Last night’s episode of Gallery Girls reminded me exactly why I didn’t join a sorority in college. I just knew that I didn’t want to give up my Brooklyn street cred for a few years of partying. I mean, you can’t attend an ironic sorority sluts costume party after college if you’re in a sorority during college. Can you even imagine that? It would be almost as ludicrous as Chantal Chadwick skipping yoga to run her art gallery.
Or Maggie Schaffer standing up for herself in any situation.
While I could spend hours delving into the heartache that is Maggie Schaffer’s life on Gallery Girls, I’m saving that for my first annual “Whine and Wine” fundraiser. All proceeds go toward researching girls who always appear on the verge of tears despite behind handed every advantage in life.
Angela Pham will take photos at the event while wearing nothing but stolen nipple clamps from Barneys and Amy Poliakoff will force girls who can’t eat gluten to eat gluten-filled cupcakes. All in all, it will be a fun-filled night at a bowling alley. Just don’t forget to bring your gay. They’re the must-have accessory this season. Besides an awesome apartment that a regular intern could never afford. (Cough, Cough, Whooping Cough Kerri Lisa)
But that’s not what I wanted to discuss today. Not when we have more pressing matters on our hand. Matters of life and death and poltergeists. Because after watching four episodes of Chantal constantly exceed our expectations of what it takes to be the worst human being on television, I figured out her problem.
She needs a good old-fashioned exorcism. Or a new age exorcism. I’m sure there are all kinds of organic touch-free exorcists working in Brooklyn who are available to come to your home and exorcise the shit out of you. Really get into the depths of the place where a soul once lived and pull the devil out.
If the exorcist also pulls out her horrible posture, a weirdly disguised southern accent and an illegal stash of Xanax, so be it. If the exorcist has to call in Harry Potter for back-up on the slight case her entire body’s the eighth horcrux, fine. This is what happens when a body’s completely overtaken by a devilish spirit hellbent on making sure that her gallery never makes a profit.
Don’t be fooled by her classic anime character looks or the fact that she’s one of the most in-demand models for Japanese fashion magazines, she’s still missing a soul. According to Brooklyn legend she traded it for a condescending laugh that would send shivers up the most hardened of spines. Much in the same way that Eli Klein traded 3/4 of his hair to the devil for a lifetime supply of she-servants to assist in his gallery.
Oh and if anyone asks. Claudia Martinez Reardon totally agrees with me on this exorcism idea. As much as she loves it when Chantal pops in and out of the gallery with her (omg, he’s perfect, get him on The Bachelor, no get him in a threesome) boyfriend Spencer and a Japanese fashion magazine crew in tow, she would also love it if Chantal understood the concept of money as well as the concept of running a business.
Because, believe it or not, sometimes you have to work to make money. And pay rent. And afford life in New York City. Or so I once overheard my stockbroker say to my father as they transferred a little extra spending money into my account.