable shit. But really, or at least according to Stylista , the stultifying bungle of a fashion editor competition show, it's about being cruel to yourself and to others until you've been declared the harried, bedraggled victor. It's about people scratching their nails into themselves and others and holding on for dear life, no matter how much blood everyone loses. But most importantly it's about not being fat. Not convinced? Read on for a recap of this, the fifth and worst, episode of muck. The first mini-challenge was to pick out a little gift for Amy Sacco (right?), who runs Bungalow 8 or something. The teams paired up and dashed off to stores to find fun gifties! Wicked grumble-chin Megan paired up with Chinese-speaking Brown University cliché Johanna. They got a cashmere scarf or something. Another team, Dyson the Vacuum Cleaner and Barbie bobble-head Katie, bought a fancy Vintage Chanel brooch. And team Token (the Angry Black Lady! the Sad Fattie!) cobbled together a huge basket of toiletries and passed it off as a "Travel Survival Kit" or some such nonsense. Naturally Team Token came up the losers, and because why the hell not, Grumble-chin and Johanna won. But then they were split up to be team leaders! The big challenge was to go to a party at Bungalow 8 (synergy!) and act—in a scene so ripped from Devil Wears Prada that I hope someone, anyone , who works at the show just threw their clipboard up in the air and stormed out while yelling "I fucking quit!" when the "idea" was proposed—as Anne Slowey's (she of the wobble heel) field guides. You know, remembering everyone's name and stuff. You remember that scene. Emily was sick. And then the real sad part began. Before they rushed home to "learn" flashcards of all the guests' faces and personal details, they were told that they could each wear an outfit plundered from the ramshackle little fake Elle closet that the show has put together. Squeals and gay-claps abounded and everyone raced in to get their grubby little mitts on some top-drawer threads. Except for one. I am, of course, referring to Sad Fattie, otherwise known as Danielle. I don't call her Sad Fattie because I think she's that in real life, but that's how she was presented on the show and it was just cruel. Of course nothing fit her in the closet, and the producers had to know that would happen. The weight issue was going to come up eventually, and I guess they just decided that they would dictate when. So of course she got really upset, because who wouldn't, and didn't want to go to the party at all and no one knew what to say. Well, Johanna calmly lectured her (and us) that skinny and tall is what's beautiful no matter what and that's just that. Sorry, Fattie. And then Dyson said, I shit you not, that the issue "has been the elephant in the room." Poor. Choice. Of. Words. (Though, darkly, darkly funny.) Then there was a whole scene with her eating pizza and talking about not having much of an appetite and close-ups of puzzled looks and I just... It was just terrible. Thankfully, Danielle collected herself eventually, put on her best dress and steeled herself for the party. Meanwhile her teammates Johanna and Katie were trying to memorize names and faces and details. Well, Johanna was, obsessively. With fancy flashcards. Katie was just eating popcorn and expressed no interest in doing anything else. Everyone, including the good Lord above us, sighed resignedly and just did a "boing boing" fist bump on those tig ol' bitties. The day of the party! It was so planned out and fake! The teams stood next to Anne, who appeared to be trying to hide the fact that she was slowly farting, and whispered (read: shrieked) names and details into her ears. Team Johanna failed epically. Johanna apparently has some brain problem that doesn't allow her to translate what people look like in a photograph to what they look like in real life. Too bad. Katie? Katie, who was wearing a little black blouse as a dress, brazenly admitted that she just spent all her time looking up at the mirrored ceiling to see if her lip gloss was smudged. "I didn't study at all," she cheerfully admitted. Nice. Way to go. Boing. Boing. Team Grumble-chin, ugh, did really well, and then it was time to make the page layouts. I don't really ever pay much attention to this because it's really just not done well enough to be remotely interesting, so I just stared at the mirrored ceiling we have here at Gawker HQ (watched it in the office this morning) to see if my lipgloss was on straight (boing boing) and then paid attention when the judging started. Whatevs. Obviously Johanna and company lost, though, GRRRRRRRRRRR, Katie got off the hook by doing "a good layout" even though it looked like the Brayton Road Times newspaper that my sister and I used to make on the home computer. Whatever, Anne said she was safe, motorboated her for a while, then sent her off. So we were left with China and Fattie, and, well, of course it was time. Danielle was told much nicer things than other eliminees— because you can't treat overweight people like normal adult people! their feelings are fragile like Jell-O and if you make them sad they will get even fatter !—and was asked to leave. And, sigh, what of course is Anne's catchphrase send-off line? "You're not the right fit." Fucking figures.