The Prettiest
The impossibly thin, tall, and gorgeous women drape themselves casually about their sumptuous habitat with the carelessness of garments discarded on the floor of a bedroom. Most, if not all of them are smoking–in the half-light, it is difficult to tell one perfectly formed face from another. Even with the cameras, incessantly, rolling.
“I can’t imagine one of us leaving,” one of them says.
“We’ve come so far together.”
“We’re like best friends.”
“Sisters.”
They hug, swearing undying allegiance (Is one apart? Do all their gossamer bodies turn, slightly, from one flower beginning to stink of wilt? Wait and see…) each to the other.
Some, not all, eyes glitter with tears. After the commercial break, they will each address the camera singly, and the knives will come out. We puzzle, marvel at how each one will unsheathe her weapon… Subtly? Honestly? Cruelly? With real, imagined, or feigned reluctance? We get up, take care of business, come back to the TV with fresh snacks, empty bladders. We settle in for the meat.
The individual interviews pass, and one of their entertaining dog-and-pony games, that will separate one girl out, immune to judgment for the moment. We wonder who’s the best, at this game (we seem to remember something about dodging, fancy meaningless flames hiding the more subtle buzzer signifying failure), who will be the most desperate to win, who wants it more…
Tension mounts as judges discuss photographic and video evidence. Fingers are pointed, cruelly humorous barbs are thrown, excuses examined… We get glimpses. There are one or two Important Commercial Messages between ourselves and our climax, and we exist in an agony. O to be quickly through this, but o, then it will be over for another week, or another season. For these few minutes, we submit to the pleasure of the will of this program’s creators.
And then, It’s Time.
The girls stand ranked, or huddled. Some hold hands as names are called, and they one by one cross the stage into grace, past the approving or warning eyes of the judges.
The ones that are left huddle closer, hands clenched tighter alone or together. One of them will be this week’s victim. Tears well in some eyes, and not others. They look so thin now (you would too, you suppose)!
Finally, it’s done– Judgment is past, and the surviving girls are free to express their everlasting love for each other and gratitude to the producers.
But, could some of them be thinking…?
They never show it, but of course we know what is done with the discarded ones. We know because of how the girls acted after the first elimination, we can see the changes in their bodies over the intervening time. Mostly, though, we know because we KNOW.
Even models have to eat, sometimes.
