It’s hard to believe that only four contestants are left. I’d like to say that time flies when you’re having fun, but unfortunately it also handcuffs itself to a lamppost when you’re not. With almost no real standouts, minimal drama, and about one personality to share among the four remaining models, trudging through this cycle has been a bit like walking through a swamp of Jell-O with two toddlers duct-taped to your legs. The season finale appears to be ever receding in the distance like a mirage in the Moroccan desert.
Or maybe I’m being too hard on the show.
But as if almost to demonstrate the lack of strong personalities in the Final Four, the models started the episode by going around the room and describing one another. This is what they came up with: Alexandria is a surfer girl with spice (presumably nutmeg, which is poisonous); Brittani is from a trailer park; Molly is scary; and Hannah, poor unmemorable Hannah, is “homeslice,” which is just the other girls’ polite way of saying that they’re not quite sure exactly who she is and how she got into their apartment. I mean, couldn’t they at least come up with one actual adjective? It’s like saying, “No way, Hannah, you’re totally distinctive! You’re the only one whose name is spelled the same forward as backward! Also, you know, that thing you do with the thing.”
Miss Jay interrupted the bonding session just in time to invite them to tea. Surprise! It was with Franca Sozzani, the editor-in-chief of what is, according to Top Model, the only magazine in the world: Vogue Italia. I always wonder how Italian consumers feel about their magazines being filled with pictures of winners from TV shows they don’t even get in their country. I imagine it’s especially confusing since the sexy models who win their reality competition shows are usually just rewarded with a plum job in Berlusconi’s cabinet, like Deputy Commissioner of Bending Over Slowly to Pick Up Stuff.
Each girl handed Franca her portfolio. Molly stayed quiet, but Brittani caught the editor’s eye by engaging her in conversation on a few topics, including, amazingly, the future of print journalism. Franca explained that she didn’t think that Vogue would ever end up entirely online, which I agree with. Until they invent a viable smell-modem, they’ll never be able to transmit all those perfume samples over the Internet. (By the way, don’t any of you even think about trying to invent a smell-modem. I’m on the verge of a patent.)
NEXT: A well-balanced meal