Zack was pissed, and I guess he wanted to get back at me for leaving him. He started posting naked photos of me from when I was seventeen on my MySpace page. Somehow he’d gotten into my page and decided to do some damage. When I found out, I thought, Hell, no—this is not happening. I flipped out. Crying, I ran to Hef and told him what was going on. He said he’d take care of it, and it all went away.
Other than a few experiences like that early on, I knew that as the show grew, life in the Mansion would only get better for me. I also knew that it wasn’t going to last forever and if I wanted to make the most of my current situation, I had to act quickly.
Even when I was working at Papa John’s I was good at saving my money, but I wanted to do more than just save my paychecks from the show, and I was worried the opportunities weren’t going to be there when the show finished.
I started to get nervous that I wasn’t doing enough to prepare myself for the future. Holly had Hef and she thought she would live with him in the Mansion forever. Bridget had a master’s degree. What did I have to fall back on? Massage therapy school, flipping pizzas, and scraping plaque off teeth were my only areas of professional expertise, unless you count stripping. And I could never go back to stripping.
I decided to talk to Hef about my problems.
“What happens when the show ends and I get kicked out of here, Hef?” I asked. “I’ll be living on the streets.”
He laughed. “You’ll never be on the streets, darling,” he reassured me. “As long as I’m here you will be just fine.”
I had a great connection with Hef; it wasn’t the same kind of relationship that Holly had with him, but he was always there for me and he could always make me feel better about anything. He had promised I would never be on the streets, and I believed him. But I also knew that I had to take matters into my own hands to guarantee it.
Even before the show started I had wanted to get into acting. I found jobs as an extra posted on Craigslist and went for them on my own, without an agent or anyone helping me. I even booked a job on the show Las Vegas, all on my own. It was great. I met Jon Lovitz and James Caan, and I even talked to James about Hef and the Mansion. He told me he’d lived in my room for a couple of months. It was crazy. Then I was supposed to be an extra in a movie with the actor Kevin James, and the day of the shoot I waited for fifteen hours to do my part. I kept asking when it was my turn. It was freezing out and I was starting to get sick. Finally the day ended and they told me they weren’t going to need me. What the fuck? I was so pissed. That was the end of being an extra for me.
Once I was on The Girls Next Door, I knew I could book bigger roles, but I had to go about things differently. Craigslist wasn’t going to cut it. I needed an agent and a manager and other professionals to book me paying gigs.
A producer I met on Las Vegas kept in touch, and with the right amount of ass-kissing I was able to get back on the show, this time with a one-line speaking part. I was in a scene with Josh Duhamel and James Caan, and I played a waitress who had to say “Do you want a drink?” or something like that. I practiced over and over, and when the day was done I officially had the acting bug.
Shortly after that I met Robert Miano, an actor who was in one of my favorite movies, Donnie Brasco. He was also an acting coach so I decided to use some of the money I was making from The Girls Next Door to take acting lessons. It seemed like a good investment and I thought down the road it could really pay off. No one even knew I was taking the classes. I just did it on my own, and I loved it. It was my plan for the future.
Shortly after my Las Vegas gig, I went down to San Diego for a weekend. Hef would let me go there to visit my mom from time to time, and usually I broke the rules while I was there and spent the nights partying with guys. One night I was out and talking to some friends about how I wanted to do more with whatever fame I was getting from the show, and one guy mentioned that he had an agent friend he would introduce me to.
The agent and I spoke on the phone and I was so excited—it seemed like the acting thing was really going to happen for me. Hef wanted me to be happy, and he was cool with me doing whatever I wanted to do to pursue my dreams, but when his team at Playboy read the contract the agent sent me, they warned me that signing with him was a bad idea. It turned out the guy was a sports agent, not an entertainment agent, and things didn’t seem right. I didn’t care. I just wanted to make money, so I signed the contract.
My new agent didn’t book me acting gigs; instead, he booked me for appearances at nightclubs and other venues around the country. That was fine with me. As long as I was making money, I didn’t care.
My first appearance was in Cincinnati, Ohio. Hef sent Joe, the Playboy security guard, with me for two reasons: to keep me safe, and to make sure I didn’t hook up with any guys. I could leave during the day and go shopping or to classes by myself. I could even visit my mom by myself. But if I was going to be out at night and I wasn’t staying with my mom, Hef always made sure Joe was with me.
I got a small amount for that first appearance, and my agent took a 20-percent cut. Still, money was money and I was happy. More offers started to come in after that, and I pointed out that rather than doing a million appearances for small fees, maybe I could do fewer and charge more money (as an agent he should have figured that out). It worked out, and before I knew it I was making good money.
Even though I knew my agent wasn’t the best, he became a friend and I was loyal so I stuck with him. The appearances allowed me to send money to my mom and pay her back, in a way, for putting up with me through all the hard times, and every other penny went right in the bank so I could put my fear of living on the streets to rest.
It felt good to be controlling my own destiny. It was also nice get out and be in the spotlight a little without the other girls. I enjoyed that. Everything was going really well, until my skin started to break out. Then I just wanted the spotlight to go away.
CHAPTER 15
Breakout Star
The success of the show was really exciting for all of us, but with fame came a new batch of worries.
Throughout my life, the way I saw myself always changed based on what was going on around me. If I didn’t fit in at school or if I had a teacher tell me I wasn’t smart, I got down on myself. But when I landed a new job or was in a position that made me feel pretty, my confidence shot back up.
Filming The Girls Next Door created a roller coaster of emotions, and by the time the show was in its third season, I was due for a free fall.
Holly, Bridget, and I were popular enough at that point to have a big fan base, and also our share of haters. Maybe it was my inexperience with celebrity, but I took everything that was said about me to heart, and Google became my worst enemy.
I’d go on the Internet and type in my name, and all these blogs, fan sites, and random news stories would pop up. Most of them were flattering, but my eyes always seemed to wander toward the negative ones. Trust me, there was some evil shit on there. People would call me dumb and I’d log on and type “Fuck you” in the comment box.
These people had something to say about everything. Even when I did something so minor as refuse to wear the bunny suit in an episode when we were meeting the troops, fans gave me a really hard time. I wanted to greet the soldiers as me, Kendra Wilkinson, not as some girl dressed like a rabbit. My grandfather taught me to respect our troops, and it seemed more respectful to meet them in normal-looking clothes. But people all over the Internet disagreed. They knew I was anti-bunny and saw it as a slap in the face to Hef and the Playboy brand.
I knew in my heart that I was right to stand up for myself, but it started to seem like I just couldn’t win. No matter what I did, someone on some Web site had something to say about it. I became really critical of myself and started to dislike how I was being portrayed in the public eye. I blamed myself and was really unhappy.
Then, in the winter of 2006, I rolled out of bed, caught my reflection in the mirror, and saw that my
face had broken out with a terrible case of acne. It started around Thanksgiving, and by Christmas my face was covered in angry red spots. The Christmas episode, “Snow Place Like Home,” didn’t air until March of the following year, but I knew when they were filming that as soon as it ran I would be seeing comments all over the Internet about it. I was really depressed that whole season about the acne, but filming Christmas night was the worst.
I never had acne as a kid, so I didn’t have an it-happens-to-everyone attitude. I wasn’t even sure where it came from. Maybe it was stress. Maybe it was all the holiday chocolate I was eating. Either way, my face was covered with pimples, and I wanted to stay as far away from the cameras as possible.
Unfortunately, I didn’t really have a choice. The production crew had put snow all over the front lawn and was getting ready to film a fun holiday party. I was a real bitch about being on camera and complained like crazy, but none of it mattered. The producers weren’t going to let me hide. The show didn’t have a makeup team, so the acne wasn’t going to hide, either. I was mortified.
I started to break down. I couldn’t go to the Christmas party; I didn’t even want to leave my room! I locked the door and refused to come out.
The producers were not happy. They started yelling for me to get out of the room, but I just wanted to crawl under my covers and hide. Eventually Hef came up to my room, and when he walked in I started crying.
“Look how bad it is,” I said.
“They’re just love bites,” he said before kissing my forehead. “You’re still so beautiful.”
I wiped my tears away and smiled. He always said the right thing. When I gained a little weight during my first year at the Mansion he gave me the tough love, but this time he knew it was a different situation. He knew I was down on myself and stressed out. And after just a few kind words from Hef I was feeling better.
I went down to the party. I hid from the cameras at first, but then I loosened up a bit and stopped caring, and I even ended up having a pretty good time. But after that night I continued to stay out of as many shots as possible. Hef saw how concerned I was about the acne so he paid to put me on Accutane. They say that stuff messes with your head and makes you suicidal, but I was as down as I could possibly be before taking it, so mentally there was nowhere to go but up.
Physically, though, my face got worse when I started the medication. That’s what is supposed to happen, but I still wasn’t happy about it when it did. I had big red blotches everywhere and I was near tears every time the camera was on me. By that point I knew what the producers wanted so I gave it to them as quickly as possible and then got out of there as fast as I could.
When the episodes started to air, people commented on the Internet about my acne, just as I’d feared. They called me ugly, and it just killed me because there was nothing I could do about it.
After about eight months of my taking Accutane, scrubbing my face twenty times a day, and picking at every stupid blemish on my skin, the acne finally went away.
As if getting called ugly on the Internet wasn’t bad enough, as I watched the episodes, I got pissed because I wasn’t in any of them. I complained to the producers that the episodes were all Bridget or all Holly, and they reminded me that I chose to not be in them. We fought back and forth, and in the end the only person I could really blame was myself. I needed the confidence to not care what anybody was saying about me. I didn’t look in the mirror and see my good qualities, instead, I focused on the acne. (I also blamed chocolate. I haven’t eaten chocolate since that winter; in fact, I’ve almost developed a fear of it.)
By season four things were looking up. We got a raise each year, so I was finally making enough from the show to be able to actually do a few things with my money.
I did some research online and talked to a few friends, and eventually I decided to invest the money in real estate. I found a condo in La Jolla that I bought and fixed up myself, with the help of my grandfather. He started to get pretty sick right after we finished, and I felt really lucky that he was able to stay alive long enough to see great things happen for me.
Soon after fixing up the condo, I bought a second house. I let my mom manage both of the properties and take care of the renters. It was such a rush to be doing something for my future, and making smart decisions with my money.
The show remained really popular, and it was cool to feel like a star. I loved hearing that fans thought I was funny or watched the show for me specifically. Who doesn’t love feeling special? But the show and the celebrity that comes with it wasn’t what got me going. It was power. Buying those houses made me feel powerful. Fame was cool, but power was better.
I always wondered what the people from my past might think if they saw me succeed at something. And while it was great knowing that they were watching me play a character named Kendra on the show, I was more curious about what they would think if they saw me buying houses and making a business for myself beyond television. By season four I could finally walk around with my head held high and say, Look at me now, mother-fuckers!
It was a great year. During filming I got to show off my racing skills from back in the day at the Long Beach Grand Prix (and kick George Lucas’s butt on the track while doing it). I think that was probably the coolest thing I got to do while living in the Mansion.
We also went to Alaska to see where Holly grew up and nearly died on a floatplane while there, which was not so cool. The engine on the plane almost blew out, and when I smelled the smoke and heard the noises I freaked out. I don’t know why they kept putting me on planes when they knew I hated to fly, but that incident was especially terrifying. I nearly drank myself to death that day because I was so scared.
I also met Brittany Binger, a 2007 Playmate, that year, and we became close friends. She’s a quiet, conservative girl from Ohio—the complete opposite of me—but somehow we got along really well. I taught her things about life at the Mansion, gave her sex advice, and did my best to bring out her fun, naughty side; it felt good to be in a position at Playboy where I felt confident enough to pass on some of my wisdom. Brittany was there for me, too, and she’s still one of my closest friends. She’s always helping me to be a better person and to think before I act.
I loved that I was doing well and in a position to help others. That year I paid for a face-lift for my mom, and for her to get her boobs done before Playboy’s annual Midsummer Night’s Dream Party. After my dad left, my mom never really put herself out there to meet anyone. She gave up on men, and on some level, she gave up on herself. It felt good to be able to help boost her confidence a little, and I think she became a whole new woman after those procedures. She feels young again—and she acts like it, too. She began to love going to Playboy parties, and she even joined Facebook and Twitter. She also started filling me in on other reality shows on TV, and on all the gossip she reads online. She even goes into chat rooms and talks shit to teenagers! It’s pretty funny, and I’m glad I could help her live a little.
Having money gave me a new sense of freedom and comfort in life. I felt like I was in control of things for a change.
Life wasn’t completely drama-free, though.
Around that time, I was supposed to be in Eminem’s “Smack That” video, and when I found out I was really excited. I was a good dancer so I thought it would be a fun way to show off my dancing skills. Plus, my friend Brittany from San Diego was a huge Eminem fan, so she drove two hours to come with me. The night before we were so pumped that we couldn’t sleep. We drove downtown at six A.M. I got my hair done, and then I sat and waited for eleven hours.
During the day, Eminem was nice to us. “You’re from Playboy, right?” he said. I was so stoked that he even knew my name.
Then, a little later, things changed. During another break I was sitting across from him and he yelled out something about San Diego. I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about but I wondered if he was on something. He got up and came over to where I was sitting and
out of nowhere started yelling like a complete psycho and pouring water all over me. I was pissed.
I got up and punched him in his side and yelled right back. “You’re a little bitch,” I shouted. “You’re always picking on girls. You’re not a man.”
I went off, and then I went on MySpace and wrote an angry message about him. I didn’t think about the show or the fans or anything. I just blurted out all my feeling about him. That was a mistake. I was acting like my mom would on the Internet, but really I needed Brittany Binger to remind me to think before I acted. Where the hell was she?
Then the drama turned to the business world. The agent I had at the time—the one who made those rookie mistakes when booking my appearances—tried to expand my “brand” to include clothing and failed miserably.
He attempted to negotiate a clothing-line deal for me with some guys from Dubai, and it was supposedly going to pay me millions. He kept saying how great this opportunity was, so I signed the contracts. The plan was to put out a line of shirts called K-Dub, and I even hosted a launch party at Pure Nightclub in Las Vegas, where I threw out shirts to the crowd like a jackass. But it turned out that the Dubai guys were complete con artists. The whole deal was fake.
With the help of some lawyers I put an end to it—and severed my relationship with my agent, too. I knew it was time for me to make bigger moves, and I couldn’t do that with him.
Among my more fun ventures that year was when I did a reality show called Celebrity Rap Superstar, where I competed against other stars in a rap competition. It was a blast. I was surrounded by all these rappers I grew up listening to. I think hip-hop music was so much better back then, so I was honored to be working alongside guys like Warren G. and Redman.
When the producers called and asked me if I wanted to be on the show, I insisted that they put me with Too Short. In my opinion, he was the best. Too Short taught me how to rap, but he also mentored me about being a celebrity and how important it was for me to treat my fans well.
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