Tyra(nny)
Last summer, my daughter Eliza got four tickets to a taping of The Tyra Banks Show. My only exposure to Tyra was from America’s Next Top Model, and she seemed like an okay sort, especially when compared to the silicone-packed coke-ravaged wigged-out nightmare known as Janice Dickinson.
Anyway, I’d never been to a talk show taping before. It sounded like it might be fun, or at least different.
The day before the taping they had e-mailed a list of acceptable attire. No jeans or sneakers. No bright white or bold patterns. “Think business casual.” When we arrived at the studio, we stood in a long line as production assistants trolled up and down, inspecting us. Finally, those who passed muster were let in and herded to a holding room where we sat in uncomfortable plastic chairs and listened to an extremely entertaining flagrantly gay guy bring us up to speed on Tyra Show dos and don’ts. We were to clap like trick seals when Tyra made her entrance. Under no circumstances were we to touch Tyra. “If she walks down the aisle near you, you can look, but don’t touch. You know why?”
We shook our heads.
“She’s wired for sound,” he told us. “All over. Even her booty. You touch her, she could short out. And let’s talk about her weave. If you venture anywhere near her hair, she will kill you. I am 100% sincere about that.”
We were finally taken by elevator up to the studio, where the crew began the task of seating us. The young and attractive were placed toward the front and on the aisles for maximum exposure. The old, the obese, the less expensively dressed, and the homely were herded into the back rows and out of sight. The production assistants were ruthless. They separated a bewildered gray-haired mother from her college-aged daughter. Two friends who’d come together were split up, the chunky one shoved to the back, and the skinny one escorted to the front. They started amassing a sidebar group, which included several very elderly Asian couples, a woman with a severe facial deformity and two physically challenged people in wheelchairs, who were then told to wait. I held my breath, wondering whether they might be taken out and shot, when, to my surprise, they were directed to the front. I was beginning to think the show wasn’t as overtly insidious as it seemed. However, when they began taping, I realized that this group of people had been seated up front behind the cameras, ensuring not only could they not be seen, they could not see.
I’m sad to say that despite the sinking, soul-killing feeling, we played along. We sat where they placed us. We smiled and clapped on cue. Afterwards, the girls and I talked about how we felt as if we’d stumbled into, and participated in, a very dark hoax. We never even watched the broadcast of the show.