Down the Rabbit Hole - Holly Madison

WHILE I KNEW THAT people were curious about the world inside the Playboy gates, I found it hard to
imagine how we would fill an entire season. Relative to scripted shows, reality television is
inexpensive to make (which is the reason so many of them litter the airwaves). I hate to burst
anyone’s bubble, but in order to get the most for their time and money, producers typically map out
episodes in advance based on schedules and then determine what could make for potential plotlines.
While our crew initially filmed us at all hours hoping for some of that legendary Playboy spontaneity,
they eventually learned that mansion life didn’t quite live up to the hype after countless hours (and
probably thousands of wasted crew dollars) were spent filming the most mundane moments of our
lives.
Finding interesting things for us to do proved more difficult than anticipated. Contrary to popular
belief, I couldn’t just tote a film crew with me around town. Producers had to get permission from
every store, restaurant, beach, and salon in Los Angeles we wanted to film at. Everything requires
some sort of preapproval.
And what the hell would this season even be about?
Soon I realized Hef had a plan.
The second episode focused on two prospective Playmates that were staying in the mansion’s
guesthouse. After having dinner out at Geisha House in Hollywood (where Hef had his own fried
chicken meal brought in and prepared by the mansion staff, as usual), Hef called Bridget, Kendra, and
me into his room to “talk to us.”
“I can’t promise it, but you’re going to shoot a cover and I’m going to put you in the magazine,”
Hef said. It was in many ways a defining moment in my life. After four years living there, I was
finally going to fulfill my long-held dream of being in Playboy magazine. And he just said it. The
words fell off his tongue like the most ordinary of small talk while standing crunched into the corner
of his bedroom entry surrounded by a handful of crew members.
It was so unceremonious a delivery that we needed a moment to process the news. We were
utterly blown away. Kendra’s mouth dropped to the floor and she appeared catatonic for a good 60
seconds. I screamed so loudly I was certain the dog I was holding had gone deaf, and Bridget looked
as though she was going to burst into tears. This man—who had conditioned us to believe we were
good enough for his bed but not his magazine—just made our dreams come true. It was well within
his power all along, but he was finally saying we were worthy. It was validating and exciting all at
the same time.
Still, we were extremely skeptical—particularly Bridget and me. We had been at the mansion
for years and had been browbeaten to believe we just weren’t Playboy material.
In the episode, Bridget revealed through a stream of tears that she had auditioned to be a
centerfold years earlier but didn’t make the cut. Hef had basically told her it was never going to
happen.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Bridget said through a forced smile during her one-on-one
interview. It was a small window into what was really going on inside Bridget’s and my heads.
Earlier in that same episode, you heard me rattle off the same canned answer I’d given for years
about whether I wanted to be in Playboy.