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My Night at the Playboy Mansion With Donald Trump (...confessions of an “Apprentice” contestant)
Source: Politico
<snip>
The most memorable moments, revealing the aspects of his personality I’d never forget, usually happened off-camera. In the second episode of my season on The Apprentice, my team won the week’s competition, and as a reward, Trump escorted us on a trip to the Playboy mansion, where we would party with Hugh Hefner and whatever Playmates were there. My team consisted mostly of women. As a chauffeur opened the door on our limousine, we were greeted by Hefner’s three then-“girlfriends,” Kendra Wilkinson, Holly Madison and Bridget Marquardt, who were then costars on a reality show of their own. They ushered us inside. After a fireside chat with Hef, we headed to the backyard, where dozens of women — some wearing bikinis, others sporting bunny ears and bowties — surprised our team with a pool party.
Toward the end of the evening, I found myself in a small circle, conversing with Trump, Hefner and another contestant. With a wry smile, Trump looked at Hefner and said, “It’s hard for me to tell which of these girls are yours, and which ones are mine.” The women on my team were well-credentialed business executives, people Trump had supposedly hand-picked for their skills. In that moment, the only real difference to Trump between them and the scantily clad Playmates who were there for his entertainment was that some of the women were “his,” and some weren’t.
<snip>
By now, most viewers know that the “reality” on each reality TV show is a carefully created bubble of its own, and I came to think of the reality on this show as Trumpland. In Trumpland, the rule of Mr. Trump is absolute. In Trumpland, you have human worth only if you please The Donald. In Trumpland, female business executives are no different than scantily clad Playmates, or at least have to keep quiet if they’re placed in the same box. In Trumpland, a step outside the lines drawn by Mr. Trump, like my joke about Sanjaya, triggers a sharp, furious response.
<snip>
Want to throw off an opponent? Do something out of bounds, like attacking their spouse’s appearance. Want to embarrass a boyish 22-year-old Apprentice candidate who lacks your machismo? Sit in your boardroom, cameras rolling, and ask him if he’s a virgin. Want to win white working-class voters in the midst of an existential crisis? Attack immigrants, advocate a border wall, and promise to bring those would-be supporters back to a simpler time of cultural and economic supremacy.
The most memorable moments, revealing the aspects of his personality I’d never forget, usually happened off-camera. In the second episode of my season on The Apprentice, my team won the week’s competition, and as a reward, Trump escorted us on a trip to the Playboy mansion, where we would party with Hugh Hefner and whatever Playmates were there. My team consisted mostly of women. As a chauffeur opened the door on our limousine, we were greeted by Hefner’s three then-“girlfriends,” Kendra Wilkinson, Holly Madison and Bridget Marquardt, who were then costars on a reality show of their own. They ushered us inside. After a fireside chat with Hef, we headed to the backyard, where dozens of women — some wearing bikinis, others sporting bunny ears and bowties — surprised our team with a pool party.
Toward the end of the evening, I found myself in a small circle, conversing with Trump, Hefner and another contestant. With a wry smile, Trump looked at Hefner and said, “It’s hard for me to tell which of these girls are yours, and which ones are mine.” The women on my team were well-credentialed business executives, people Trump had supposedly hand-picked for their skills. In that moment, the only real difference to Trump between them and the scantily clad Playmates who were there for his entertainment was that some of the women were “his,” and some weren’t.
<snip>
By now, most viewers know that the “reality” on each reality TV show is a carefully created bubble of its own, and I came to think of the reality on this show as Trumpland. In Trumpland, the rule of Mr. Trump is absolute. In Trumpland, you have human worth only if you please The Donald. In Trumpland, female business executives are no different than scantily clad Playmates, or at least have to keep quiet if they’re placed in the same box. In Trumpland, a step outside the lines drawn by Mr. Trump, like my joke about Sanjaya, triggers a sharp, furious response.
<snip>
Want to throw off an opponent? Do something out of bounds, like attacking their spouse’s appearance. Want to embarrass a boyish 22-year-old Apprentice candidate who lacks your machismo? Sit in your boardroom, cameras rolling, and ask him if he’s a virgin. Want to win white working-class voters in the midst of an existential crisis? Attack immigrants, advocate a border wall, and promise to bring those would-be supporters back to a simpler time of cultural and economic supremacy.
Read more: http://www.politico.com/magazine/story/2016/04/apprentice-contestant-donald-trump-2016-playboy-mansion-213815
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