What on earth is Make Me a Supermodel?

It should be renamed Make Me a Pretentious Snotty Brat and Massage My Ego Beyond Imagination.

I thought I would give this series a bit of time to work itself out before lashing it with a vitriolic tirade of abuse, but I can wait no longer.

I simply cannot believe they have bothered to give it air time!

From some American dude telling the contestants they need to shed their pasts and their images and then making them chuck all their clothes in a fire, to a scary-looking woman from Marie Claire (I think she is the editor … there goes my chances of a job there) persistently uttering incomprehensible garbage, there is just not a single moment of good television to spread across the series.

I don’t know what possessed me to think that this could actually be anything other than complete trash.

The kind of people who would audition for this show obviously have over-inflated egos, and I suppose watching prats making fools of themselves in front of a few hundred thousand people can be entertaining – but Make Me A Supermodel (Seven, Thursdays, 7.30pm) just isn’t.

Then the producers abuse our senses by giving us a backstage look at what happens Off the Runway … who cares what happens off the runway?

The girls cry, the boys fight, the scary woman from the magazine continues being scary as they recap the eliminations, some random dude I have never heard of espouses his expertise on the modeling industry, and a camp-as-Christmas stylist calls a waif-like creature fat.

And that is where the real problem lies with this show.

Unless you need an anchor to hold you in place in a stiff breeze, then on this program you are considered an obese heifer who should stop eating entirely in the hope your body will cannibalise the 1% of body fat you have remaining so you can achieve that stick-like image they appear to be going for.

In a recent episode of Off the Runway (or Off My Mind for Even Tuning In), the random dude from the modeling agency, the scary magazine lady and Jennifer Hawkins all went to town on one of the contestants for being a ginormous pig.

As I glance around the office I see before me a selection of very glamorous women of all shapes and sizes. Several of them would not look out of place on the runway – in fact one of them has been.

They are just normal, beautiful women … the kind that are going to be buying the fashion that these people are wearing.

And I couldn’t say that any of them are thinner than the poor girl who the judges think is fat.

I had a good belly laugh when Jennifer Hawkins had the audacity to ask if this girl had cut out dessert, and the random modelling agency guy accused her of not cutting out Nutella.

I mean honestly, not cutting out Nutella! She should be arrested.

And the scary magazine woman (by the way, whoever is responsible for her hair should be sacked immediately, if not sooner) rambles on with some garbage about having to be committed to the cause or something. I can’t really remember because, to be honest, I just wanted to hurl a brick at my television.

It is because of people like her and television programs like this that diseases like anorexia and bulimia exist.

What sort of message is this program sending out when they tell a perfectly healthy-looking girl that she is overweight?

If you enjoy watching people getting psychologically abused, skinny chicks, brainless guys and scary magazine women, then Make Me a Supermodel is going to be solid-gold viewing for you.

If, on the other hand, you have a brain and a conscience, then flick over to Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader? There are more combined brain cells on that show than you are going to find on Make Me a Supermodel.