Simon Says

[April 6th, 2005] I enjoy being an asshole.

I never realized how much until I got to be a judge on America's Next Top Model. Not the actual show featuring Victoria's Secret supermodel Tyra Banks, fabulously swishy queens and hopeless model-ettes. No, this was America's Next Top Model: Portland Search.

Like the absurdly popular original, this made-for-reality-TV event featured a panel of judges: P-town's version of a supermodel (Juanita Howard), a drag queen (Poison Waters), a deejay (Z100's Buckhead) and moi.

Yes, little, old faggoty me.

Our job? Pick one winner out of 150-plus candidates who waited for umpteen hours on a frigid Friday morning in front of KPDX's suburban-based studio for their (long) shot at this fashion-focused fame game. The lucky lassie would win hundreds of dollars of prizes and also get a chance to meet the real ANTM's national casting director.

"You want the truth? You have to lose weight."

That's what I said to one young woman who was perfectly fit for her size. And that wasn't all. Our esteemed panel of judges bluntly said things to these damsels in distressed jeans you wouldn't whisper to your worst enemy (well, maybe I should admit it came from me more than from the others).

"You're too short. You're too old. You're too odd."

We also had the balls to ask questions like "Have you ever considered porcelain veneers?" and "How do you feel about cosmetic surgery?" We even went as far as to ask one of the top contestants if she would be willing to get her ears pinned back just for the show.

It was a ruthlessly savage process-and a total blast.

Now I don't have any particular qualifications to ask such prying questions of aspiring models. Sure, as an editor for this paper I've done my share of fashionable photo shoots (including, in the interest of full disclosure, one shoot featuring a Portland model finalist). But like writing this column, it's not as if I ever received any training to do this stuff.

That said, for a short span of time I inhabited the heartless soul of an American Idol judge. Once the whole thing was over, the models even told me I was the Simon Cowell of the group, while Poison Waters acted much more like supportive Paula Abdul.

In hindsight, I applaud the producers of this show for asking me to participate. Considering our post-Nipplegate times, it was brave to invite a drag queen and an out gay man-who has a hard time shutting his yap-to be part of this mix.

But the truth is, I went too far. Perhaps it's obvious, but just like all the jerks on all those reality shows, I got sucked into thinking it was OK to destroy the dreams of young women who just wanted to be told, "Hey, you look like a model." If I had the chance to do it over, I'd ask questions that would reveal as much about the inside of these beautiful women as the outside.

Then, in reality, maybe I wouldn't feel like such an asshole.