Elyse -- in a confessional taped after the upcoming big makeover that made her over into Lucille Austero guest-fronting Harlowe -- worries aloud if Adrianne isn't maybe taking the competition just a leeeeetle too seriously, noting, "I'm getting a certain stressful vibe from her." Oh, Elyse. No clue what it takes to become a top model, has she? Doesn't know there's no such thing as taking it "too seriously." Maybe the other girls are right. When it comes to medical school, she can fill out forms with the best of them. But when you get right down to top modeling, Elyse is all about the common application. Adrianne herself fills in the personal statement blank of why she's so passionate about this, telling us, "There's [sic] money issues in my family. And that's why I really, really need this." And just when I thought the English language would never have contextual use for the sentence, "If I don't learn how to successfully hold a snake around my neck, little Timmy won't be able to get that operation." But I guess there's always a first time for everything on Planet Tyra.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the penthouse, Nicole shows pictures of an oily bohunk to Giselle and Adrianne. Adrianne regards the photos and thinks, "Once, there's [sic] this time my family ate empty film canisters for Thanksgiving because it was all we had, y'all." Giselle squints her eyes really hard to make the gerbil wake up and start running around on the wheel in her brain again, asking Nicole of the oily bohunk, "Your boyfriend's, like, famous?" Nicole tells us that her boyfriend, Cory, races BMX bikes, which means he's either famous among a veeeeeeery select group of people who have that big "U" installed in their backyards, or he's twelve. Or he's both. Nicole tells us that she spends all of her time with her boyfriend, but "now I'm twenty-two and I need to learn a little more independence." This throws us to a quick-cut series of five confessionals that finds Nicole leaving voicemail messages for her man, who is out, I'm guessing, BMXing a series of other ladies and unavailable to be addressed on television as "honey" and "punkin'." That's good ridin' there, Tex.
"Beauty in real life and beauty in the modeling industry are two totally different things," says inveterate juxtaposer and lover of all things dichotomy Tyra Banks "Street Writer" in her opening confessional. For one, beauty in real life is often allowed to come with a side of delicious rye toast. The Crazy 8's arrive at a big-ass makeup studio called the Lepine Salon, as Tyra continues to attend to her voice-over punditry, adding, "It was important for me to transform the girls from normal, everyday pretty girls on the street to high-fashion models." The Crazy 8's enter the salon, where they are met by Tyra, who stands aside Jay "I Ain't No Glamour Boy. I'm Fierce!" Manuel, who I'm shocked -- SHOCKED -- to see was a brunet in the first season. And I'm shocked not because of Jay's second-season dye job. After all, he would ride the color wheel to Candyland with Roy G. Biv traveling shotgun if it was done for the sake of high fashion. Rather, I'm shocked at seeing him as a brunet because seeing Jay with natural-colored hair reminds us that he's an actual human being and not some advanced polymer concoction engineered in a Sanrio lab who should have a star fall following him wherever he goes, including to his home where he lives with a giant bumblebee inside of a totally fabulous flower. Tyra introduces Jay on one side of her and Lepine owner Kim Lepine on the other, explaining to the girls that Jay is her personal makeup artist (and probably Kabbalah spiritual adviser), and that he's going to be doing the makeup and Kim's team will be dealing with the hair. Tyra tells the Crazy 8's that they're already "fierce," but that she's going to make them -- she snaps four times and makes a wacky face, her eyes radiating meaning where mere words cannot -- "fierce." Fierce to fierce they'll go, in a montage sure to be fierce with five snaps, a pirouette on the left foot, a jump up and down, and nine jars of applesauce. Don't know what that means? Well, y'all should see what I'm doing with my eyes.