FOR ALL ITS 22 SEASONS, I only ever watched one episode of America’s Next Top Model. I remember one aspiring girl astride an elephant that sprayed her with water from its trunk. She clung to a wet sarong that threatened to reveal more than even her gynaecologist had seen, while an off-screen fashionista urged her to “find the sexy” and “bring something special” and “make it her own”.
Later, in front of the judges, she was chided for her poor performance at the shoot. She’d failed to conceal her terror, frustration and the fact that she hated every minute of it. She was kicked off, and I saw her poor heart break while the other contestants feigned remorse. Negative, contrived, nonsense. I never watched it again.