readers of this site should be very familiar with my worshipful attitude towards tyra banks and my near-obsession with her hit UPN reality tv show, "america's next top model." the show is a fabulous mix of cattiness, disturbing and beautiful clothing, the ever-present eating disorder, aspiring models freaking out when they have to place a spider on their boob, and sweet, sweet sadism dished out by the freakishly bitchy judges. in short, it's the perfect television show.

but in the past couple of weeks, i've started to question the wisdom of tyra banks (i know; i gasp at the horror of my impertinent mind as well). but really, the woman might know how to make good tv, but can she ACTUALLY produce a top model? i've seen no evidence of this. let's take a look at the winners of the first two seasons: adrianne curry and yoanna house.

they are both lovely girls, to be sure. and they both won whatever riches and fashion spreads that tyra promised would rain down over their heads. but once you win "america's next top model," aren't you supposed to, like, be successful at modelling?

curry and house's experiences would suggest not. curry is now a fixture on vh1's latest season of "the surreal life," where faded celebrities go to die (and she's only, like, 21). i saw her in one episode helping an inebriated mini-me get to sleep while he moaned obscenely; she also had the pleasure of acting as a nude serving board off of which her costars ate a meal of sushi. lovely. from the highlights of the next episode, i saw her proclaiming that she had fallen in love with christopher knight, the 40something dude whose only claim to fame is having played peter brady. alright. so adrianne curry is a) not modelling b) having verne troyer eat sushi off her breast and c) dating someone twice her age who is twice as washed up as she.

on to yoanna.

yoanna was supposed to be the recipient of an uningnorable sephora campaign and billions of dollars and infinite fame. but the funny thing is, the only place i've seen her since she won ANTM2 is, crazily enough, on ANTM3, dispensing advice to the new wannabe models and looking, if we're going to be truthful, a little fat.

now i read this report on gawker.com today that yoanna seems to have forgone modelling and is reaching into the uber-realms of something even more inspiring: auditioning for painkiller commercials!

Saw Yoanna, the America's Next Top Model has-been at a casting for a Tylenol PM ad, Friday morning in Chelsea. We, ahem, the models were told to come bare-faced (no make-up, that is) and she showed up in full-spackle in what would appear to be an attempt to camoflage a less-than-flawless complexion. AND she signed in with a huge, black Sharpie in lieu of the blue ball-point used by everyone else, so her name stuck out like a sore thumb. She hung around long enough after, in an apparent attempt for someone to recognize her presence, which didn't happen. So she inquired as to the whereabouts of the ladies' room, in complete ignorance of the HUGE sign stating "restrooms, 2nd floor" at her right.

OMIGOD, she used a SHARPIE. that BITCH. right.

so i've been wondering if tyra merely puts all her effort into the show and none into the so-called career of the actual winners, casting them off into the new york city gutters like used, browbeaten, emaciated raggedy-ann dolls, once they've served their purpose. if that's the case, i fear for poor eva, who has been by far my favorite winner of all the seasons; she's cute, feisty, just the right amount of bitchy and hopefully will suceed in some capacity and not end up hocking Swiffer WetJets on tv one day.

but if you're looking for a model that seems to have had some measure of success AND is spectacularly normal and funny, i suggest you check out the livejournal of elyse sewell, one of the runners-up on the first season of ANTM (AND she used to date a Shin!). she's clever, self-deprecating, and writes nuggets like these from the fashion world of hong kong, where she lives:

Smell that repugnant menstrual tang in the air? That's the scent of Fashion Week, which is still plodding forward more glacially than Naomi Campell on 'Ludes. I'm writing this (in my physical journal) from the hallowed estrogen-saturated Fitting Hall, during my seventh of eight hours here. Models in various stages of undress steal furtive glances at each other's g-string-clad asses and picked-over styrofoam lunchboxes. Vanity is inflated or punctured as designers march down a lineup, scrutinizing breasts, distributing outfits, musing aloud, "Hm, I need model with beautiful legs to wear this one." Narrowed eyes dart toward a scene near a rack in the corner: ohmigod, Ksenia can't zip the pants the designer handed her- another model must heroically step forward and volunteer to exchange outfits, but whose hips will be small enough? The air is constantly thick with tension, or maybe just with drifting hash smoke from the crowd of male models populating the bathroom.

a model with brains and wit. thank god tyra didn't pick her to win america's next top model. who knows how she would have ended up!