London is up next, and boy does she look dumpy. She's in the most unstructured outfit of all, and the belt around her rib cage gives her a John Goodman gut. The poor girl. What's more, her acting genes are letting her down as Elyssa tells her that she was a bit like a door-to-door salesman. Jay tells her that as soon as you try to sell people something, they get turned off. This is why her street corner church hasn't really taken off yet. London tries again and still seems like a phony phony fake phony. In an interview, London overacts that she might have overacted. It must be sad to have been born into a family of actors. Sorry, Shiloh. Tahlia is next, and tells us that she had no problem memorizing her lines. Memorizing how not to be a drip, however, proved to be the real challenge. She's terrible, and mad that she studied so much yet still is tripping over her tongue. Jay is more concerned that she's not bringing the same kind of spirit to the set as the other girls -- the kind of spirit where you've never seen anything so exciting as a new synthetic hair blush brush. She does another take and it's possibly better, except for the fact that she totally pushes Fo out of the way to get front and center. Fo handles it like a pro, though, and crosses back behind Tahlia to stay in the frame. Jay tells Tahlia that this competition may be hard, but it's nothing compared to being out there working. And it's hard until the day you decide you no longer want to be a part of it. For Tahlia, that day was two weeks ago. Tahlia confessionalizes that her confidence is there, it's just hidden. Well send out a search party. Good lord. With that, the shoot is over.
Back at the house, there is Tyra Mail. Someone is going home. Allison and Celia think that they did pretty well, but Allison is scared because she had the kiss of death comment about her face. Celia, however, is pretty confident and even feels like her take was the best of the group. As she says she thinks she can be a Cover Girl we head to commercials, because that is a cliffhanger if I ever heard one.
We enter panel with no Tale of the Benevolent Supermodel to guide us on owning our inner fierceness. I guess I have to make one up myself. Okay, here goes. "Once there was a recapperess who wanted to guide future couch potatoes. So she broke out the rules to fattening your own ass to counteract the shame you feel watching a bunch of skinny bitches walking around on TV. Rule number one -- dump a quarter of a bag of chocolate chips into a jar of peanut butter. Get a spoon. Seriously."