2 Questions Every Girl is Asking Herself

Chapter 62

Most of the time I felt like a blind mouse being ushered along without much idea as to what was going on around her. She's here to play a part in the show, but without understanding how it fits into the grand scheme of things. Intuitively, I sensed there was a "grand scheme" of things in the background, but we were kept unaware of it. If I want to know what's going on, I would have to learn to read between the lines.

After the two hour lecture with Zheng Ge, we were sent to the studio to have our very first taste of a live recording.

JSTV's studio lobby was already swarming with people by the time we got there. With lanyard photo IDs strung around our necks, BeiBei led us through the backdoor, all the way inside to a row of plastic stools. (That's when I realized live audience sat on plastic stools).

I don't remember much about the show or the male contestants. They must've been quite underwhelming. But I remember the girls, for I sat closest to them. From my pit, I looked up at them – an angle you never want to be photographed in. Still, from such an unflattering angle, they struck me as unbelievably beautiful - their enormous eyes, their porcelain skin, their flowering red lips left an impression on my mind that had never been erased.

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The next day, we were back at the broadcasting headquarters at 8AM for hair and makeup. We were also asked to bring our own shoes and clothes.

When I proudly displayed my two favourite outfits to the stylist, she was totally unimpressed. My yellow camisole and black satin skirt were declared too casual. And my fabulous coral reef BCBG gown was dismissed with the wave of a hand – "too dull!"

The stylist who said this was a petite woman, reaching my shoulder maybe even in her high heeled shoes. She was sassily stylish and scarily bossy. She had straight black hair and thick rimmed glasses. (Which was comically reminiscent of Lucy Liu in Charlie's Angles, in her tight leather skirt, and taut little whip. Oooo barracuda.)

I thought they'd ask if I'd like to go for Hollywood glam or girl-next-door sweet, similar to the way you pick your dream look out of a magazine. But no. Everybody was in an assembly line kind of mad rush. They had 24 girls to get ready this morning, so the only thing that mattered was size.

"You're really thin. You might be the only person who'll fit into this top." She said as she handed me a sheer white top, "go to the back and try it on."

The back was a makeshift change room behind a makeup stand. There were no curtains. We all kind of just took turns and changed there. Anyone walking by could easily see us in our bra and underwear. But it's mostly women. And the metrosexual male stylists seemed to be only interested in men.

Anyhow, I tried on this white top made of stiff fabric and looked translucent like rice paper. It was difficult to get into it since the fabric didn't stretch. The sleeveless shirt cinched at the waist and then fanned out into two layers of big ruffles that held their shape like ballet tutus. When I came out, my stylist let out a giant gasp/grin, "Wow, you really can fit into it!" As though she was worried no one would be able to wear it and she was dying to see someone (anyone) wear it on camera. I felt so proudly useful that I wanted reply, "happy to be of service." (I didn't feel special among the girls, but I felt special just then. My claim to fame shall be: THE GIRL who wore that shirt.) She then picked out a short skirt for me, which was equally tight. It was an iridescent skirt in soft pink. Then she found a skinny belt of the same shade, and looped it around my waist. She tried a few necklaces on me, but in the end decided I looked best without any.

I thought I looked lovely. I thought I looked like an upside down peony, with white petals and a pink, sparkly center. Kind of like the ones mom plants in her garden.