The task is actually relevant for once: overseeing the redesign of corporate uniforms for Embassy Suites. Roxanne and Allie, despite much canoodling and love talk, manage to create something combining the attractive flair of Captain Eo with the utility of Daisy Dukes. Allie's contributions include the incorporation of culottes, okay, and a nonstop barrage of offense directed at Marc Bouwer, who probably won't be offering to help Trump with any more tasks for a while. Meanwhile, Lee and Sean rock out again, this time by listening to the employees they interview and using the information they discover. Sean takes a second to whine some more about Tammy, ever less convincingly or interestingly, and Gold Rush takes their awesome reward: dinner with the incandescent Ivanka and almost charming Don Junior. As usual, Ivanka is the best part of the episode. The worst? Although Roxanne and Allie, as "co-PMs" on this monstrous task, deserve not only to be co-fired but co-rapped smartly on their co-knuckles for being co-idiots, they are instead co-fired for...appearing in the Boardroom, arguing their sides, and presenting their separate cases for why they should stay. Because women, when behaving in a manner usually lauded on this show -- and doing a much better job of staying rational and graceful throughout than in almost any Boardroom in memory -- are held to a completely different standard of behavior, because women are inherently irrational, the rules of the Boardroom turn upside down and backward: war becomes peace, freedom becomes slavery, and as per usual, ignorance is the only strength a bitter woman-fearing magnate can possibly claim. For the crime of discussing their own and each other's merits in a Boardroom designed for explicitly this purpose, during a rational discussion the derailment of which he continually attempts to instigate, Trump decides they're both just being bitches -- and fires them both so they'll shut up.
Last week, Roxanne kind of laughed at Tammy when she said she was getting ganged up on, but then so did I. Trump told them -- and this is important, if you look up as the anvils are falling on your tender little head, you can see this etched into them -- that there's a "difference between friendship and business." If you're a lady, anyway. If you're a man, friendship comes with the territory, because men are accountable for their behavior in a way women never could be. Yeah, it's going to be that kind of recap. Between this and fucking X Men III I'm this close to giving myself a crazy-person haircut in the bathroom and carving "Susan B. Anthony Died For Your Sins" into my torso like Marky Mark, whilst listening to music from the imaginary Riot Grrl movement of the late '90s. Or maybe I'll go the other way, scarf a Double Meat Man-Boy Love Burger, and just start tossing women in the pool. The first one that doesn't float, that's the girl I'll marry.
Maybe it'll be Sean, who is making a salad for his woman, whom he knows is not coming back with his head, but his heart keeps whimpering, "Hundreds of Apprentice babies, and then I'll finally be a man." He dances around with a mannequin to which he's stapled a picture of her face while telling us that if Tammy comes back, he'll be "over the moon," and that "probably" the first thing he'll do is "grab her and take her in the bedroom and just give her a big hug." What is this, Cinemax? That kind of filth may be fine in the land of Madame George and roses, but over here it's just sickening. The wave of pure, seething masculinity that comes off Sean all the time is really just overwhelming.
On the subject of bitches, Sean tells us that Roxanne and Allie "put on the image that they're holier than thou," that they're "clean," but that when the cards are down, they will totally play along with your made-up excuses about drowning in a sea of "istrogen" or whatever the fuck reason you get to think of yourself as a victim. Downstairs, Trump fires Tammy for her design, which admittedly he's right in saying "stunk," and the Unclean Women return to the suite. Lee hugs Allie, who pours a glass of wine for the very stressed-out Roxanne, and Lee stands around noticing Sean's extreme pouting in the corner. He interviews that he'll "have to listen to them for another week" and pouts some more, because of their horrible harpy voices. At dinner, Allie and Roxanne talk about how Tammy "went after" Roxanne, who tells us that Tammy's "beefs" (cut to the steak Sean has tenderized with his tears) with her could really apply to Lee or Sean, and I wish we could hear more of that conversation, because WORD. Allie does more of that nonstop chattering about how there was no "teaming up" and repeats that obnoxiously forever, and then -- this is subtle -- says that she was just trying to mediate between Roxanne and Tammy, who were really the ones causing trouble. Which is funny, because Allie was the only one called out by both Viceroys for her bitchy behavior, but hey, she's a martyr, what can you do. Sean blanches as Allie describes -- almost impartially -- the way that Tammy wasn't having it, just kept "huffing and puffing and ignoring," which I totally agree with. He's ever so sickened and scandalized by Allie's ongoing self-flattery, which I'm feeling, and then gets all Sean-like into the camera about how he's "bored to tears of the rubbish that they come up with," and that he will "destroy" them, and that he will take "great pleasure" when they have to go back to the Boardroom. Fuck all four of you for the fact that I agree with him on that, and fuck you double for making me root for effing Lee. Out of eighteen people, the only competent person on my screen is also the total pisher I've been hating the entire time. Go Lee!
Credits. Sean answers the phone, disgustingly, in his underwear -- why always the underwear, with Sean? -- and Rhona has a totally different voice than normal when his accent hits her ears. They are told to meet T-Square at Estée Lauder for the task. You know who's a total bad-ass? Estée Lauder. What a fantastic lady she was. So the music goes crazy and we realize why we're at Estée Lauder: the one-year anniversary of Trump's fragrance. Some random ladies do a bunch of stuff for Trump while he looks self-satisfied, and when the Apprenti come by, Trump tells Allie and Roxanne that what they did to Tammy "was not nice, but it's called business," and Sean pouts. One of the ladies describes how the Trump Smell bottle is shaped like Trump Tower. Which is, in turn, shaped like what? You guessed right! Because somebody said the word "design," the segue is complete: the task is to design four new uniforms for the Embassy Suites hotel chain. Front Desk, Breakfast Cook, Suite Keeper, and Bellman, using provided designers, a studio, models, hair and makeup. Why the last three? Because the winner will be decided by a panel of regular old Embassy Suites employees based on a fashion show. This task is cool because it emulates what you'd be doing: oversight of a product that means both utility and brand representation, and dealing directly with employees. I like that.
Feel the Rush! Lee is PM, for the fourth time. I don't know how many times Sean has been PM, which is part of the problem. Lee starts saying that he wants to start with focus-grouping the employees, and Sean stupidly fights him on this, saying that their client is the hotel. He really goes from zero to hysterical faster than any person I've ever seen. About everything! Lee patiently explains that this is true, but the decision will be made by the employees, so shut up. I guess it would be redundant to remind Sean that he is Lee, the only person who knows what's ever going on. He interviews us about that though, of course, and says that if he wins he'll be three and one, which is, to his mind, quite "legit." Sean goes on some kind of rant about how poorly Roxanne dresses, and he hisses and pisses and says he never thought he'd be so "proud" to be "metrosexual." I remember when this season was being filmed, and let me tell you: the term was well past its due date by that time. I thought I was being charmingly retro when I used it on Ryan Seacrest, which was like well before that, even. Now we just call them..."guys." People. Who like to look good. Sean needs this memo. Lee, on the other hand, is so cutting-edge he's still not clear on what the term meant when it was current, and seems to think it means Sean's kinda bi. Which: Sean's creepy as hell, but not in that bi way. For the error of using a word ending in "-sexual" when it's just them in the van, they sentence themselves to fifteen repetitious fist-bopping screams about how "this" is "what they are talking about." It was going to be Hail Marys and self-flagellation, but Lee doesn't know that one. That is not what he is talking about. Well, the first part anyway. The second one he knows about, but doesn't talk about. Especially not with dubious Sean around.
Gold Rush meets with John and David, the absolutely adorable Embassy Suites executives. I love them more than any executive they've ever met with. I don't even know why, I just want to pinch their little old-man cheeks. Much bollocks is talked about the values and branding of the company, which as usual veers wildly from the reality. "High quality," "upscale but informal," these are the words that come up. Neither "temporary home for drug dealers" nor "haven for the vigorously drunk" are mentioned. "Don't call it a divorce, that's too final! Say trial separation!" Know your customer base, that's all I'm saying. "It's not that I hate my boyfriend, I'm just focusing on my career right now. Which unfortunately involves a lot of travel." One of the most excellent VPs tells them in no uncertain terms that it's the staff that'll be wearing this shit, so you better make them happy. Lee's like, "I knew that right off the bat."
Lee and Sean then scare the metrosexuality right out of some doormen. One of them is like, "You know what looks sharp? Epaulettes." Only neither he nor the boys know that word, so there's a lot of gesturing to the shoulders and then Sean -- clearly sold on this idea that he is the metro nexus of all fashion -- is like, "A Gucci sort of thing?" Yeah, sure. What do you say to that? "Are you hitting on me?" The doormen look at each other and Ivanka watches this going down, but Lee and Sean end up charming the guys. I like watching Lee work, when he's working. He's good. Damn him. They take on the suite keepers, who are like, "The uniforms are fine, the uniforms are fine...well, okay, I'll level: the fabric I wouldn't force a corpse to wear. But other than that, I love the job. Please don't quote me." Lee interviews that the point is that they like what they have, but there are key things they'd like changed. And again: totally charming with the ladies of housekeeping.
Synergy, not so much. The execs -- still skipping over the "our customers generally carry beepers" part -- say they are going to be looking for a balance of "panache" and "function." I miss Charmaine! Allie comes away with a strange feeling that their duty is to "change the uniforms from the ground up." Opposite of Lee. "Not just tweaking," she says. At the front desk, the woman produces her admittedly horrifying pants, which are a mountain of fupa-pleating that kind of explain themselves. Much is discussed about how the front desk person just wants to be flattered and pleatless, pantswise. Roxanne is on board with this, Allie nods in a way that would suggest the same. They go meet the suite keepers, and Allie loses with a vengeance at this very moment. "You look great. Have you ever heard of culottes?" That scream you heard last Monday? Across the nation? That happened right about here. None of the people she talks to are aware of what culottes are. Whether you're looking for the right time to admit you're a member of a cult, your mom makes your clothes, or you are home-schooled -- or all three! -- I find that a nice pair of culottes really breaks the ice!
Allie smarms to us that, as women, she and Allie are simply "more in touch with fashion," flying directly into the culottes thing like a bird into the sun, and gives a great example: "The suite keepers -- there's no way the men would have come up with the culotte idea!" Or indeed, anyone not in league with the Devil! The suite keepers are scared shitless during this conversation with Allie and Roxanne. Roxanne just looks tired. ["I, meanwhile, thought it was an obvious editing fake-out at this point, like, of course the team that attempted the culotte is going to lose -- except, psyyyyych!" -- Sars] Ivanka appears and they greet her unctuously, and she asks if they've chosen a Project Manager yet. Don't attack the Girl Power! Which is now wearing culottes, in the grapes. They giggle and mince around, and Ivanka's like, "How about you do that fucking right now, commies?" Allie says she'd like two wins under her belt, and interviews to us that there is now literally no difference between the two of them, so it doesn't really matter. Gross. She floats this giant lie to Roxanne -- "It's like we're co-PMs!" -- and they hug across a table. But, like, it's not a lie so much as deeply naïve, because one is always the loneliest number, and week or this week, they're going to be split up. I think it's a fear-of-confrontation thing with them, if you're going to assume that being women has any bearing on what happens here, and I don't say that because they are women, but because of the shit they pulled on Tammy last week, which was passive aggression at its ugliest.
Weekly Wisdom -- and get ready to dodge those anvils we discussed -- "Work Vs. Friendship." T-Square tells us that it's always great to have friends in business, but that you can't let it "hurt your goals" or "hurt your business." Which is...self-evident. He tells some assembled audience of the bilked that waaaaaaaaaay back when he was in total debt up to his eyeballs, his "friends" were "happy" about his misfortunes. Um, Trump? Those are not "friends." Those are bitches. Wait, actually, I take that back, because when you're playing on that kind of chessboard, poor-on-paper but still rich, the whole money thing is a game anyway, so it's like being secretly overjoyed that you beat for friend at racquetball. Or else I'm giving him and his cronies too much credit. His point is valid, though, that you can separate out ruthlessness in business from letting it get personal. Which is a point made eloquently in the credits of the show each week. But the anvils must fly, no matter what, and the problematic relationship between women being such a primary focus this season, you might as well be forthright about it. "I fought like hell and beat the crap out of them with my success!" he Gekkos, and the crowd goes wild and turns on each other, howling wordlessly and stripping the fatter ones for meat.
The Rush meets up with Edward, their designer at Lafayette 148, who makes me think Living Colour must have broken up and found other employment. Sean sketches out their ideas, and impresses Lee with his skill, and Ivanka nods watching them, and halos the size of Escalade rims appear above their heads. Well, that's cynical. It's nice to watch them work, to be honest. This designer guy is blowing my mind. He's dressed like a Yoruba priest in space. Lee interviews us his mindset: they're not going too "out of the box," because these people are going to have to work in this stuff every day. His worry is that the girls will be "too innovative" and blow the minds of the employees with flashy designs that the staff didn't even know they wanted. Which...is what's going to happen, just not in a way that he needs to be worrying about. They are going to "innovate" all over those people's faces!
The ladies of Synergy meet with Marc Bouwer, their design consultant. Who is aworld-class a-hole, but that's still pretty amazing. Roxanne interviews adorably about how he designs for "A-list celebrities" such as Melania, and that she saw a picture of them together! She giggles. They show Marc their designs and he's like, "A high-fashion approach?" Which doesn't trip any wires for him, because he's rarefied and has no idea what you would even do with culottes in this day and age, except give them to Allie as revenge, because she matches him dick for dick, in terms of headedness. She balls up the lethal concept of the culottes and throws it as his bitchy little head, and he doesn't even bat an eyelash. "What about a culotte for the suite keeper?" Sounds great! Allie interviews that the staff wanted to "brighten things up" and that there's a need for "style and functionality" -- and I need you to fucking explain this one to me in tiny, tiny little words -- "it's probably more important to be stylish than functional." The hell you say? Rewind. "It's probably more important to be stylish than functional." Roxanne? Can you smack the idiot out of your "co-PM" with a quickness? That's so...I don't even know what that effin' means.
Allie is a fuckin' ex-jock! She knows from..."That gymnastics one-piece is super-cute, but I think it needs some belled sleeves and puffed shoulders like fuckin' Avonlea and maybe like a bustle. You know, to flatter the countenance. Ooh, you know what would be nice? Like a scarf! And a sash! And tiny bells around the...no, you know what? A collar with bells on it. And like a chain hanging off of it, that'll look great as you're garroting yourself on the high bars. That's so edgy! That's like when the Gautier house leased out all those designers to Express, is what that's like. But for that extra-urpy color scheme that flatters no one, let's go with...hmm...peach with emerald green highlights. Nothing says 'I only agreed to be a bridesmaid so I could fuck your cousin' quite like that! Are there any features or body-shape issues you're uncomfortable with? Because I can highlight those like a motherfucker if you want."
God knows Bouwer loves tweaking the eating-disordered more than anybody. Marc gets to the front desk pleats issue, and Allie blurts out that they'd like a nice straight skirt, since the only thing the front desk people wanted was to camouflage their hips. That's literally all they wanted. You know what, a tailored waistcoat and a pencil skirt will flatter exactly the three anorexics on staff, so let's go with that. Roxanne's like: "PANTS! They wanted pants. That's all they would say: flat-front slacks. Flat-front slacks." I honestly think Allie's just operating on some kind of info overload here, because the conversation about the pleats was, like, graphic, with much visual-aid action. How do you forget that? By whipping yourself into a frenzy trying to outdo Marc Bouwer, that's how. Which is a moronic and control-freak thing to do anyway, because you will never outdo Marc Bouwer, because he is mean as a snake.
The Rush gets overexcited, as is their wont, in the fabric store. I have my future narrowed down to exactly two men in this world, operating from my Holly Golightly Palimony Excel Spreadsheet: Slade Smiley from The Real Housewives Of Orange County, and Tim Gunn. One because he's a total mess, but the kind you can easily manage if you know the trapdoors and ugly viper pits cold, and the other one because he's like too totally awesome. The point of telling you this is that we are friends, and friends can admit things to each other, but also that any time we go to a fabric store on this or any other show, I can feel my destiny calling louder than Jo-Jo Dancer, and what it's saying is, "What happened to Andre?" I'll tell you exactly what happened to Andre: he got in my way. Back on topic, Edward the Rush designer stands around in a smock, now looking like the hairdresser on the Nebuchadnezzar.
Over in Marc Bouwer's sweatshop, Allie's acting up and being weird. Also weird: their designs. Color aside, they look like Pigs In Space. Like if Spock joined the priesthood. Like those clone people you used to see all the time. Like Heaven's Gate. It's ridiculous. Marc Bouwer tries to explain some basic shit to Allie, and she's not having it. She keeps dissing the uniforms, which are on dress forms and clearly just basted, about how this needs to be smaller and that needs to be more hidden, and Marc's at his wit's end trying to explain about how when they're actually sewn, they will have those aspects, because of how seams work, because...she's like, "Please." She is up Marc Bouwer's ass all over the place and Roxanne's like, quietly, "I don't have a problem with it." Marc tries to make Allie happy, sort of, and she's off on another thing, and then she's like, "Wait a minute, this isn't the fabric we wanted." Like she's accusing him of sabotage or something. It's awful to watch. I hate that kind of rudeness. Marc Bouwer's like, "Um..." and for a second I think we're going to get a meltdown scream-fight, but instead we cut to Roxanne, who compares bitching at Marc Bouwer to "telling Spielberg how to direct," which is true in a few ways, none of which are flattering to either of them, but that's just my personal taste. Allie continues to harp and natter and rant and Marc Bouwer gets a bijou headache and whistles tiredly to himself. Roxanne tells us that this behavior would be an "embarrassment to the Trump organization." The icing on the ugliness cake is when they're leaving and Allie says, "Thank you, Michael!" Roxanne's always-eloquent face screams, "Fuck!" Marc hisses, "Michael?" She drools and freaks all, "I don't know why I said that!" in this fake-bright scared to death tone. "Thank you, Marc!" Ooooh. I don't normally enjoy the falling on your face this much, but damn! That was sweet! Marc makes a terrifying face...but is it her ugly chenille hoodie? Or her ugly Satan-infested soul? Only Marc knows. And he's going to take it out on the fleshy size-two fat-ass monster that walks in anyway.
I love that this was the last straw. They are so perfectly matched in terms of asshole quotient. He does, to be fair, get a very sympathetic edit here, and you really feel for him, but sometimes you have to remember the umeboshi, and I will never forget Marc Bouwer's umeboshi. Even though I also kind of enjoyed it, because I despise Cassie anyhow. But just like here, you don't have to be one good/one bad, in fashion: you could have a whole room of assholes and not feel the need to draw the line around anybody in particular. Well, except Von Furstenburg, because her daughter is the coolest. Like Ivanka-cool, is how cool Miu is, which I've already admitted conveys special love via the transitive property. And I love Vera Wang no matter what you say, because she works hard and takes pride in her work. Also Donna Karan. But Marc Bouwer? Could you fucking earn that kind of behavior? We made up a quiz of what store would you be at the mall, and I was going to include it here, but I don't know enough about fashion to really say anything beyond what I like, and that Harry Winston ads are cool. It was determined that I used to be Banana Republic, but somewhere along the way I became Anthropologie, and the proof is that I wasn't even a little bit troubled by that, because as metaphors go: I give. The other thing that was determined is that I am turning gay.
Ten seconds to FASHION! Sean calls some model "darling" and tells her step-by-step exactly how to handle the cat walk (See! It could happen to you!). Roxanne, regrettably, calls the suite keeper style "chambermaid" -- which, you think you know what she means, but you really don't yet -- and asks for a bun like Naomi Campbell might have, were she a chambermaid. And let me tell you, you better lock your coke up tight if that is the case. Allie says she wants "sexy," and, like, what is sexier than patronizing your client to the point of dressing them up like Japanese cartoons in the land of color-blindness. (In the Land of the Color-Blind, the one-balled Sean is king!) Roxanne tries to psyche herself successful, about how they've gotta be "flexible," and "take risks," and -- for all the obnoxitude here, I liked this part -- looks over at a terrified Allie, and says her name, and then they lock eyes and Roxanne slowly nods, and Allie's like, "I know." Their whole "double act" act is grotesque, but that's a cool moment between friends. Remembering that human beings generally do others the courtesy of having their conversations aloud, they bust out how "amazing" everything is. It's not entirely convincing.
Embassy Suites' own David! And Jay! I love them! They welcome the people, and backstage there are male models, which are like my favorite variety of people, because they know what they are good at, and they do it, and then they go home and do it some more. For all the talking and overthinking I do, I get along really well with male models for some reason. Vanity is like the international language. It's the same reason I want a Weimaraner. The exact same thought process: "Not until I have a backyard."
Round One: Front Desk. Gold Rush is awesome: a sleek business suit with really loose lines, in a very awesome pinstriped charcoal cashmere, kind of sexy but very versatile, with a green scarf. Synergy is...imagine Britney's flight attendant costume from that video where she did the boob thing. Okay, now tailor the sides from the waist to your pits, so you look pregnant no matter what. Good. Your breasts are looking a little too flattered, so I need you to scoop hell out of the lapel, so the whole décolletage is like heart-shaped. Now, no matter your figure, you're going to look like you're carrying boob fat. Great. Let me see those knees! Hike that shit up! Okay, too far. Add about a five-inch ruffle along the bottom, that's like creped or ruched or something, so that you look like a feather duster with giant hips. And nobbly knees sticking out like Ichabod Crane! Perfect! Roxanne on Round One: "They're more traditional than we are." Austin Scarlett on Round One: "As I live and breathe! I think I have the vapors."
I wish the rest of the episode were hanging out with David and Jay, and the models. That would be so much more fun. I wish Ivanka and DJ could come too. Champagne for all. But no. The reality is that we must go on, in this business they call "show." Trump notes to the assembled jerks that this is "really a contest of men vs. women," demonstrating that he's still quick on the uptake w/r/t basic secondary sexual characteristics. It's the rest of it that gives him trouble, though, isn't it. He asks if the execs have a favorite, and they're like, "Um, there's a winner, all right. And we're using their shit all over the country starting now." Which is so, so awesome. That's something you can actually be proud of. "The best Zathurafloat" or whatever? That's nothing. This is awesome.
Ivanka on Gold Rush: comments included "comfortable to work in," "Gold Rush rocks," and the triple slam: "Modern, sophisticated and professional." Yes! DJ gives us the info on Synergy: "The material doesn't look comfortable," "nice designs, wrong colors," "too edgy, not practical," and the major one, "beautiful on models" is less like "flattering to the people" and more like the opposite. The votes: "fresh and comfortable" Gold Rush, 83 employees; "impractical, uncomfortable, less than complimentary to all body types" Synergy, 37 votes. The music goes crazy. T-Bag goes on and on about how he would have thought women would have the advantage in this task, which: whatever, and then says that now, whenever he looks at a an Embassy Suites uniform, he'll be "thinking about Lee and Sean." Which is funny for two reasons: number one being, the fuck is Donald J. Trump going to ever see an Embassy Suites uniform, and the other one being the massive outcry for a recall on behalf of the staff at these words. If you would like the dubious enjoyment of seeing me shed every stitch I'm wearing in the time it would take you to spit out your gum, tell me I'm touching Lee and Sean. Check out Jacob going into full-blown formicating fantods so, so fucking fast.
Ivanka interrupts for a little reality check, about how Sean's knowledge of fashion and tailoring surpasses her own, a person who knows a little something about fashion, so how in hell would the women have an advantage? The gender equilibrium shakes and shivers and begins to bend and shriek with the sound of warping steel, so DJ jumps in there with how Sean's not really a man, so don't go getting funny ideas, Betty Friedan: "His metrosexuality paid off!" Whew. For a second I thought Ivanka was saying that girls could be doctors and lawyers and plumbers and all that Free To Be You And Me shit, but thank God for Donald Junior, who will set you -- and all of us -- straight in a second. The guys all breathe a sigh of relief and the women all stare around like, "What just happened there?" Sean interviews how "Tammy baby, that was for you, darling," and "Synergy, you haven't got a clue when it comes to fashion and style, you really don't," and kissy-kissy "good luck in the Boardroom." Somewhere Tammy slaps her own face out of nowhere, all, "The hell was that?"
The boys go with DJ and Ivanka to some hip/chic restaurant and DJ toasts to "good company," Ivanka toasts to "success" (that's my girl), and Lee toasts "everyone's success." Aww. He interviews that it's down to three from eighteen, and that he's one of them, which is powerful. And for once I don't begrudge, because I don't get the usual masturbatory self-promotional vibe at all. I guess that fashion show was scary for him, since he was the PM. Which I was going to crack on, because Sean's powerful asexual vibe is what won the task, but that's not true. Lee rocked the first day of the task. He asks DJ and Ivanka about how it was to grow up Trump, and they give the same answer they always have to give when people ask this question, which I assume is all the damn time. They were aware that their parents were well off, but it wasn't insane. "We didn't get credit cards...with unlimited amounts." DJ says it's tough trying to claim you're not spoiled, and talks about how in college he had $300 a month and anything else was down to him. That's cool. I've thought for a long time that Ivanka was the best thing about Donald Trump, and I still think so, but I'm starting to really like Junior too. His face threw me off, that pouty thing he got from his dad, but he is...really quite charming, actually. ["He still should not have proposed marriage in a jewelry store in the Mall at Short Hills, but he's starting to work that off with me. Plus, he's not Bill. Always a bonus." -- Sars] Ivanka laughs that "at times" they may have "complained about the strategy," but they know they're very lucky. Sean interviews, basically, that you're lying if you can't admit your assumption that they'd be fucked up beyond belief, but that they're totally cool. He writes a love letter about Ivanka but I'll co-sign that one.
Ivanka asks, with a bit of self-deprecating humor, what their favorite reward has been, besides dining with the kids, and Sean's like, "I have a diamond! I am going to give it to Tammy and she can have earrings!" Lee "spills the beans" about Sean's crush, and the Trumpettes obligingly ask about that and "grill" him about it, because what else are you going to do? And by "grill" I mean that Ivanka laughs and says something like "Really?" and then Sean goes on all drooly and creepy some more. Ivanka's very forthright about how she was very fond of Tammy and thought she was great. Again, Sean subjects us to the idiotic retriever smile and the fake star-struck "lots of Apprentice babies" claptrap. Still gross. There's no aversion therapy I can do about people pretending stupidly about love. It's not interesting, it's not even about her, it's just you barfing out your guts because you can't stop talking about yourself. My nightmare is an AA meeting, where the point is that people are supposed to do that -- don't bring your guts all up in my face if I don't ask you to, especially when it's based on nothing real except for the fact that you were playing this ridiculous ladies' man role with Synergy until the very second they made you question your manhood, decided they were bitches, left the team, and narrowed it down to the quiet one. Gross me out. Sean asks what Trump's looking for, and whatever: solid people, tough people, integrity, no showboats (Lee gives a little "yikes" of partial self-knowledge), passion, not talking just to hear yourself talk, hard work. DJ says something about how even drivers and security workers have moved up in the company, and he's saying it as a sweet thing, but I don't like the image of being, like, a limo driver with four kids and wondering if today's the day Trump notices I'm dedicated, because that's just mythology that serves nobody but Trump.
What do people not know about Dad? Ivanka says he wears a pink bathrobe. DJ says -- this is dubious to me but they both seem to agree on it -- that he's a "blue collar guy" who just happens to have a "big balance sheet," but that he comes home and watches TV and eats cheeseburgers all the time. Ivanka is so great: "He's exactly how he appears: he's firm, but he cares about you. I hope you got that sense from him." I love her so much. That's the coolest thing anybody has ever said about his or her dad: "I hope you know he really does care about you." She wants them to keep this in mind in the Boardroom, and she and DJ are ultra-funny about how they know the Boardroom well, because that's what happens when they mess up. If the stupid show is trying to sell me on this family being cool, mission accomplished. She jokes -- as DJ drinks a soda really cutely -- that "some of us" get the BR treatment more than others, and the "some of us" she's talking about ribs her because she gets away with everything because she's Daddy's little girl, and they laugh in a very real, very awesome way. They're just smart and lovely and I like them a lot. Weird. Like, to the point where I feel bad about hating their dad so much. Remember the umeboshi!
In the suite, Allie and Roxanne talk about how "upset" they are, which is: very upset. "It sucks because we totally nailed it," says Allie. "We worked...flawlessly, together." Roxanne just barely rolls her eyes, because the "flaw" was sucking. "You'd think a risk that looks so good would work," the talking continues. "You can't say they're not stylish!" Of all the cinematic works that failed to spark a renaissance in fashion, I think we can all agree that The Fifth Element is the most regrettable. Roxanne: "What's uncomfortable is that this is our last night together." Things go really quiet, and they lock eyes across the room. Oh my God, it's Rush Week all over again. Roxanne stands up silently, not dropping Allie's gaze, and...pounces. Onto Allie. On the bed. And they don't move an inch, just lie there in a puddle of limbs and friendship and minor creepiness. There is canoodling. Roxanne interviews how they've "never been against each other, always supporting each other," and tears up. It's all very sweet. I wish we'd seen all the times Tarek and Dan did this. Even just one, man. "I'm not going to throw her under the bus, just to get one step further. It's not worth it to me." ["Seriously: Shut up, Roxanne." -- Sars]
Into the Boardroom! T-Bag is hilarious as he walks in, growling intensely, "What happened, Allie?" In this great old-man growly tone. She's like, "Nothing particularly went wrong," except for the fucking up, and adds that she's "extremely proud of the final product." Except for how it was fucked up. "It wasn't received as well as we hoped." Because apparently she didn't hear me yelling at Tammy through the screen about this same stupid statement last week. Ivanka will educate your ass about the particulars, dude: "It was functionality. You did a good job implementing a bad design. As women, I would have expected more. That's a mistake a man would make." Well, a completely straight man, anyway. She's not done, though. "Also, the breakfast cooks. Here's some basic shit everybody knows: chef's uniforms are white so that you can bleach out stains? Chefs work with food? So you used khaki. This is a one-time wear." Allie responds: "But culottes! The culottes rock!" Cobra, right then. What kind of fucking...whatever, too tired of the culottes. Trump's like, "Yeah, who did the culottes? Who brought that about on our asses?" And Allie's of course like, "Neither of us. Both of us. I don't know the difference. I don't know whose toothbrush this is anymore. We are one."
Realizing that -- between the culottes and the inability to remember which of the two ladies she actually is -- we've lost her, Trump turns to Roxanne and asks if she'd be a better PM. Which question Roxanne can't actually answer either, so DJ helpfully points out that you cannot do worse than the bloodbath Allie perpetrated. If this were any other Boardroom, you could just agree with that and move on, but Allie and Roxanne really do seem to think they can both come out of this safe, because they have become idiots. T-Bag: "Roxanne." She finally spits out that there were things she might have been more vocal about, and Allie gets all, "That surprises me, Mr. Trump!" Shut up your face, bobblehead. We're through. Roxanne says about the pants, how she wanted pants, and Allie's all, "That's interesting, Mr. Trump!" Which...I loved Andrea and I mourned the loss of her weird ass, Allie, and you are no Andrea, and you sound like Mathnet with that shit. "I did not know there were pants! Where is this coming from?" I vastly prefer to Roxanne to Allie, but I still have love in my heart for Allie, and I'm reminded of why when she begins to expound upon -- not kidding about this -- "the poochiness nature of the pants." "The poochiness nature of the pants"! I mean, that's awesome, right? The poochiness nature of Trump's face is all, "Who was in charge of design?" Nobody, everybody, whatever, dumb question, "and I'm surprised Roxanne would say that, Mr. Trump!" Roxanne's like, "Front Desk. Pants. Flat-front slacks." Allie: "I don't remember that, Mr. Trump!" She says they talked about skirt vs. pants, and came out 50/50. (Which, if you know the history of culottes, that's how come culottes.)
Ivanka, fed up with the 50/50 crap, is like, "You're the Project Manager? It's not always 50/50, Charmaine? Friends are great, but you have to establish some authority." And it occurs to me that the surprise isn't entirely disingenuous, because all the protesting Roxanne did? Was in the one-on-ones. We never saw her question Allie at all. Which is exactly what happened with Tammy! Which means that Roxanne is the Meanest Girl of All! Stealth Mean! Roxanne should win this bitch right now, I love that. Allie, utterly in the weeds now, explains the origin of the term "50/50": "It was 50 percent from both of us." Trump's like, "Roxanne?" Roxanne is finding it easier and easier to disengage from the hive, now: "I would say that more of the vision was hers." Baby, Roxanne, darling, one word, and use it well for it is powerful, and with great power comes great responsibility, but this is the word you need to memorize for right this very second: "Culottes." Boom.
"Should I fire Allie? Yes or no."
"Culottes, Mr. Trump."
"Good point."
Instead, she says he would "ideally" keep them both. He tells her straight up that this is not happening and implies that it's stupid. Mainly because it is very stupid. Well, then, Roxanne admits under this final duress, she's a stronger competitor. Note how he asked a question, she gave an answer, he requested that she give another answer. Ivanka's like, "Show more conviction! Are you better than she is!" Note now how Ivanka's not satisfied with a simple "Yes." Roxanne tells them that she's a "great mix of instinct and education." DJ calls this vague. Note now how Donald Junior is not satisfied with her answer either. Get harder, get harsher, get tougher, stop fucking around. Allie interrupts, ready to play the game they're begging the ladies to play. "I'm more qualified. She's a great lawyer, hire her as counsel. But hire me as your Apprentice." And we're done. Roxanne brings up how horrible Allie was with Marc Bouwer. "He's an expert -- you have to respect them in their design house." Allie...disagrees. Roxanne repeats the following phrase eight times. I don't know what it means. "There's a way about going, there's a way about going, he was offended, there's a way about going." Allie...disagrees. There is in fact no "way about going." I don't know who to agree with! Where is my eloquent Roxanne? Why is she talking like she has a disorder all of a sudden?
T-Square smells the meat. "So she screwed up with Marc Bouwer? And you didn't say that because?" Allie points at Roxanne, how maybe she would sit back and not say anything, but Allie doesn't roll that way. Roxanne explains the way about going, which is that you don't start slap fights with people, you approach from a position of diplomacy and cooperation. Allie's not hearing it, Mr. Trump, and goes off about how everybody in the world hates Roxanne because she fights her Project Managers and she couldn't get along with Tammy -- back to the lie from the beginning of the episode -- and Roxanne's like, "Tammy was attacking my character." Correctly, but I see your point. Roxanne says that Allie can be very demanding, and Allie says that she's demanding with herself. Roxanne explains that her personal way about going is to be a hard worker, and work until the end. Allie cleverly points out that this can be a weakness, citing the cruise line and tailgater tasks as examples, and ones in which she was instrumental in the win. The first, I don't know about, but the second one she was golden. Roxanne's like, "Ellis Island? I saved her ass."
Bringing up each other's task records? Smart. Citing past interpersonal issues that Trump has seen firsthand? Smart. Talking over each other and being all "that is outrageous" and "I don't recall that"? Irritating, but everybody has done it, and usually with a lot more drama and eye-rolling and fake-sighs than here. The loudness? A double-edged beast, because there's a feedback issue. Keeping the focus on proven ability instead of just talking unadulterated smack? Classy and smart. Here's some stuff they didn't do: Imply that the other person smelled likefeces. Explain in small words the purpose of money and the exchange of currency for good sand services to a captain of industry. Float the idea that the other one should already be working for her. Explain in small words the cracks in Trump's belief system, while begging to be fired. Refer to the other as a great idea for the star of a clown movie, make any death threats, or actually lose their entire set of marbles. They just did what they were supposed to do, and did it more civilly than any Boardroom this season, and in the top three of class-act Boardrooms I've ever seen.
So what's the problem? They're ladies. Ladies hate each other, and they want to destroy each other. Always. It's because -- this is a secret, but we're friends -- they secretly want you. And sooner or later, one will destroy the other, and she'll get you. And that will be utterly sexy. But also disgusting. Because that's the problem with the ladies: either they're the good kind, and they don't use the bathroom or say nasty words or attack each other, or...you know. Whores. And once you see some women fighting, even if it's only in your own sick, sad little mind, they're whores after that. Because if they can get mad at each other, it's possible that they'll get mad at you one day. And it's not like women are ever right, but it might still hurt your feelings. And that's very sad, but when you get to be as old as me and T-Bag, you've seen it happen with virtually every woman you know. To stay in our good graces, you gotta wrap your shit up so tight Queen Elizabeth would be like, "I feel like a slut standing here to you," and laugh your ass off -- politely, don't laugh too loud -- whenever T-Bag makes a disgusting sexist joke. And don't go crowding his game: that's the act of a whore that is ruining his brand. And don't go marrying him, because you'll be labeled a whore within six years, and sure, you'll get crazy alimony, but you'll still have to live with what you are. Which is a whore. You can't be proud of yourself, because pride is a sin, and pointless besides, just like you can't talk about your accomplishments, because those are only leant value if there's a man admiring them. I would like to meet Donald Trump's mother.
But that's just inside the show, right? Because here outside the show, we know that it's not just women -- it's everybody. This is a show that demands you be either an asshole, or a high-functioning robot. That's how you succeed. And when the boys do it, it's just business. Nothing personal.
Here's how you don't succeed: "Two women that really like each other, and they lose. A terrible thing. You're going at each other like cats and dogs. You like each other! Losing is shitty!" Allie, oblivious as ever: "It's total shit!" (Naughty word! Cobra!) "When you lose, your whole world changes. You went at each other!" They start to cock their heads, not really getting where he's going, because he's responding to a movie in his head, and not anything that actually happened. When a woman raises her voice, even to somebody else, that's like growing claws and attacking Donald himself. And they both did it, and then they weren't shocked into cowering by his use of a dirty word? One of them even said it back to him? "I'm disappointed that both of you walk in as close friends, and start attacking each other," he says. Which isn't what happened at all. They presented a unified front, he called them out on it, and kept picking the scab so they'd be "honest." And they were, and everything they said was true, and factual, not emotional, given to him so that he could, in his infinite wisdom, judge based on that evidence. But all the evidence he saw was that they were bitches. "I'm disappointed. In all the Boardrooms that I've had, I've never seen two people closer than you two. And at the end, you attack each other. Unbelievable! Roxanne, Allie you're both fired." Right cobra, wrong reason. Again. They both should have gone, for co-designing a curse on mankind, but not for this. If anything, the object lesson is that there are more men like Trump in positions of power than there are people like them, in the world, and these men have a vested interested in maintaining their power. I can't think of anything scarier than those two people coming at Trump, unless it's those two people coming at Trump screaming: "Once you good old boys are dead and gone, it's our turn." Who do you think is raising their children? While you're off having your midlife crises and serial marriages and Baby Boomer self-destructive bullshit, spending your grandchildren's legacy, who the fuck do you think is raising your sons and daughters? Maybe the scariest thing is the people not even waiting politely for you to die.
The ladies nod and leave; Ivanka and DJ seem a little weirded out. Roxanne and Allie roll their eyes, as they're leaving, and hug in the foyer. "Are we still friends?" asks Roxanne. Of course they fucking are. "Of course," says Allie, and they head into the elevator. Inside, Trump says he "hated seeing that," he "hated doing that," and yet he managed. "They're really talented." Word. Ivanka, who totally signed on for that whole bullshit trip, but I do still love her, describes it as a "complete lack of loyalty." And he gives the dismissive, obnoxious hand-wave, and pronounces it "Okay." That new thing, I really hate.
The women are giggling, as they load their stuff into the cab, which I always enjoy. Allie explains that she wanted Trump to avoid firing either of them, that this was their plan going in, which honestly should just show you how crazy these people go. "Cruel and unusual" is a magical phrase. But since that was made clear as a fantasy that runs counter to the entire show, they realized you "have to defend yourself." Which they did, I think, admirably, and only a little irritatingly. My inner Sean did not pull out its earplugs, for example. Not that I have a fucking inner Sean. "But we didn't do it by attacking each other's character," which is mostly true. Allie pats Roxanne sweetly and says that they are "proud of walking out with our dignity and integrity..." "And with our friendship," finishes Roxanne.
Which is kind of a middle finger to the firing, which we've seen before -- Michael's was memorable -- but every word, I'm down with. Right cobra, wrong reason, again. Basic '70s feminist black-and-white issues, again. Maybe the lesson learned is that, if those are the bastards setting the standard, sometimes you have to swallow it and meet the standard, and do whatever you can to avoid walking into those traps, and that sometimes no matter how well you do it, you're still going to get smacked by it. Pick it up and keep going. The F4 Utopia was never going to happen, and you spent your time putting eggs in that basket when you should have been working out a better strategy. You should have noticed that women on this show are all whores eventually, and refused to give him even a hint of conflict to hang his nasty little hat upon. You don't have to deal with reality 24/7, but you gotta at least give it a seat at the table. One of the most influential things I ever read was an interview with Roseanne Barr (I think it was Barr at that point, again): sometimes, basically, you give the blow job, and work your way up in the company, and when you can, you fire the guy who demanded the blow job. Preferably after humiliating him. Because the hero in your movie is you, and he's just a supporting character. It's harsh, and icky, and the world has changed since then, for the better, but it's still something I think about from time to time. At least as a metaphor, I mean. What do you take me for?