Thursday, July 14, 2005

It's all about the hair...
I can't stand that Bravo show, Blow Out. I really can't. Not the taut-faced, self-involved Jonathan ("dude, it's about the hair"). Not the "rocker chick" who breastfeeds her kid all over the salon ("should I let my baby STARVE???"), not the fake-boobs skank with the immobile forehead who forces her plastic surgeon to consult with everyone in the salon ("but I haven't had anything above my neck done YET"), not the 'mo who whines about the other stylists, not the assistant attached to Jonathan's ass, not the name-dropping queens, not his stupid ass girlfriend (watching her FEED HIM SOUP was repulsive), not the two women marketing his product who act like high-strung, brain-damaged chihuahuas.

No, I wasn't trapped under my sofa just out of reach of the remote during the marathon last weekend. But I'm watching it, obviously. Maybe I just like to feel superior. Maybe I'm drawn to 30-minute discussions about hair products. Maybe I like men who are crybabies after all. Or maybe something is WRONG with me.

Seriously, I almost bought the Jonathan hair products on Sephora last weekend. I caught myself talking about the show in the office on Monday. Consider this my plea for help. Somebody stop me, for crying out loud, before I get extensions and an upper lip implant. Make it go away so I can stop being alternately repulsed by the show and disgusted with myself. I am weak and cannot summon the will to turn it off. Damn Bravo and their TV transmission mind control. Damn them to hell.


  1. (sheepish)

    I like that show. It just proves to me that I'd hate living in LA. I'm not sure why I like it...but for some reason, when it's on, I can't bring myself to change the channel.

  2. I catch myself drawn to it, even though I too (claim to) detest it. Now I know how people addicted to crack feel. Or maybe not.

  3. Oh. My. God. Turn off the TV, I'll wrangle folks up for an intervention. I read this post with what I'm sure would be a hilarious look on my face...part disgust, part pity.


  4. I love the show and I don't feel the least bit embarrassed by it. It's dreadful, mesmerizing and banal, but so what? Do I really think that if I weren't forced to watch bad tv I would instead be writing a novel, hatching up a life-saving vaccine or adopting a baby in Africa? Nah...I'd probably be reading US.

  5. I religiously watched the first season because it was such a total and utter trainwreck that I just couldn't turn away. But this season? It makes me want to scoop my eyeballs out of their sockets with a rusty grapefruit spoon. The whole show makes me cry inside like a trapped gorilla baby. Seriously.


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