Observations of an Obsessive Compulsive TV Aficionado
Sarah apologizes for the lateness of last week’s column, but she was sick…and on a weekend. So have a heart, already! Cut the woman some slack! She’s doing her best!
The Girls Next Door
This is my third season watching “The Girls Next Door”. I caught it completely by accident the first time. It aired about halfway through the first season and I thought it was going to be dumbest, grossest, most annoying show ever. Therefore, I must the dumbest, grossest most annoying person ever because I haven’t stopped watching it since. I LOVE IT!
Once again, I find myself completely enthralled with a show whose main premise and morals are my complete opposite. I mean, let’s be honest, this is a show about kept women. They are sort of like prostitutes who hit the jackpot. They are paid tons of money, are showered with gifts, given hot cars and a super fancy place to live–all for boning a gross old man. But through the genius of editing and some actually somewhat interesting personalities, I find myself not minding the 50-year set-back in women’s liberation and just enjoy watching the behind-the-scenes view into in the home of the most famous men’s magazine mogul of all time.
More on Sarah’s peek inside the Playboy mansion after the jump…
We’ve all wondered what really goes on at the Playboy mansion. We know that A-List celebs go there for all the big parties and that Hugh Hefner hasn’t got dressed in 30 years, but I think it’s the day-to-day life of Mr. Hefner and his girlfriends that is far more interesting. The running of a magazine is pretty boring, even if it does have naked people in it, and although the show infers otherwise, a good friend of mine who works there told me that Hef hasn’t really run Playboy for years. It’s all image and perception now. He’s like The Wizard in The Wizard of Oz, but hiding behind a curtain of boobs. That doesn’t make sense but it made me laugh picturing it.
But I will give the guy his due. He is an American icon, was a big part of the sexual revolution and truly built an multi-media empire. And let’s be honest, Playboy is very tame compared to most things kids can get their hands on these days, which is another reason why Playboy no longer makes much money. I actually don’t mind it. Although a lot of people still consider it porn, I have always thought that in many ways it was an art form and celebrated the beauty of women, even if the women are all a fantasy. It’s harmless.
“The Girls Next Door” sort of breaks down that fantasy woman and shows us who they really are. Even though the three girls didn’t even appear in Playboy until the success of the show, each one definitely represents three very different fantasy women. Holly, the main girlfriend is really a classic beauty (if a classic beauty has bleached hair and fake boobs, of course) with a quick wit and a desire to please her man. She would pretty much be the perfect wife, especially if you like your wife to cook nude. Bridget is the naturally curvy and super giggly girl who balances a love for dressing her dog in pink, frilly dresses with two undergrad degrees and one Master’s on the way. Then there’s Kendra. Oh Kendra, where do I start? Kendra is basically a dumb jock with boobs. This girl is dumber than Bridget’s dog, but her love of sports, fried food and sleeping makes her every college guy’s dream girl. Although her lack of brain cells can be exasperating, I do love the fact that while the other girls will walk around the house all sexied up in their lingerie and high high high heels, Kendra will turn up in a Chargers sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. Just don’t listen to her laugh, it kills babies.
The show really is about these girls and what they get up to for special events, photo shoots and sometimes pursuing careers outside of the house. As far as their future careers go, from what I’ve seen so far, they better hang on to this gold mine for as long as they can. Lucky for them, they’ve all got at least a few more years on those bodies and Hef can’t possibly be around that much longer. Usually the only time he appears on the show, he is shuffling the around the hallways of the mansion in his slippers and robe, sitting in bed watching movies that were made before Shirley Temple was a drink, and greeting the girls with the sloppiest, wettest of kisses, like a dog licking the afterbirth off its puppies. And as grossed out as you are reading that sentence, I feel grosser when I see him put his rubbery drooling lips on those cute young girls. Ugh.
So here’s my advice, if you take “The Girls Next Door” for what it is, neatly-packaged reality fluff, complete with silly sound effects and clever editing, you’ll enjoy it. But if you start thinking about what these women are really doing and notice their slightly blank stares behind the heavy make-up and bleached hair, you might wonder if our great-grandmothers are turning in their graves. To their good side.