Yesterday, Gawker received a tip regarding a bizarre episode Amanda Bynes had Wednesday night in a New York bakery. It began, as many rips from sanity do, with a specialty cupcake. It ended with a firefighter threatening to break down a bathroom door.
In the interest of journalism and wanting a cupcake, I made a pilgrimage to the same Little Cupcake Bakeshop, about a block away from Gawker HQ, to see if a reenactment of the scene could better help us understand the Mysterious Mind of Amanda Bynes.
THIS IS A REENACTMENT.
The shop looks exactly how you would expect a place that calls itself "The Little Cupcake Bakeshop" to look. The exterior is pristine and white, with large picture windows covered by pale green and white striped awnings. The inside features exposed brick and three small chandeliers that are, a chalkboard sign explains, "eco-friendly." The floor is covered with black and white tiles. The walls are splattered with blood. (Just kidding.)
Witnesses report that Amanda Bynes did not remove her sunglasses from the time she arrived at 8:30p.m. to the time she was shepherded out the back door some two hours later. She was also "blasting music" from headphones the whole time, even though the Little Cupcake Bakeshop pays good money to pipe in the soothing sounds of Siriusly Sinatra.
According to Gawker's sources, Amanda Bynes asked an employee for a "Dreaming Princess" cupcake and a cappuccino with extra sugar, an order it is impossible not to sound crazy when requesting. Walking in the footsteps of Amanda Bynes, I ordered a "Dreaming Princess" cupcake but not a cappuccino because I'm not made of money.
The cupcake consists of a white, almond-flavored cake, topped with raspberry preserves, buttercream meringue icing, and almond slivers. It tastes just like a princess who is asleep.
HYPOTHESIS: With its yellow and pink tones, the cupcake closely resembles Amanda Bynes' infamous pink-haired mugshot, rendering her consumption of this non-traditional cupcake a form of self-cannibalization. Only when the old, frothy, pink-tinged L.A. Amanda was eaten could the new dark-haired Cool Important NYC Fashion-Girl Amanda emerge.
Amanda Bynes spent an hour and a half eating her cupcake. I ate mine in about 11 seconds and then felt uncomfortable sitting alone at a tiny table in a crowded shop with nothing in front of me.
A little boy seated at a table behind mine asked his mother what ice cream was.
According to Gawker's sources, Amanda Bynes locked herself in the Little Cupcake Bakeshop's Little Cupcake Panic Room/Bathroom for a total of 30 minutes. After the first 10, another patron hoping to use the bathroom knocked on the door, and reported to staff that the person inside was unresponsive and might need help. Staff began knocking and asked Amanda Bynes to say something or knock back if she could hear them. They turned off the Siriusly Sinatra in case she was responding, but just in a quiet voice, like a kitten's mew. They listened in for signs of movement.
About 15 minutes in, a firefighter (who was in a place called the Little Cupcake Bakeshop at 10 p.m. on a Wednesday night) became convinced that Amanda Bynes was unconscious in the bathroom and started "viciously banging" on the door to provoke a response. As full Amandemonium set in, he phoned the police to ask for permission to break down the door.
Before he had a chance, Amanda Bynes exited the bathroom, still wearing her headphones and sunglasses. "Oh, excuse me," she said calmly. "I was doing my make-up." A staffer escorted her out the bakeshop's backdoor.
I stepped into the bathroom and locked the door behind me, then waited for a fireman to threaten to break it down. According to her IMDB page, Amanda Bynes and I are the same height (5'8"), so I can confirm that all the bathroom accoutrements were placed at a level comfortable for her/our use. Sink good sink height, conveniently placed soap dispenser, etc.
I decided, while waiting for the door banging to start, to Bloody Mary Amanda Bynes into existence. I looked into the mirror and said her name three times, followed by the variation, "Amanda Bynes, I've got your baby." While Amanda Bynes did not manifest herself physically, I did notice that the patterned wallpaper was starting to overwhelm me—an emotion that, surely, Amanda Bynes must have experienced.
Imagine, if you will, Amanda Bynes staring at herself in the mirror, blasting this song on a loop through her oversized DJ headphones. Rimming her eyes in black kohl until the sockets appeared sunken. Applying lipstick over and over again, so that she starts to slip out beyond the border of her lips and on to her cheeks, the result a grotesque bubblegum pink Chelsea grin.
Baptized in slime and baked in the California sun. The Dreaming Princess has been awoken. Blasting down a fashion highway. Doing 120 on an exit ramp. Who's the man? She's the man. She's the Manda. Manda Show. Mandamandamandamandamanda Show. The Red Witch must be defeated.
After about six minutes that certainly felt more like 30, I unlocked the door and stepped out of the bathroom before the firefighter who was not there could break in.
"I was just putting on my makeup," I whispered to the night.
And I was gone.