Cut to Tyra giving Catie a big hug, Catie spontaneously sobbing, "I look like a boy!" Maybe that's why I like it so much. Tyra doesn't so much console, saying "Right now it's a little Oliver Twist." Hey, why is there all this brimstone bubbling up from underneath my floorboards? Could it be because supermodel Tyra Banks just referenced 19th-Century British author Charles Dickens? Perhaps I've been underestimating the educational value of A Muppet Christmas Carol. Tyra says that it's going to look great when it's styled, but that "it's okay to cry, 'cause it's different." And it may not be today, and it may not be tomorrow, but whenever Catie doesn't win this thing -- which she won't -- this is going to be the moment why. Remembering that she's really cool and mod and street or whatever it's called when you pretend to be dumber than you are, Tyra promises, "You're not gonna look like a boy, girl. You got titties, you got booty, you gonna work it out." Now that's parenting. That's what my mom used to say to me whenever I used to get upset. And I'm not trying to throw my hat into the nature/nurture debate, but, I mean, some shit went wrong and I'm not trying to blame anyone for it, okay?
Heather: "I'm just kinda worried about my hair, 'cause I didn't have any kind of change done. In the end, they might look at me and say, 'Hey, you haven't had any kind of change. Can you change?'" Oh, cram it. No one will ever even emotionally invest in you enough to say anything like that to you. Leave, Heather. Here's some bus fare. Keep the change. Can you keep the change?
Contact fittings! Smoky eyes! Styling! Xiomara loves her new, girly look. Mercedes loves her new, edgy look. Shandi -- platinum blonde and accidentally falling more into the Extreme Makeover category -- tells us that she feels pretty. And sure enough, she took off her glasses and took down hair, and a gorgeous girl emerged out of that. And also the winner of America's Next '80s Teen Comedy Archetype.
Reclining on the phone chair at Zo-Loft and wearing a red sweatshirt and jeans and looking more like this guy I dated for a while than ever, Catie whines to her boyfriend (who, one can infer from some of his vocal inflections, might be a guy I could date for a while too, if you know what I mean and I think you do), "You're gonna be shocked when I come home." He asks, "Why?" Because of how soon it's going to be, if this attitude keeps up? He guesses out of nowhere that she cut her hair really short, asking, "Is it short, like boy short?" a little too hopefully if you want to ask me about it. Catie stops fingering her one remaining strand to actually put her hand over her eyes in southern belle anguish and start to sob. As if trained in the finely honed art of not giving a crap, her boyfriend whines, "You don't have to cry." He tells her he's sure it looks good, and asks her if she's getting compliments on it. "Yeah," she whimpers, her voice steadying a bit at the thought of being loved superficially. She tells us in a confessional that she has to get used to change and reinventing herself, because "models do that, like, every month." Every month? Ladies and gentlemen, you can add this information to your biology textbooks: for those remaining few of you who still believed that models were actual human beings, watch them sometime when they're molting.