Down the Rabbit Hole - Holly Madison

THE FIRST EPISODE OF The Girls Next Door introduced the E! audience to Hugh Hefner’s three blond
girlfriends. Through interviews and “candid” moments, the series established the lay of the land at the
Playboy mansion: the girls, the grounds, the pets, the curfew, the 24-hour kitchen, and other mansion
oddities. The episode wrapped up with Hef, his girlfriends, and a handful of Playmates waiting for
Kendra before heading to Hollywood for the AFI Awards red carpet honoring Star Wars creator
George Lucas. The footage showed a jovial Hef hobnobbing with celebrities, goofing around with
press, and routinely holding, hugging, or kissing one of his many dates.
“We get respect,” Kendra said in a voice-over while the camera panned to showcase our
backsides sauntering into the theater. I remember wondering, Does she really think people respect
us? She seemed clueless to the fact that most people probably didn’t respect us for how we were
living our lives and that the cheers and accolades she was witnessing were simply due to Hef’s
strange novelty as a pop culture oddity. I, on the other hand, was probably too aware of the negative
ways in which we were perceived. And this awareness made me paranoid. In fact, I let it get to me so
much that I became even quieter and more withdrawn than I had been before.
“We’ve decided on your characters for the show!” Hef told me one day when he ran across me
in one of the secretaries’ offices, going through Polaroids.
“Really?” I asked, curious as to what he meant.
“Kendra is the one who wants to have fun, Bridget is the one who wants a career, and you’re the
one who cares about me.”
His delivery made it clear that the decision had been firmly made and that there was no room for
argument. While caring about someone is certainly a positive thing, I was troubled by the limitations
of our “characters.” Couldn’t we actually be who we are? Multidimensional people who have
different interests, passions, and goals? Sure, Bridget wanted a career, but what about me? I couldn’t
want one, too? Apparently not.
I was too distracted to ask any more about it. I had been going through photos looking for
potential Fun in the Sun guests while we were talking. Hef had long ago lost interest in trolling for
new conquests, so much so that the pool party guest list had dwindled substantially.
Somehow I had found an old Polaroid from the year 2000 buried deep in the pile.
I blinked a few times to make sure I was seeing this properly: it was me! I was wearing a black
Frederick’s of Hollywood corset with a kimono robe and sporting strawberry-blond hair, but the real
surprise was the “grade” I had received from Hef: A.
All these years at the mansion being made to feel ugly and less than—and he had marked me as
an A all along!
Hef had already shuffled back down the hall.
“I can’t believe I got an A!” I said to Jenny, Hef’s social secretary, genuinely in shock. Hef
always treated me like such a scrub, like I was barely lucky enough to be in residence at the mansion.
“Well, of course you did,” Jenny said, matter-of-factly. “What did you think you would have
gotten?”