Back in the house!
The Brits worry about another one going home. Sophie furrows where her eyebrows used to be. They strategize, or, more accurately, talk about how they should strategize. Sophie says she’ll do anything to keep the Amercians from getting a good photo. Wicked Sophie! And yet so appealing!
And then for no reason whatsoever, there is a food challenge! There is a table of American food and a table of UK food! And each team has to eat the other’s food! It’s the stupidest thing we’ve seen in… OK, well, since last week.
For some reason, they’re cagey about showing a full list of what’s on each table. In my opinion, it’s because the Brits have a distinct advantage. From what I can gather from scrolling and peering, the lineup is:
Corn on the cob
Seriously? The Brits get peanut butter and TWO harmless corn products?
Everyone dives in, and we are treated to an uncomfortable montage of models retching. Way to be aware of your industry’s stereotypes, Tyra!
Eboni leans in and licks Marmite straight off a plate.
Seymone is the champ for the US team, charging ahead and downing nearly a whole haggis by herself. The Brits try to throw her off her stride by shouting about what’s in haggis, but they’re too late. The time to put someone off a haggis is before she bites in, while she’s still wondering what’s with the grey.
Someone does make a great attempt by pointing at Ashley and shouting “She’s from Scotland and she won’t even eat it!”
Still, the Americans win. Must have been the pigs’ feet?
There are no consequences or rewards to this food challenge. None.
Except that Seymone feels sick and she’s pissed because Candace is joking around as though people wanted some of Seymone’s haggis, which they clearly did not, but Simone doesn’t get the joke and the Americans have a screaming match while the Brits think this whole strategizing thing might be easier than they thought.
For some reason, this Tyra Mail has a photo of Tyra. She is holding a pair of shoes on her head, with the heels coming out of her head like antlers. WHY? What does that have to do with mail? Does Tyra think moose bring it? Anyway, the mail:
“Tomorrow’s Koncept will have you feeling like a kid again.
Fierce and love, Tyra”
Feeling like a kid again? I know you’re thinking what I was thinking: “Please let there be goats, please let there be goats, please let there be goats…”
The models think they will be working with human children, and oh, GOD, Ashely is adorable. She says kids like her, except some don’t, and then gets a teeny bit frowny and says she doesn’t know why.
Photo shoot time!
Oh, gross. In walks the woman who spawned and marketed the K*rd*shi*n family, the scourge of our generation. I will not participate in their quest to put their names on everything. That is my line.
The models freak out when Kris J*enner, Mother of K*rd*shi*ns, walk in. They act like she’s Beyoncé or Hillary Clinton. Or, you know, a decent, worthwhile human being. Personally, I’d rather have the haggis come back.
Annaliese calls her the “ultimate momager.” Thin ice, Annaliese.
Mr. Jay calls Kris “the queen of marketing,” and acts like what she has turned her three eldest daughters into is totally acceptable instead of the breaking of numerous seals mentioned in The Revelation.
Why is Kris here today? To start the process of replacing the blood of her remaining two daughters with Midori, swag, and glitter. These daughters appear to be too young to take shots at, so I will just say this: Run, daughters, run!
(Somehow Dancing with the Stars also-ran and K*rd*shi*n son Rob is not mentioned. Heh.)
So the theme of today’s shoot is that the models – grown women – are playing toddlers, specifically, Kris J*nner’s children. Because grown, sexually mature women dressed up as toddlers is very nearly as awesome as toddlers made up like sexually mature women! Let’s keep conflating those things!
We’re also working this theme because Mr. Jay thinks believes that when you think “good mom,” you think of Kris J*nner. Because of the way she “supports” her daughter’s careers, duh.
I would like to take this moment to thank my mom for supporting my career by reading everything I write, even when I beg her not to. And for not supporting my career by scheduling me for a Playboy shoot, which I seem to recall is a handy service that J*nner has done for her daughter. Ah, well. To each her childrearing techniques.
Anyway, the J*nner daughters that are still getting the Island of Doctor Moreau treatment are in the shoot too, in that they stand very still while dressed like Wednesday Addams.
It is the most awful, cluttered shoot they have done in a long time. There’s Kris, and the models (paired or in trios again. WHY?) and the daughters, and then toys and a big Gacy clown, and sometimes a crib or a rocking horse and some giant blocks and none of the colors make sense and it’s horrible.
I am wordsy, people. Every morning my left brain wakes up first and tries to smother my right brain with the pillow so it can store some more books in that wasted space. If I can tell that the art direction for your shoot is a cluttered, unholy mess, you have got one broke-ass shoot on your hands.
Think of me as your mineshaft canary of catastrophic design. Anyway, get the hell out of that studio!
Another problem is that the models are in make up and not-really-toddler outfits, and they’re being asked to pose like toddlers, and then and only then, when everything is all set up, do Mr. Jay and the photographer notice that this idea tipped over into queasily inappropriate territory a long time ago. Oops! So don’t make it too sexy, ladies!
You know who else didn’t notice or object to sexy women being dressed as toddlers? Mother of the Century Kris J*nner.
At least you can’t say it’s not in line with the K*rd*shi*n brand.