'The Girl Next Door' -- The Search for a Playboy Playmate

Okay, let’s get this out of the way right now. Yes – I volunteered to review this. Now, many of you may think I did so in order to…as I like to put it, “bunny bash”…which would therefore deem me catty, insecure, and jealous. On the other hand, some of you, upon finding out that I am an avid subscriber to the magazine, will just assume that I’m a lesbian.

Neither of the above is correct. Here’s why I wanted to review it – I enjoy Playboy magazine. Now, I didn’t used to… when I was 19 and saw an issue in my college boyfriend’s room, I freaked out and accused him of not being attracted to me anymore. (I might have thrown a few things at his head, too…it’s all a bit hazy…) Well, four years and eight thousand more watts of self-esteem later, I began purchasing him a subscription for his birthday. Then, after we separated, I changed the subscription to my name. Why? Well, I paid for it, and I actually read the articles.

I’m well aware of how that sounds, but… oh, just shut it for a second.

The articles are interesting, well written, and actually pertain to topics other than “How to Win a Man” or “The Best Method of Ridding Yourself of Cellulite Forever!” It’s one of the only magazines in existence that’s actually geared toward an intelligent reader – male OR female – and it’s very informative about MANY topics, including (but not limited to) sex. And hell, I’m all for that.

At the same time, it has these beautifully airbrushed photos of naked women in it. Yes, it’s intimidating. Yes, it’s fodder for negative body image comparisons. But when I finally stumbled upon some sense and actually recognized that “hey, all heterosexual men look at other women because (and I collectively quote every one of my guy friends) ‘a naked woman is a beautiful thing,’” I came to the “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” conclusion and decided to check it out for myself. And let me tell you this – it’s made my life a lot more pleasant to appreciate the female form rather than sit around bitching about it (like so): “well I’ll never look like that, so I guess I’ll never be attractive”; “real women don’t look like that”; “men who need to look at porn are perverts”; “if I’m not enough woman for a man than he can just go screw himself”; etc.

You get the idea. (Believe me – I’ve heard it all…and I actually probably said it all ten years ago.)

Now – there’s the girls that auditioned for Hef’s 2-hour long Fox-broadcasted commercial for his magazine entitled The Girl Next Door – the Search for a Playboy Playmate. (I just have to say that combining the Playmate search with the extremely popular reality-show genre is a masterful way to draw in the now-legal-to-purchase-porn Y Generation… not that there’s a real need to advertise pornography to eighteen-year-old boys, but still.) So, the question is – are these girls really “The Girl Next Door?” I mean, does your neighbor even come close to looking like a Playmate… and would she ever consider languidly posing bare-ass in front of a photographer (and a slew of production folks) for some “college money?” Seriously, the girl-next-door thing always struck me as kind of amusing. Yeah, there are some really cute girls out there in your neighborhoods, but most of them – oh, I’d say about 95% - wouldn’t even come CLOSE to the Playboy standard. (Um, I was the “girl next door” to someone once… enough said.)

So if they’re not really “the girl next door” type, then what type are they? (Let’s debate, shall we?) On the one side, if a girl is confident enough with her body to bare it all for money and/or a ticket to stardom, then all the power to her. Let her exploit herself (and, in turn, be exploited) to the fullest extent. Hurrah for freedom of expression. But then again, how close is that to prostitution? Ah, and that’s the eternal question for which I won’t even attempt to formulate an answer, because when it comes right down to it, it is still – since the last time I checked anyway – a woman’s right to choose what to do with her own body. Morality issue negated.

And before a member of the Christian Coalition jumps out of the bushes (heh, heh…I wrote “bush”) and attempts to scythe me into itty-bitty pieces for saying something so depraved, I will move on to the review.

Oh wait – first I just want to flail around my vacillating opinion on Hugh Hefner. (Please indulge me on this one.) Sometimes I totally dig him, because…well, Hef’s the man. By tapping into the male libido in the early fifties he built an empire, established Playboy as an American icon, and helped launch the acting careers of Pamela Anderson, Jenny McCarthy, Carmen Electra... (um, actually, Hef…you owe America an enormous apology for that last one). Anyway, as far as I’m concerned, the man is a genius. He’s a gazillionaire who wears PJs all day and lives in a mansion the size of Pluto with dozens of gorgeous women who walk around mostly naked. The man is livin’ the dream.

But sometimes he just really bugs me. I mean, who does he think he’s fooling with the six blonde girlfriends that he rotates more often than a set of tires? Please. All the Viagra in North America won’t make me believe that one. I do believe that they all consider themselves his communal girlfriend. I also think that they all want to sleep with him, because there are far too many women out there that are shallow enough to “sleep their way to the top” (in this case, though, I don’t even want to ask “the top of what?” And, by the way, thank you so much girls for giving the rest of us a bad rep). But for him to actually put up the front that he not only spends all of his time with the harem of blond chicks but also has sex with all of them? Dude, rethink the logic of that one. Your readership does not have the collective IQ of an ant farm.

But perhaps… (just thinking out loud here)… maybe that blonde posse of yours does, which completely skews your view of life outside the grotto…

Woo-hoo! There’s the cattiness now!

All right, calm down. Here’s the review of the show. Keep in mind that it will lose a lot in the translation, as this particular reality show was solely based on the visual effect. Ahem.

So there’s a bunch of pretty girls in a bunch of big cities “auditioning” to be a Playmate. (Auditioning consists of showing up in the smallest bikini possible and having your photo taken.) They show Hef and his gang of mighty editors who outline the process for the viewers, making sure to emphasize the search for “wholesome, natural beauty.” We’re with you so far…

…Then they show a woman hailing from Las Vegas, NV, being chosen who looks like she rose directly from her tanning bed, soaked her hair in Clorox and rolled around in a particularly lethal combination of silicone and botox for three days before arriving on the scene. (Now that’s what I call natural beauty, folks.)

They intersperse clips of different girls talking about why they want to be in Playboy. One girl says, “I just really like being naked.” Eloquent.

Thousands are turned away and the competition is narrowed to fifteen. Twelve women are chosen as finalists. (Needless to say – or is it? – the naturally cloroxed blonde blow-up-doll from Vegas didn’t make the cut.) From the twelve they’ll narrow it down to seven, then to three, then to the oh-so-lucky Miss July 2002.

I will now list the finalists by name, age, and distinguishing characteristic(s). (I’ll leave “a body I’d wipe out a small village to have” out of this, because HELLO – that goes without saying.) In doing so I’ll also choose those I think should make the top three based on Hef’s previous “girl next door” qualifications.

• Shallan, 20 – immediately my front-runner, because she does actually look like a normal, pretty girl. And she’s got really cool hair - long, curly, and sandy blond.
• Wendy, 25 – formerly in the military, a single mom, enormous fake ta tas, light brown hair.
• Carmella, 19 – really cute brunette, very natural looking. I’m choosing her as one of the three.
• Lauren, 21 – not pretty. Blonde.
• Jill, 21 – REALLY not pretty. Very fake looking. Also a single mom. Also blonde. And if she’s actually 21 years old, then I’m the Pope’s daughter.
• Alexis, 23 – very pretty, brownish hair. She’s the one who likes being naked.
• Katie, 21 – pretty face; she looks like a blonde Shannen Doherty.
• Christina, 20 – she’s an absolutely stunning brunette.
• Sara, 19 – cute face. Blonde.
• Jennifer, 25 – exotic-looking brunette. (That’s code for “not cookie-cutter enough for Playboy.”)
• Terri, 19 – very wholesome looking, very young looking. Light brown hair. She’s my third choice.
• Danielle, 21 – not pretty, but distinctive looking. Another blonde.

So let’s recap by hair color. Three brunettes, three light browns, and six blondes. Pretty even ratio so far.

The girls are shipped off to the Playboy mansion out here in L.A. They get to stay in a little guest house (little being like 27 rooms) behind the mansion with their house-mother, PMOY in 1986 (I think), Ava Fabian.

Note: If I write “I think,” “I guess,” “presumably,” etc., it is because I didn’t pay that close of attention and I refuse to go back and check my facts at this late date. This show aired almost two weeks ago. Not only that, I think spending two hours of my life watching the show in the first place was quite enough, thank you.

Day One – The finalists arrive

Ava greets the girls and reassures them of how much fun they’re about to have. Yeehah. Terri and Carmella are both from Cleveland. They hit it off. All of the girls sit around talking about their beauty pageant history while comparing fake parts. (Anyone who’s ever bounced off the floor after falling down, raise your hand.) Isn’t this exciting? Then Ava gathers the potential bunnies into the living room to discuss the agenda.

While Ava sets the stage, the camera shoots several girls eating bananas. (You can’t tell me that wasn’t deliberate.)

From there we move on to Terri talking to Jill about how it’s really hit her that she might have to pose naked, and she wants to go home. Jill, dramatically sweeping her not-so-natural blonde hair over her shoulder for the camera, responds by saying that she personally won’t be wasting this opportunity.

Carmella, like Terri, is experiencing discomfort over the thought of posing nude. This leaves me a bit perplexed. What is it with these Cleveland girls? May I point out that they went to an open call for PLAYBOY? Playboy = naked. Were these girls confused? Did they just not know the formula? Does Playboy magazine issue a special Ohio edition with all of the good parts blacked out?

Day 2 - Oh, goodie – it’s hair and makeup day!

The girls get fitted for bikinis for the first shoot. Being cursed with full, natural breasts, Lauren has difficulty finding a bikini top that fits her. That night she calls her mom to complain, pointing out that her “realness” is an advantage because all of the girls with fake breasts got them to try to look like her, but because all of the other girls have the ability to defy gravity, she’s screwed.

I feel her pain.

Terri and Carmella are now feeling extremely uncomfortable with this whole thing. Carmella speaks to Ava about it. Ava dramatically points out that Carmella was selected over thousands of girls for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Carmella acknowledges how flattering that is, but reiterates her hesitance by saying, “I just don’t feel like this is for me.” Ava replies (with a slightly evil glint in her eye), “Maybe it’s not for you.”

I roll my eyes. Ava, could you be more of a drama queen?

Hef drops in for a visit that day, and the girls squeal with delight. While they scramble to get a little closer to him, Hef proclaims his love to all of them and scampers off before they manage to tear off his pajamas.

(I truly love each and every one of you… what were your names again?)

Carmella makes the tough decision to leave. She calls her mom to tell her that she’s glad she tried, but that she’s coming home. Her mom reams her ass out, spitting through the phone phrases like “this was your idea, Carmella” and “What have you tried? Nothing! You haven’t even done anything but get off a plane in Los Angeles!” (Way to show support, Mom. Nice.) Carmella hangs up the phone with an “I love you” to which her mother responds, “All right.” For Pete’s sake, it was brutal. I was so embarrassed for that poor girl.

Terri also decides to leave, feeling relieved that she’s not the only one who got freaked out. Ava gathers the girls to announce that Carmella and Terri are going home. No one looks terribly disappointed as the competition is narrowed from twelve to ten. Jennifer says, “Some people don’t take well to challenges.” Lauren thinks they both left because they saw they weren’t going to win. (Please retract your claws and return to your corners.)

And here’s what I think.

When I was a kid, I really wanted to jump off the high dive at the local pool. I imagined the entire experience: climbing the ladder; striding out to the edge of the board; looking down at the bluish, heavily chlorinated water; springing off the edge; slicing through the water; surfacing to the clear blue Pennsylvania sky; and bounding out of the water to do it again.

You know, sometimes you think you’re prepared to do something. You’ve thought it through, you’ve pictured it happening, you’ve looked forward to it for weeks/months. Then it finally arrives; you’re in the moment; you’re about to do what you really wanted.

And you think, “Oh my God – I can’t do this.”

Yes, I scaled the ladder. I even stepped on to the board. But rather than gracefully diving off the top, I panicked and climbed right back down, shaking like a bowl of jello the whole way. Because – let me tell you – thinking you can do something like that and actually doing it are two VERY different things. You can never emotionally prepare yourself ahead of time for something you’ve never done (especially when you’re eight years old). And at the time it was easier to make all the kids at the bottom of the ladder get the hell out of my way (and bear the taunting that inevitably ensued) rather than to overcome my fear of missing the water and hitting the pavement with a big giant “splat.”

So having said that, even though it was really stupid of Carmella to come all the way out to L.A. just to change her mind, at least she had enough self-respect to make the decision to leave (and on national TV to boot) rather than stay, be really uncomfortable, and do something that she may end up regretting later. She wasn’t emotionally prepared for the experience and/or the repercussions thereof. So climb down the ladder and go home, my dear… and when you get there, tell your mother to shove it.

As for Terri, I don’t think she would’ve left on her own. She was terrified, but I think she would’ve stayed had Carmella not decided to leave. She looked like she was about twelve – well, except for the boobs, of course – and I don’t think she was mature enough to handle the whole situation.

Day 3 – the swimsuit competition

The girls are outfitted in their bikinis and head to the pool behind the mansion. They strike their poses. They all look sexy, they all look pretty, they all want to advance to the lightning round.

I’m now forced to replace two of my three original choices. So now I choose Christina, who’s the stunning brunette who models for a living, and Alexis, who really likes being naked (and by the way she hams it up for the camera, it’s pretty obvious that she’d rather lose the bikini). I’m sticking with Shallan as the winner here.

The only other girl who really stands out is Jennifer, because she’s very exotic-looking next to all the blondes. From the rest of them, we have Wendy, whose breast implants are bigger than my head; Danielle, a “sophisticated, mature blonde” (read: not pretty without makeup and looks a lot older than she claims to be); Lauren, who’s confirmed that yes, her breasts are real, and yes, they are about to fall out of her ill-fitting bikini top; Jill, who’s actually pretty skanky looking; and two interchangeable blonde girls named Sara and Katie. (I’m not entirely convinced that they’re not the same person, actually.)

So after the individual shoots are done, Hef comes out for a group photo. The girls fight the get a spot beside him. (Someone might have lost a few teeth… I’m not sure.)

Later that night Jill goes on in great detail about her daughter being born. (Ew.) As she drones on endlessly about how she almost died giving birth, I can’t help but wonder how her daughter figures into this whole Playboy scene… but whatever.

Day 4 – the lingerie shoot

The girls are dressed up in their Sunday best – or, rather, what they might wear beneath it – and pose on a staircase [presumably located] in the mansion. They talk about what they think about while posing. Jill talks about how she can see herself living in the mansion, going to the parties, etc. (Perhaps Ava will babysit for you.)

Hef and his jury take the photos from the two shoots and deliberate. Shallan has a “Nicole Kidman quality.” There’s much concern about Lauren’s real breasts and their innate inability to defy gravity. We then see Lauren and Shallan having a discussion where Lauren says, “Why has it come to this, where you have to be fake to look good?” (Ah, yes – the question of the ages. Hef? You want to take this one?)

Back to the jury – they comment about Katie’s great [fake] breasts. They say that Sara has that quintessential “girl-next-door” quality. (Who? Oh, right. Sara. No, wait, that’s Katie. No – aw, hell.) We see the girls sitting around whining. “I’m not going to make the cut” – “No, I’m not going to make it.” Christina leaves the room because they’re all too insecure and they‘re pissing her off.

So the jury decides who’s getting the axe, and Hef says, “Tell the other three girls I love them.” (The twenty-five seconds he invested in his relationship with the girls really meant a lot to him, apparently.) And we return to Ava, who is standing by the pool, dripping dramatic effect all over the place. “Hef wants you to know that he truly loves all of you” (please don’t get any on me, Ava) – but we can only keep seven to move forward. She calls the names of the girls who get to stay, leaving Jennifer, Wendy, and Danielle behind.

Katie/Sara says that Danielle wasn’t pretty enough, that she needed too much makeup to look good; Shallan says Wendy was maybe a little too wholesome; Alexis is shocked that Jennifer was eliminated.

I notice that everyone over the age of 23 is gone and that there’s only one brunette left. How shocking.

The remaining seven go to a Lakers game, but I’m not sure if that’s on day five or six. I seem to have lost track. Perhaps that’s because it has just occurred to me how pointless it is to write a point-by-point review about a contest where the prize is posing naked for Playboy.

I’ve also just realized how incredibly LONG this article has become and how completely unnecessary it is for it to be so. Allow me to sum up the rest in short order.

Day 7 – they do the nude shoot. While reviewing the photos, the Playboy folks decide to reshoot Shallan and Lauren. Ava tells the entire group that those two girls have to go back in. Lauren is shaken up; Shallan is grateful to have a second chance. All of the rest of the girls complain about how unfair it is. The Playboy people leave it up to Shallan and Lauren as to what reason for the reshoot they want to give the other girls. Someone starts a rumor that Lauren and Shallan have already been chosen, resulting in much wailing and gnashing of teeth. Everyone hates them now.

Meanwhile, all of the constant “I’m going to get cut because I’m not pretty enough” whining gets on my last nerve. There’s this conversation between Jill and the Sara/Katie conglomeration that went something like this:

Jill: [crying, but not so much to ruin her makeup] “I’m not going to make it.” (Tell me I’m pretty!)

K/S: [crying in the same fashion] “Why do you say that?” (No, you tell me I’m pretty!)

Jill: “I’m not pretty enough.” (Tell me I’m pretty, damn you!)

K/S: “I’m not either.” (You better say it first…)

Jill: [gasps] “But you’re beautiful.” (If you don’t say it back, I’ll scratch your eyes out, bitch.)

K/S: “So are you.” (It’s about time you said it, bitch.)

[Collapse into each other arms, sobbing.]

And – SCENE.

Guess what? They both get cut. The three finalists are Christina, Shallan, and Lauren. (A brunette, a dark blonde, and a blonde.) Guess that reshoot was a good call.

So the three finalists pose nude again, and these photos will be the ones to go into the July issue. Hef deliberates:

“Shallan has a great face but is a little thick in the body.” (And upon viewing this program she will most likely develop an eating disorder to combat said thickness. Way to go, Hef.)

“Christina is a little long in the torso, but is all natural, very attractive with attitude.” (Too bitchy for Playboy.)

Lauren – “Can’t beat that schoolgirl look. She has full, natural breasts, but because they are natural they need support.” (Well, DUH!!)

Hef decides that Shallan makes the biggest impression in person, that Lauren is the most photogenic, and that Christina has the most outgoing personality.

There’s more melodrama from Ava as she presents each of the girls with an envelope. The winner has an invitation to become a Playmate; the other two girls get a flight home. (Coach.)

The next thing we see is a limo pulling up to the mansion, and a pair of legs getting out. The legs belong to…

….Lauren. Ah ha! Real boobs aside, she’s blonde and busty and that’s good enough for Hef.

Christina is pissed that yet another blonde with big boobs is the centerfold. Shallan hopes that Lauren appreciates this opportunity and doesn’t just use it as “bragging rights.” Lauren is giggling like a six-year old while Hef fastens a Playboy necklace around her neck.

You can check out Lauren in the July 2002 issue. [Editor’s Note: Hitting newsstands soon, or you can subscribe to Playboy at a great discount.]

I still think Shallan should’ve won, but at least I got two out of three. Now, I’m not going to get into either the whole blonde vs. brunette debate or the fake boobs vs. real boobs one. It’s bad enough that this review took me two weeks to write and is now six pages long.

And in proofreading my own work, it can never be said that I can’t take up a whole lotta space and write a whole bunch of words about something that signifies so little.

Dana Walker is a writer/singer/songwriter/former reality show contestant living in the Los Angeles area. Contact her at LilDanaSunshine@msn.com.

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