Last night was the season finale of America's Next Top Model, and I'll admit it: I'm a sucker for this show. I don't wait for each "cycle" with bated breath, but if you can withstand the insufferable ramblings of Tyra Banks, it's a very entertaining hour of television. On the one hand, it's fun to mock young women who are convinced that being the hottest chick at their jerkwater high school puts them on the fast-track to the good life, despite being in an industry that considers 25 "too old". On the other hand, criticizing models for being vapid is missing the point; they're not trying to win a Nobel Prize. The show proves that modeling isn't nearly as easy as the rest of us would like to believe. Even if you're impossibly attractive, that's different than knowing what to do when the camera starts clicking. You and I couldn't do it. So, god love these little vessels of delusion and their fight to be on the cover of Seventeen magazine, where they can possibly inspire 13 million young girls to explore the empowering world of bulimia! And the cycle begins anew.
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