Tyra meets the girls at a French restaurant and tells them that she loves this town more than any town else. She regales them with a story about what it was like to come here for the first time, adding that she's sorry about the size of their room, but that the rest of the hotel was completely taken up with Jay Manuel's Napoleon complex.
Courrier du Tyra! Courrier du Tyra! They deliver constantly! And there's never a day off because they don't have to close on Sundays because the French hate religion! They do. I read it in Vanity Fair. Just kidding. I skipped it in Vanity Fair. Anyway, for some reason they let Kesse read the Tyra Mail, and she does. Sort of: "Tomorrow morning will be your first...what?" Awwww. Kesse doesn't know the word "Parisian." She finds it to be a -- how do you say -- mot d'éléphant. And so it continues: "Photo shoot." That night, everyone lies in bed, except for Robin, and Elyse tells us that everyone was very tired when they finally got back to the hotel. After the other girls are all in bed, Robin grabs a hairdryer and sets to task, but I guess the girls know they can blame Tyra because Tyra said it was her fault. ["I seriously don't know how Robin managed to escape that night without getting that blow dryer shoved up her ass. Sideways. I mean, sure, she took a shower, but they're going to a shoot tomorrow where they'll presumably do her hair, so she couldn't just sleep on it wet when four other people were trying to sleep? What an asshole." -- Wing Chun]
And, in full-on torture mode, the show makes them go to the Hilton for the photo shoot. Inside of a room, the girls come face to face with a close-up view of the Eiffel Tower right across the street, and for some reason I can't stop thinking about how different it would be if Ebony were still there, because I have this whole mental image of her walking in and being all, "This is something! This is amazing! I had a moment of religious epiphanosity" and so on until I climbed into the TV myself and dived-bombed out the window in order to impale myself on a hundred and fifteen years' worth of French history to just. Make. Her. Stop. Talking.
As they ready themselves for the shoot, we're given a Shannon revisiting primer. We'll let Adrianne take this one, what with her faultless oratory skills and all: "I have no idea what it is Shannon is holding inside. She's just so crazy because she's never done anything. She's never touched herself. She's never watched a porn." Y'know what? This is now none of my business. While applying her makeup, a suddenly emergent Jay "Jay/ What you been doin'/ You say your car broke down/ The thing just isn't movin'/ J.J./ Don't you know/ When you're down there's just one way to go" Manuel asks Shannon if she thinks it's okay to masturbate. Shannon, typically and one-dimensionally naïve, gives the money shot answer: "I knew a guy who did it, but I didn't know we could do it to ourselves." She then makes a horrified face at the notion of getting acquainted with one's lady parts that I remember making only once in public right before it turned into the worst prom night ever.