OK, in the first place, I NEVER should have buttoned that orange jacket. I looked like some sort of circus sausage. I swear to god I’m not 300 lbs. There was a lot of volume in the fabric! No, really! It was a BIG DRESS. Really thick taffeta! And the natural lighting! OMG! I looked TERRIFYING! Like I might DEVOUR one of the girls! And did you notice my teeth were as orange as my jacket? At least I was coordinated.
That first segment was the one that I was most scared of, but it actually turned out OK. Once it was all cut together it was much more fun than I thought it would be. So I’m fine with everything. Except that damn button. If I had a time machine and could go back and change history, THAT’S what I would do. Unbutton my jacket on America’s Next Top Model. Yes. Then maybe stop the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand, or pull Christ off the cross, but that’s a little more complicated. So really, just change the one button and come back.
Anyway. The dress. Yes, I’ve worn it before. It’s an Adolfo from the ’70s, and probably the ugliest, most retarded thing I own, which was why I wore it – to show the girls not to take “fashion” and “beauty” too seriously. They didn’t seem to follow my example though – for a “personal-style” segment, they seemed awfully bland.
I thought I looked MUCH BETTER during the judging portion of the show (at least my teeth seemed whiter), although you would never know it. They edited out my most brilliant bits. I knew it would happen. It was a 10-hour shoot that had to be whittled down to an eight-minute segment, and because it’s Twiggy’s first real week they had to feature her, so it’s completely understandable.
Speaking of Twiggy: WOW. I really loved her. I thought she was absolutely fascinating. I mean, my God, TWIGGY! She WAS the ’60s. Such history right there! EVERYBODY, in fact, was just delightful. Nigel is perhaps the sexiest man on the planet. Sitting next to him, he gave off such an aura of charm and sophistication, there were many times when I had to stop myself from just fainting dead away. And Tyra was a doll. She entertained us during the lulls by showing us her butt exercizes. Each cheek would bob up and down, up and down, to the theme music. Too fantastic. And Miss Jay – well, I remember Miss Jay from Area, 1984, when she was still in her training wheels, so we are OLD FRIENDS. Love her.
Now about the girls: Casssandra, Cassandra, Cassandra! DROVE ME NUTS! Cried all that day, all the next, and on the day of the judging. GIRL, GIVE IT A BREAK. If I cried over lost hair, I’d never leave my bed. Love, love, loved Nicole – the 90s superwaif – she was sooo tossled and sexy. Hands down my favorite. And the bohemian black girl with the giant hair – Nikky? She’s hot.
But poor Ebony. I felt so bad. During the part where I was judging the girls on their personal style, I just sort of arbitrarily picked her out to be bitchy to. But really, I just wanted to say, “Two words: um, ew” to someone. So it could have been anyone. THEN, when she was eliminated at the end, I’m sure she thought it was because of ME. That I had some sort of THING about her. That I was OUT TO GET HER. When actually, I was really pulling for her. Seriously. I thought she was cute. But she couldn’t possibly know that. So she’s probably at home right now, sharpening her meat axe, muttering and cursing to herself, “I’ll show him personal style. Meet my stylish axe, you motherfucking circus clown.”
And that’s how I will die. Remember that when the police question you. I said it here first.
– James St. James