"I spent the last month going around and meeting with the stores and the boutiques that carry my clothes." Jenny breathes: awesome. "I felt like a fat cheerleader." (Like my daughter; like an out-of-work model; like somebody whose husband leaves her holding the bag.) "As a designer, your worst fear is becoming irrelevant. Then I come back here, and find out the teenage intern tells me that exact thing." Jenny apologizes, but Eleanor's never been one for the easy truth: just for keeping quiet about it. In real life I would love Eleanor and overlook what she did, but the sad thing about TV is that I know Blair better and I can't. "Maybe that is exactly what I needed to hear." Speaking of, Jenny brains up and tells Eleanor the thing she needs to hear, and the thing Jenny needs to say. Canny: "You know, the first real dress I ever bought was one of yours." Eleanor shoots her a look and tells her to spare the pity and spoil the neurotic designer. "It's true! I bought it from... Well, from a consignment store..." Eleanor grunts in understanding: not judging, just understanding. "...Because that was the only way I could afford it." Eleanor nods, fanning herself.
I want to know about Eleanor's childhood. Because we already know her love life is isomorphic to Jenny's, and we know Harold is independently wealthy, and Eleanor is artistically gifted, so: are they the same? (Does Eleanor, in fact, have a brother I despise more than words can say? And will she, fingers crossed, give Jenny a raging eating disorder in addition to loving her more than Blair? Because I am now convinced that's what is happening, which is just so perfectly awesome.) "I was twelve, and I just wore it around the apartment. For months. It was one of the first things that made me want to become a designer." Jenny -- canny -- turns her flashlight on Eleanor's face to gauge her response. Which is just so beautiful, because she's not lying, but burlesque never is. "Jenny," Eleanor says distractedly, fanning herself, hiding her eyes with the fan before Jenny's flashlight onslaught: "The light."