I Wanna Be On Top: High Fashion, "Low Prices," Bad Taste

This cycle Tyra did not want to wait the usual two or three episodes to make over her edge-less contestants. We could barely settle into Wednesday's episode of America's Next Top Model before we were smacked in the face with a spy theme that was right out of Cheesetown USA. Tyra had totally confidential ("for fierce eyes only") new looks for all the girls, but her fake-a-roo trench coat and fedora coupled with bad Charlie's Angels style video-phone editing made the whole thing look like a big trying-too-hard-for ratings fiasco. Are girls crying at getting their hair cut no longer gimmicky enough to rope in viewers? Well if sheering girls til they sob won't do it, and Tyra's bad Carmen Sandiego impression isn't cutting it either, perhaps Wal-Mart could give a go of it.

Yep, nothing screams high fashion like Wal-Mart, that's why this week's challenge was centered around the Covergirl Wal-Mart Wall. Manufactured in an empty room because there are no Wal-Marts in NYC, some one-named make-up artist stands in front of the wall and chokes out some forced line like this, "At Wal-mart anyone can confidently personalize their own look for less." Leaving out that Wal-Mart has this "unique" ability because they don't give their worker's raises and make them work off the clock. That Covergirl wall is oh-so-affordable because their non-management workers are living thousands of dollars below the US poverty level (according to Wake-Up Wal-Mart and Wal-Mart Watch). This is a problem that could be easily fixed by raising the prices on every product half a penny.

And speaking of non-management workers, the majority of them are women! Even though they make up 72 % of Wal-Mart's total workforce, only 33 % of women get to move out from behind the cashier and become management. So glamorous! It's a good thing that Covergirl is so damn cheap because at a whopping $8.23 an hour (that's $13,861 annually folks!) the ladies of Wal-Mart aren't going to see the inside of a Sephora anytime soon. Even those lucky 33% who win a coveted upper management job are still only getting a consolation prize, according to the United Food and Commericial Workers (UFCW) "women in management positions earn nearly $5,000 per year less than men."

The girls squealed and nodded with excitement as the challengers blathered on about Wal-Mart's greatness. For all of the fits the contestants rountinely have about nothing, you'd think one or two of them could speak up about how awful (and très unfashionable) Wal-mart is. Not even the street preacher made a peep. I'm always curious how much this is the producers forcing them to go along (since Wal-Mart is clearly a sponser) or if the contestants would rather rally against a haircut than a jerky corporation. But really, it's the show's responsibility to not cater to such an unethical company. Tyra's crusade for women looks pretty shoddy if she's supporting a company that routinely holds women back. You wanna be on top? Standing on the backs of other women is not the way to get there.

Check out Tyra's Go Go Gadget Editing:


Getting pumped about Wal-Mart:


Related Story: I Wanna Be On Top: Use Your Inner Goddess to Preserve the Purity of Young Girls

I Wanna Be On Top: Use Your Inner Goddess to Preserve the Purity of Young Girls

Cycle 12 of America's Next Top Model aired it's two hour premiere tonight with themes of greek goddesses and girly innocence. As someone who came within inches of getting the opportunity to strut my stuff out there, I watched transfixed with skepticism (that Rockville girl with the bad attitude took MY spot?), and wonderment (did Tyra just self identify as the Goddess of Fierce?).

The high notes of this week are mostly centered around the picking of the girls who will live in the house and becoming familiar with their characters. The notable ones include a Texan street preacher, a wide eyed girl with blood lust, the requisite "plus sized" model that looks like everyone I know, and perhaps Tyra's proudest catch, a burn survivor. Tahlia (the burn survivor) and Kortnie (the "plus sized" model) serve as the shows' underdogs and token characters that Tyra can point to so that the show can't be criticized by the mainstream as only catering to a certain body type or look.

Tyra has already bathed in self righteousness over how Tahlia is strong and needs to be given a chance by ANTM, and while she makes an attempt at comforting Tahlia when she feels othered at the runway competition, Tyra's bemoaning about how the modeling industry will either love Tahlia's scars or hate them just comes off as belittling. Tahila's personality quickly is lost on the show, and she becomes nothing more than her scars. I look forward to learning more about her (as she is one of the nicer contestants), and I hope the producers give us a chance to see her other attributes, interests, and thoughts. That being said, as always with this gray-area series, it is great that this woman has air time to talk about her story, showing viewers that she is talented, and that her burns don't make her ugly. Although, so far she has admitted that the show is making her feel "shame" about her skin and serves as a reminder for how "different" she is. Will this be a train wreck or a growing experience for the audience and the contestant? I'm eager to see how this plays out.

Secondly, the show's photo shoot has a creepy/cute focus on young girls and how they are, according to Tyra, "good girls turned bad." (bolding mine) During the shoot, there is an emphasis on what makes a good girl (pigtails and jax) and a bad girl (torn stockings, smeared make-up, and pregnancy), and Tyra can't help but allude to her talk show which has found that (gasp) "1 out of 5 girls want to be teen moms." This moral panic has, of course, turned into Tyra's personal war against the idea of "innocence and purity being lost." Which we know thanks to The New York Times and Jessica Valenti, founder of Feministing and author of the new book The Purity Myth, is a big fucking scare tatic. Not to mention how this line of thinking only targets and infantilizes girls and women. It is disempowering in refusing to acknowledge our capabilty to make our own choices, and is also slut shaming/victim blaming as it ignores the responsibility of the men needed for the sexing, raping, and baby-making. The Tyra Show website even asks "Why are so many teenaged girls pregnant?!," - we have yet to see the question, "Why are so many teen guys getting girls pregnant?" In the video clip, not one person even thinks to explain girls get pregnant "because guys have unprotected sex with them." Though, that's because, duh, it's mostly the media whoring them up and making 'em unpure. It couldn't be from the lack of safe sex education, no no no. Don't girls know we can see their dirty pillows? Cover up, or you might get preggers. Unless you're on America's Next Top Model, then get nekkid, sexy, and girly for the camera's, but only in the most pure fashionista way. Virgin/Whore Chic is totally in for Spring. Thanks Tyra, the wealth of crazy pants knowledge you bestow is priceless.

There's a Lot More to Life Than Being Really, Really, Ridiculously Good Looking - Part 4

Lunachicks. Rilo Kiley. The Distillers. M.I.A. We drove and we sang. Gut splitting yells of strength. Howls of anger and love. We recounted their nights of sex along with them, and we shook out our perfectly primped hairdos to their playful lyrics. We were all girls on a joyride to laugh in the face of mediocrity, mainstream beauty, and material bullshit. Self-assured that we were pumped with enough self-esteem to wipe out our less lionhearted competition, we chattered on about our new not-so-secret hope to become a finalist for America's Next Top Model. This did start out as a joke. A way to kill the afternoon. But after hours of survey questions, practiced runway struts, and searches for outfits that best defined us while still looking fashionable, this day had turned this into something more. Something needlessly serious.

We drove on. The ride was long and our tenacity started wearing off. Was this beginning to be more trouble than it was worth? But as we sped around a corner and through a yellow light flashing to red, it finally came into view. The mall that would be packed full of wannabes, hopefuls, and die hards. The brown bricked, faceless building housing the haute couture cattle call loomed over the road ahead of us. It was surprisingly harmless looking. Mundane, really. And in it's opulent normalcy, we were comforted. That comfort then fueled us with more confidence. And that confidence gave way to a feeling of 'why not us?'

We cruised through the parking lot with the windows down. 'Hey, other try-out girls walking in, hear our music? We are bad asses.' Passive aggressive intimidation. I nudged my old Buick into a tight spot only 50 feet from the doors. Flipping down the visor mirrors we smoothed our hair. I ran a finger under my eye to fix where the liner had smudged. As I wiped the black soot from my eye carelessly on the dark fabric of my car seat, our there-for-moral-support friend flashed us a beaming I-believe-in-you-smile, "It's time!"

The three of us started to walk to the double glass doors, stained with the hand prints of shoppers, and their children. The moral supporter had pulled a few feet ahead and was closest to the door. I tugged the dress of my other friend. Let's catch up. She threw me a panicked glance. I shook it off. We're already here, nothing is stopping us now. What was there to be worried about? There's nothing scary about this building, if anything it was dull. It wasn't intimidating, so it's contents couldn't be intimidating. We pushed through the doors, and despite my intransigence, my stomach lurched. Why was I nervous? Didn't my guts remember this wasn't a big deal?

There's a Lot More to Life Than Being Really, Really, Ridiculously Good Looking - Part 3

Standing in front of my closet, I was weighing out the options. Ironic or classic? These were really my only two choices. Though I enjoy following fashion and watching trends, I suck at pretending I care enough to buy a new necklace every time Forever 21 decides boho chic is in or out again. Plus, my overwhelming desire to look like I dropped out of a Rogers and Hammerstein piece tends to color my ability to fit into fashion’s social norms.

I had my outfit for the big ANTM tryout narrowed down to two equally offbeat dresses. One was a black velvet and gold lamé tulle explosion from the early Madonna years, and the other was a retro 1950’s garden-party inspired dress also in black, and adorned with small white polka dots. Ironic or classic? After hopping in and out of each dress a few times, painstakingly looking at them in both the bedroom full length mirror and the smaller bathroom mirror (each providing not only different views, but also different light), I chose the garden party dress. Over mutterings from the boyfriend reminding me that I was doing this just for fun, I matter-of-factly explained to myself that, really, velvet is more of an evening look, and this tryout was at 2 o’clock in the afternoon – the perfect time for a 50’s style back yard tea.

Did I over think the outfit? Oh surely, yes. But considering my being brainwashed by the survey I filled out the night before, it added up. I made the firm decision that my clever responses to their application would not be enough to seal the deal. In order to take reality TV by storm, I had to have a classic, yet edgy look to catch their eye. The dress took care of the classic, and I was counting on my platinum locks and tendency to overdose on black mascara to cover the edgy aspect.

In red patent leather peep-toed heals, I clumsily practiced my runway walk for the boyfriend and the non-trying-out-yet-attending-for-moral-support friend before we hit the road. I greedily soaked in the compliments they gave adding further to my delusions of grandeur. Before I pranced out to pick up the other friend who was trying-out, the boyfriend tried to give me some sage advice about keeping things in perspective. Or something like that, it was hard to hear him over my inner self who was boisterously singing my praises. This is going to be a cake-walk I told myself. I am going to stand out from every lame sequined tank top girl that shows up. I am a beautiful and unique snowflake. My inner Tyler Durden frowned. I was going to win fame, success, and happiness. No one can compete with a retro 1950’s garden party inspired dress. Nothing can stop me now.

There's a Lot More to Life Than Being Really, Really, Ridiculously Good Looking - Part 2

When my friend called to tell me that "America's Next Top Model" was having open casting calls in the DC area, I couldn't think of a more hilarious way to spend my weekend. We sat together for hours working on the "application." With our gaze fixed on the computer screen, we tried to think of the most clever answers to "What would you do if this show made you famous?" and "Would you ever go to a nude beach?" Long after my friend had to head home, I sat, eyes glazed over, trying to come up with the wittiest response to "What is your ideal romantic partner like?" These reality show questionnaires are of course looking for the "honest" answer. Seriously people, just be yourself. Except that on ANTM, girls are routinely shot down for being themselves. On more than one occasion Tyra has scolded a few modeling hopefuls for not being lady-like or whatever modern day phrase is slightly more socially acceptable, yet not any less offensive. I typed and untyped "must be good in bed" a couple of times under the question about romantic partner qualifications. In hindsight, I should have went with it, as it became clear during the first audition that our cleverly honest, well thought out applications would be taken into little to no consideration. Plus it is one of my qualifications. A major one. I scrapped it though, with the idea of seeming neat and pretty until I made it on the show. Then, once in the public eye, my plan was to be outlandishly crass, outspoken about controversial issues, and outright defiant, while of course winning the competition and shattering the image of perfection in the modeling/beauty industry. The whole process started to become less of a hilarious anecdote to tell later, and more of my chance to change the way Americans conceptualize beauty in one fell swoop.

"Do you have a temper?"

"What kind of people would you want to live in a house with?"

Ridiculous question after ridiculous question, I started taking more seriously. I dumped all of my goofy, sarcastic answers for more polished, droll responses. I wanted to erase the blemishes. Anything that made me sound flippant and irreverent had to go. My application was me wearing make-up. Not a lie, just a more palatable version of the truth.

"Have you ever thrown something in anger? Explain."

"Have you ever thought of running for political office, why or why not?"

“How do you deal with someone who intimidates you?”

At the root of it all, after 7 pages of bullshit MySpace like survey questions, this application is really just asking, “How good of a reality television show contestant would you be?” I was convinced this show was looking for entertainers, not models. They need someone to keep audiences tuning in week after week…someone with personality...and in my dark living room at 2am the night before the auditions, as I typed my perfect answers out with rapt attention, I was convinced. I told myself, that someone is so me.

There's a Lot More to Life Than Being Really, Really, Ridiculously Good Looking - Part 1

Outside the BMW dealership, 200-300 girls waited in line anxiously repeating to themselves why they wanted to become America's Next Top Model. Sun beating down on us, my friend and I were a part of this line. We were a part of this handful of girls who had already waited in a line the week before, and were picked, much to our surprise and wonder, to wait in this new line. The next round of cuts. One step closer to the fame and fortune that deep down, when stripped of our good intentions, we all truly desired. We were the chosen few, and our reward was to wait for another few hours outside a BMW dealership in the unforgiving July heat. Standing in line, waiting to be filmed. Waiting to tell a camera that we were pretty, but we also have brains, talents, attitude, kind hearts, whatever. Telling the faceless camera something, anything, to set us apart. Something to make us unique in a sea of similarity. In the sweltering humidity we couldn't help but ask ourselves why we wanted to be America's Next Top Model. Tottering above one another in our highest heels, in what we perceived to be our most fashionable attire, waiting to compete if only for a few seconds with the other hundred girls in line. Make-up smearing from the heat. Hair once perfectly arranged strand by strand, now matted, wet with sweat. Bangs sticking to our melting faces, we all wanted to be validated again. Tell me I'm good. Tell me I'm pretty. I kept thinking, this all started out as a joke.

I'm Ready to Make Beer Bellies the Must Have Look for This Fall

It's time for Tyra to see the wicked style of LTB. Wild hounds couldn't keep me away from these auditions. For a hilarious rundown on the madness, check back next week.