Someone's connections dropped out between the writing of the Tyra Mail and the woefully anticlimactic payoff. Because instead of going to a "house" in which all three of those grown women live together in some sitcom-esque way where lots of catfights ensue and pillow fights are to follow (I thought it, too. No need to be ashamed), the girls enter IMG, which is where Tyra wants us all to know we'll be getting a contract when we become America's Next Top Model. They're just going to the office that houses these girls' managers. The contestants are not meeting anyone. Does that give me the license to refer to any future correspondence from the executive producer of this show as Lie-ra Mail? Yes. Yes, I think it does.
Kyle "Bit Part" Hagler, one of Tyra's managers, shows up again, always a fount of optimism and good news: "We see a hundred people on a daily basis. Of that hundred people, we only sign approximately two a year." That means that of the approximately 250 workdays a year (365 minus weekends and a combined average of holidays, sick days, parent-teacher conferences, and The Hajj), they offer modeling contracts to two out of every 250,000 people who walk through that door? And on this show, they choose one out of twelve, from an initial application pool of 6000? Who else is on Kyle's "to see" list around that office? The janitors? The Staples guy? Suddenly, I'm not that upset about these girls' odds anymore. So stop crying. Catie? Wherever you are? Whatever you're doing? Whether we're absolutely certain you're crying or not? You are. So stop crying.
We learn that the girls will be going on what is called a "go-see," which a Shandi confessional tells us is like "going on an interview for a job," and Kyle continues on, "Nobody cares who you are. And you've to make them care. You've got make them want you. In a minute." He fires a few rapid-fire questions at the girls. Yoanna has a favorite fashion photographer! I feel like I'd get all flustered in trying think of one and be like, "Um, Anne Geddes?" and then the photo shoot that week would be of me in a blue blankie poking out of a flower pot. I mean seriously, the other girls just need to remember their names and hometowns. And Camille has to remember to not be hateful. And I have to remember that my photo shoot might also take place in a tire.
April pops in for second to waaaaay too technically (I'm just kidding...I still have no idea what that means) report: "Honestly, I, like, don't know when it happened, but all of the [sic] sudden, Yoanna and Camille are, like, friends." And, as sure as a witch will eat your young, we plop down in a confessional, where Yoanna and Camille are, as previously reported, just exactly like friends. Showing off her crack impersonation skills once more, Yoanna sports sunglasses and plays the role of, I guess, a reporter or a publicist or a fan or someone in the personal entourage of Diana Ross, who will be played by Camille. And they say there are no good roles for African-American women! Camille -- whose acting ability we've also seen as top-notch -- supplants the need for confessional character analysis by also wearing sunglasses (all of the greats did the same. Surely you remember the early-era Orson Welles and his much-heralded "Blind Hamlet" on the West End) and pretending to be Diana Ross. Camille stares directly into the camera and yells, "Yoanna, I love you!" She throws a big hug right onto Yoanna, and Yoanna pats her noncommittally on the forearm and hesitates, "Some days I love you too." Such a lack of tenderness for someone who spent so much time "praying" for Camille at night. I guess Yoanna is just trying to stick to her good, Christian dictum of "love the hugger, hate the hug." Yoanna recaps (which is always best to leave to the professionals), "Ebony and Ivory's first confessional together!" Yeah. That's not forced.