True Story: I Auditioned For The Millionaire Matchmaker

When we heard one of our friends spent an afternoon auditioning for The Millionaire Matchmaker, we begged her to write about the experience for us. She agreed, as long as we kept it anonymous. You know. For dignity's sake. -

Here's her (hilarious) account....

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Back in April, I saw a posting on one of those hip and trendy websites to apply to be on The Millionaire Matchmaker. As someone who watches the show religiously (shameful, I know, but I just love Patti’s no-nonsense zingers like “Oh honey, he’s got more issues than Playboy!” or “She's too young for you, why are you still looking for tits on a stick at your age?" or “What's with the ugly shoes and polyester pants? No woman in MY database is gonna spread for a guy who dresses like you.”), I toyed with the idea of applying.

Half out of curiosity and half because I thought it was plain hilarious, I filled out an application for Season 4, shooting in NYC over the summer. (Actually, I filled out two. One was a “practice application,” so I could scribble and cross things out and change my answers. Then, with the help of my roommate, I neatly filled in my final answers on the second. Ok, so maybe it was more than just half out of curiosity).

I forgot all about it, until last week when I received an email from The Millionaire Matchmaker:

“Hi,

We received your application and would like to meet you in person!”

HILARIOUS. They wanted to meet me?!? I was going to audition for THE MILLIONAIRE MATCHMAKER?!? I hemmed and hawed about doing it—but then my friends, my mother, and even my hard-ass boss told me I had to do it.

So I did it. Earlier this week, I trucked it down to a bar, dressed in a dark colored cocktail dress as specified, to be interviewed and have my picture taken. I was really hoping Patti would be there, with her flat-ironed hair, glossy lips, and mini skirt but alas, she wasn’t. Neither were Chelsea or Destin. Give me a break, Bravo!

It was a room of about 25 to 30 people, mostly women and some men. From this point on, I think my frantic texts to my roommate will best set the scene and tell the story:

Ok so there are 25ish people here, three people interviewing and a huge photo shoot area. Oh god.

Some of these girls are super pretty! Some of them are dogs. They don’t look that much older than me either.

There are some dudes too but they all look older.

WOW there is one hot tranny mess here. Yikes.

No one from the TV show is here. It looks like they’re doing headshots and full body portraits. OH GOD.

Oh and right now they’re blasting Good Girls Go Bad.

Filled out MORE paperwork.

PEOPLE HAVE ENTIRE HEADSHOT PORTFOLIOS WTF.

Now there’s a portly man with glasses checking me out. Gross.

He’s filling out forms so he’s either here for a gay millionaire or for a millionairess.

It's never gonna happen for him.

Then I had to do the photoshoot. Awkward. But more awkward for the girl who was before me because with all her posing it was like she was a dancer in Madonna'a Vogue. She finished with a sassy arm-on-hip pose and then in was my turn. With the last full body shot, I stuck my hand on my hip, and then realized how RIDIUCLOUS I must look so I immediately took it off. "Oh noooo," said the flaming photog. "You put that hand on your hip, girl!"

OH GOD.

And then the audition was over. About two hours of waiting for all of 15 minutes. Right before I left, I kicked off my stillettos to change into my comfy, threadbare flats. I'm pretty sure the girl at reception judged me. Note to self: Get new pair of flats before Patti zings you.