Seriously. For the 22 seasons of its existence America"s Next Top Model (ANTM to the uninitiated) has plucked hopeful Amazonians from the heart of Nowheresville, middle-America, and provided them - and vicariously, us - with the chance to, as they say in the biz, "walk". Absolute nobodies were gifted the opportunity to fit the finest fashions, slip on some sillettoes and strut the longest runways of Paris, London, New York and Milan. All they had to do was stay hungry (literally and figuratively, one assumes). Really, really hungry. At the helm of this modern day dream-maker was fashion slayer extraordinaire Tyra Banks, a queen among queens, who only had one rule: and you can guess what that was. From its very first season the show cooked up a recipe for success. First there was the opinionated and washed-up former "supermodel" Janice Dickinson, swaggering around, quite possibly drunk, offending every girl that refused to cut her hair or pose nude. Then there was Miss J. Alexander, the sassy and finger-snapping fabulosity that was a welcome injection of sass.
