How Low Can You Go?

No, not the Limbo…another one of my dirty, little secrets…my not-so-secret, but passive, addiction to “America’s Next Top Model.” Yeah, I said it, but admit it, you were thinking it, too. Also…

I think I *heart* Mark Bouwer.

Every time I turn on the TV and “America’s Next Top Model is on, I get sucked into its tractor beam.
The show, itself, is mediocre, and yet, I can’t stop watching. Ever. I don’t know if it’s Miss Jay, who always wears an outlandish accessory with items matching the number of girls remaining in the contest;

or the other Jay’s (Mister Jay) preternaturally white/silver hair that is so striking against his tan skin Big Daddy asked, “Is his scalp dyed, too?” I don’t know if it’s the revolving door of judges, whose names and faces I can’t ever remember, watching the girls claw it out for a $100,000 modeling contract (side note: Puh-lease, people. $100,000? It’s not like it’s a million, which in this day and age, isn’t that much money anymore, either) or the fact that none of the girls are really all that attractive or interesting, to begin with. I think my favorite part is at the end of the episodes when Tyra stands there looking all serious and she repeats the same speech…

“9 girls stand before me, but I only have 8 photos…” blah blah blah. It’s genius. And just for the record, I actually love Tyra.

She just seems so smart and so down to earth, like you could just kick back at a cookout and drink beer and eat hot dogs with her. I also love it when she stands anywhere CLOSE to the contestants because her looks and natural talent make all the other chicks look bush league.

So the other day I turned on the TV and, like 1950’s alien monster The Blob, Tyra jumped on me and I was powerless to fight her.

I don’t know one season from the next, MTV is constantly showing reruns. I also cannot tell one girl from the next, so much like the contestants themselves, I sit on my floor (cause that’s how we do it with little ones running around, you just kinda get used to sitting on the floor…) with a vapid look on my face, mouth slightly ajar, tiny string of spittle drooling out from jaw agape…staring at the idiots on the idiot box.

The challenge was…the girls were to meet with three high fashion designers, do a “meet and greet” and essentially audition for their respective runway shows. The producers, in the pre-commercial teasers, set the scene as if the drama is to occur between the show’s one “plus sized gal” and a bitchy female stylist screaming, “Do you think I can get an entire rack of clothes in YOUR size?!” Now, that’s just rude. I don’t WANT to see a couple of females doing the barn cat yowl tearing at each other ruthlessly, because footage like that is reserved for Maury Povich. Instead, enter Marc Bouwer.

One of the girls, Cassie, was bitching and complaining. Unlike the uninteresting “plus sized” story line, the real drama was built around Cassie’s over-dramatic behavior (i.e calling her boyfriend, the ambiguously named “CJ,” to confess that she told Tyra et al about “you know what,” which is mock-secretive way (hello, you just told the entire country) that she’s “slightly” bulimic. Yeah. You, and every other 5’ 10” 90 lb. model. What makes you so special?!) and then has Marc Bouwer (aka “My Hero) call her out and play her like a deck of cards. He IMMEDIATELY looks her up and down and announces with a swish of his meticulously flawlessly styled “tousled” blonde locks, “Your thighs are too big for this dress.” I nearly choked on my own 10 calorie diet jell-o cup. Did he just call her FAT on national television in the same segment she called home to discuss her eating disorder?! DISH! True, I AM a troll.

. That’s also why I’m on the viewing end, and NOT in front of Tyra waiting with baited breath as she circles my fat with a Sharpie. Ok, fine, now I’m just exaggerating…

Back to MB…so Cassie (looking as shocked as I was,) tries to speak, but she is CUT OFF by Bouwer who hisses, “Ok, well, your hips and thighs are LARGER than we like, so I’m going to go ahead and have you walk in this dress (GASP!) with the ZIPPER OPEN.” OH NO HE DI’N’T! Oh, Bitch, yes he did! As his multiple androgynous assistants slithered around him, he uttered phrases such as, “OK, let’s try that again WITHOUT tripping…” and kept a priceless expression of general annoyance on his face the entire time. And I was eating it up with a spoon. Finally, in total dramatic exacerbation, Marc BUSTED OUT A TAPE MEASURE and decided it was time to MEASURE CASSIE’S FAT thighs and hips.

“We [meaning *I* of course…spoken EXACTLY how I choose to refer to myself with the kids, friends, neighbors, you know whoever] really don’t like anything over 35 inches…so I’m going to go ahead and measure you now…” Marc Bouwer said, his voice trailing off…

And BAM he whipped out a measuring tape, seemingly from thin air.

“And I’m right at that-” Cassie pleaded desperately in a vain attempt to keep whatever pride was left.

But my man interrupted…“So you’re a 39.” Bitchy! Love it!

Oh Marc…you had me at “tape measure.” Totally awesomeness.

I myself was forced to IMMEDIATELY measure my OWN hips, feeling the need to seek and justify Marc’s actions and approval. While proper decorum and manners forbids me from revealing my exact measurements, I am pleased to announce that my buns and thighs would fit neatly in any Marc Bouwer show. Too bad I am only 5’ 3”. We (yes, I said “We,) will be there in spirit.

I am sorry that Cassie was put through the shredder by Marc Bouwer, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was a little bit snickering the entire time. The best part? For the rest of the show she was taped OVER AND OVER again telling anyone with ears, “Marc Bouwer called me fat,” “Marc Bouwer didn’t like my thighs…” And so, in attempting to slander Marc Bouwer, Girlfriend gave him advertising out the 39-inch ying-yang. And as for me? I survived the latest episode of “America’s Next Top Model” only slightly more brain damaged than before…