March 10, 2005
Brief Thoughts on PoweR Girls

lizzietal.jpg
For those who didn't witness the grand guignol debut of MTV's PoweR Girls, the show follows four primped PR interns and Lizzie Grubman – the suppurating spin doctor, that leathery, bottle-blonde grotesquerie – who is established as the show's object of aspiration. It seemed impossible that a reality-show godhead could get more nauseating than short-fingered vulgarian Donald Trump, but with PoweR Girls, MTV's endlessly innovative programming incubi have found reality TV's latest emetic. Is it Lizzie's factory-made face, the impossible sense of entitlement, or, lest we forget, the fact that she drove Daddy's Mercedes into a crowd of people?

To her credit, neither Lizzie's nature nor her nurture is all that – her father (who represents Barry Manilow) has a portrait of his wife's nether region hanging over the bed – seriously. And she is the one who discovered hip-hop.

For a group of people whose entire job is to kiss ass, these women don't quite manage to ingratiate themselves to the audience. The half-hour was enough to make me wish her offices weren't on Lafayette but were instead in the World Trade Center. PoweR Girls was like watching a quick-cut adaptation of Bret Ellis' Glamorama, but at least you could imagine those ciphers were attractive – with Power Girls we get four repellant wannabe's and one revolting queen bee. God knows I'll watch it next week – it was excellent.

Posted in a Shallow fashion.

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