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And now, Cassandra. Her new style is "mod with an edge." "With an edge" is code for "ugly." Seriously, Cassandra looks like your crazy aunt from the trailer park who always talks about how she was homecoming queen in 1982 and just took a job at the 7-11 so she could get a discount on Marlboros. In other words, Cassandra looks like a vision of her own future. And like popular 1980s country singer Lorrie Morgan. And, as many a forum poster has pointed out, Roxette. She's got the look, all right. The hair color makes her look totally old and leathery and the cut is all spiky and weird and too long for it to be a Mia Farrow look. I know Cassandra kind of sucks, but she's right on this one. She says that she can't help being feminine even though she has super-short, hideous hair, but the thing that made her mad was that Jay told her she shouldn't be feminine.
Jay tells the girls that they should all work on adopting their new supermodel personas. They all look kind of tired, and Lisa's hair looks like a wig. They return home to Tyra Mail: "Get ready to rack up some fashion cred. Be ready at 6:30 AM." Cassandra speculates that they are going shopping, but says that nobody believes her. Back in her room, she says that she's going to sleep with her ponytail next to her because she misses her hair. She does not look like the same person at all. In the confessional room, Ebony and Nicole play with bobble-headed punching dolls and make fun of Cassandra and how everything is about her hair. Cassandra then tells Kyle that she can no longer stroke her hair and admire her own beauty when she goes to brush her teeth in the morning. She interviews that a lot of the girls don't understand why she got so upset about her hair, but that they should. Ebony and Nicole continue to make fun of her, whining, "My hair! My hair! My hair!" into the camera. It's pretty funny. Kyle speculates that the way Cassandra has acted about her hair might put her in line for elimination. Cassandra wonders how far she'll get in the competition and how much her hair is worth as we cut to commercials.
When we return, a bunch of the girls are talking about Cassandra. Kim says she complains so much that it's kind of a joke, and does an impression of Cassandra wanting to use the phone to tell people about her hair. She interviews that Cassandra's incessant whining might hurt her chances in the competition. Cassandra whines to her boyfriend and says that he'll hate the hair. He probably will. I know I do.
The girls trudge off to the rooftop of the Luxe Hotel on Rodeo Drive. Ebony says that the streets are so clean it's ridiculous. Because Beverly Hills totally needs the PR. And then in comes flouncing a large bald man with a giant orange and white polka-dotted muumuu and orange blazer. Guess he skinned Jay Manuel Buffalo Bill-style. The girls stare in wonder at this clowny human, who introduces himself as James St. James, "club kid extraordinaire, fashion provocateur, and definition of personal style." I know, I know, Disco Bloodbath and all that. But come on. ["My sister, who was too young to nerdishly read about Diane Brill in Details like I used to as a teenager in Saskatchewan, asked me what a 'club kid' was and I had a very hard time explaining. What was a club kid? Did they have jobs or what?" -- Wing Chun] James tells the girls that personal style means you can be fat, forty, and bald, and dress like a clown, and still be the most fabulous person in the room. Well, that's four out of five. We see a photo of him shoving a finger up his nose as he tells the girls that they must have a point of view behind their look. He says that today, they will go on a personal style mission, in which they get $500 each to buy an outfit that fits their personal style. Coryn mouths "Oooh," and it looks like the Midnight Tranny to Georgia has left the station. That hair is doing her no favors, though I will admit that the eyebrows are improved. The winner of the challenge gets to keep her outfit, which makes them all glad that their personal style isn't "fat, forty-year old bald clown." The girls get an hour and a half and race off. James St. James trails them wielding a megaphone. I can see why they did this at 6:30 in the morning. There are practically tumbleweeds rolling down Rodeo Drive.