Bunny Tales

by Izabella St. James

  We always sported a tan; it was hard not to when we live in a climate where your skin is always showing, not to mention the fact that we lived with a man who encouraged us to show as much of it as possible. With two tanning machines downstairs, it was easy to get and maintain a tan, and with the exception of Holly, who was smart not to tan, we all became dark after moving in. While I was mildly concerned about skin cancer and wrinkles, I thought I was still young and always planned to stop tanning when I was in my thirties. After I moved out of the Mansion, I noticed a weird spot on my upper back. It wasn’t really a mole, just a round pink area that looked flaky and never seemed to heal. I had a bad feeling about it, but I was scared and put off going to the dermatologist for a while. When I finally went, I found out that I had skin cancer. I’m only 29, I thought. How can I have skin cancer already? I was devastated. I was also mad at myself for using those tanning beds at the Mansion. I had the cancer surgically removed, and hopefully it will not come back. But it can, and I have to get checked every six months for the rest of my life; I have that scar to remind me to be careful. Needless to say, I never tan anymore. I have grown used to my pale eastern European skin and when I need color, I go for the spray tan.

  Now onto the hair: we all dyed our hair. We all came in with blonde hair but it always got blonder at the Mansion. The problem with constantly going blonder and then staying so blonde is that your hair gets very damaged and breaks, especially when you also style it frequently like we did. So besides using gentle shampoos and rich conditioners, I began alternating the intensity of the color; I would get bleach-free touchups to give the hair a break, and then every couple of months, I would get highlights or just lighten it all over. Being blonde is fun, but you do have to think long term unless you don’t mind the so-called chemical haircut (when your hair is so fried by the bleach that it ends up looking like you cut your hair, when in fact it just all broke off). But Hef’s Girlfriends are all blonde—that is the rule. He even went so far as to point out to the girls that their roots were growing out and that it was time to go to the salon. That must have been the one question brunettes asked him the most wherever we went: “Why all blondes, Hef?” As he so famously put it, “I’m presently dating seven girls, all baby-faced blondes. Picasso had his pink period and his blue period. I’m in my blonde period.” For all you brunettes, it is worth mentioning that Hef’s longest sweetheart, Barbi Benton, was a brunette, as was Carrie Leigh, a Canadian (who appeared with him in Beverly Hills Cop). Don’t give up, ladies, Hef’s brunette period may come yet.

  If your hair did in fact break off and was short, or if it simply would not grow fast enough to a certain length, there was the miracle of extensions. Almost all of us, except Holly when she had short hair, had extensions (after we moved out, Holly finally got some individual extensions, and I think she looks the best that she has ever looked right now). The only difference was how long they were, and how many we each had put in. Although there are different types of extensions that I am aware of, we all preferred the individual extensions: pieces of hair with a protein-type glue at one end that is then attached to your own hair at the roots by a hot metal gun. Individual extensions sometime slide off on their own if they are attached loosely to your hair; otherwise, once they grow out and start showing, you can remove them by loosening the glue and sliding them off. Though they are fun to have, they do damage your hair. When you attach and remove them frequently, your hair gets ripped out. It looks thinner, and you begin to miss the extensions thereby falling into the vicious cycle of getting more in your hair and then losing more and more of your own hair as you remove them.

  We were lucky enough to have a gym in the house with everything that a Bunny needs to stay in shape. During my two years at the Mansion, I used it about five times. Some of the girls work out like maniacs, some work out occasionally, and some never do.

  Most girls try to eat healthy and stick to a diet. And yes, some do have eating disorders. I did not know anything about eating disorders until I noticed something strange about one of my law school roommates: she would bake cookies and cakes every day and order pizza all the time, and then disappear to the bathroom to brush her teeth for half an hour. After watching a talk show on eating disorders, I recognized the symptoms in my roommate. I wanted to help her and tried talking to her, but I did not want to embarrass her, so I did not push it. I really did not know how to deal with it. At the Mansion, we all had our own rooms and did not usually share meals, so it was hard to see anyone’s behavior—we only ate together at the Sunday buffet before the movie or when we went out to restaurants. But I know that when Holly first moved in, she went on a severe diet and security had to bring her home from clubs a couple of times because she was feeling weak. She told me she had been dieting and was not feeling well. Then there were times when we went out for dinner and some of the girls barely ate anything, like the time we went to Mastro’s, a Beverly Hills steakhouse, and while Emma, Susan, and I indulged in filets with béarnaise sauce, potatoes au gratin, and creamed spinach, Holly ordered steamed broccoli. Hef came to us and wanted to know why we were laughing and giggling so much at dinner to make Holly lose her appetite, suggesting that we were laughing at her and Bridget. The truth was we had a couple of glasses of red wine and we were jovial and enjoying our delicious food. Somehow it seemed the other girls never missed any opportunity to blame things on us.

  The fact that we had a twenty-four-hour food service at the Mansion was a plus and a minus. It was awesome to come home from a club and order nachos or cheeseburgers and fries, but it wasn’t so awesome when the pounds started adding up. It was like gaining the “Freshman Fifteen” at college; this time it was the “Mansion Ten.” I am blessed with eastern European metabolism, both of my parents are slim; in fact, not one person in my entire family is overweight. My weight has always fluctuated between 108 pounds to 115 pounds, no matter how many cheeseburgers I stuff my face with after my nights of drinking and partying.

  In the end, I am happy with the two surgeries I had, and I have no regrets. If I didn’t have them, I would still be a happy person. If I did not live in an environment that places so much emphasis on physical perfection, I probably would have never had any surgery. Although I would never encourage someone to have plastic surgery, I do advise my friends and support them if they truly believe that they need a procedure to be happy with themselves. I am also quick to discourage them when they are being overly critical of themselves. But sometimes a nose correction or a breast enhancement does wonders for a woman’s self esteem and gives her confidence to go out into the world. I have a friend who had small breasts and always felt unfeminine and reserved sexually because she was embarrassed. Having her breasts enlarged changed her life. In a world full of hate and human suffering, there are more important things to worry about than a girl getting implants. But what I value the most is the fact that I improved my makeup skills.

  Living at the Playboy Mansion is like living in an unrealistic bubble where everyone is beautiful. When I left the Mansion I could not help but notice how “normal” and ordinary most people looked. All of a sudden, not everyone had a perfect tan, blonde hair, and big breasts. Then I realized that it was the Girlfriends who looked like cartoon characters, too perfect and too exaggerated. I needed a reality check, and I needed to readjust to life outside of the Playboy bubble. I darkened my hair and took off the acrylic nails and am happy to be pale.

  17: Playmates at Play.

  “Beauty is only skin deep, but it’s a valuable asset if you’re poor or haven’t any sense.”

  —Kin Hubbard

  The subject of being a “Playmate” was somewhat bitter for most of the Girlfriends because when you became a Girlfriend, you were not allowed to be a Playmate. It wasn’t always that way; many Girlfriends such as Brande Roderick, Dalene Curtis, Stephanie Heinrich, and Tina Jordan were Girlfriends first and then Playmates. In fact, most girls became Hef’s Girlfriends to become Playmates. However, as with many things,
Hef learned his lessons from experience. When they achieved this goal, the women left. Being a Playmate would require a girl to travel and promote her issue, and with her Playmate status in hand, she would leave to pursue other opportunities and younger men. Brande left for Baywatch Hawaii; the other girls simply left. Hef knew that having a Girlfriend who was a Playmate was not compatible.

  Holly, who really wanted to be a Playmate herself, would constantly tell all of the other Girlfriends that they would not become Playmates. I heard that Hef had told her that she wasn’t photogenic enough, and she wasn’t sure if she could be a Playmate, so she certainly would not allow anyone else to become one. She told all of us there was no chance Hef would make anyone a Playmate to discourage anyone from trying. She claimed it was because of the readers; in 2001, Hef had made several of his Girlfriends Playmates and the readers were sick of seeing the same type of woman. I understood that Hef had to please the readers, but after some time had passed, I thought they would be curious to see who Hef was dating. Although I did not care to pose myself, I know that it was a dream for some of the other girls. Emma had been a Page Three girl in England, and becoming a Playmate would legitimize her as a model in her niche of the modeling field. Susan also wanted to be a Playmate. I could understand everyone’s desire to be a centerfold; after all, it provided occasional income forever and was a fun title to have. However, in my view, no one wanted it more than Bridget. I think she had an unhealthy obsession with becoming a Playmate. She demonstrated this on one of the first episodes of The Girls Next Door, when she encouraged the girls who were testing for centerfold to drink too much and then admitted on TV that she was glad that they were “not going to look their best tomorrow.”

  There was also the issue of equality; Hef felt if he made one Girlfriend a Playmate, the other girls would want the same thing, even though that was not necessarily true. In 2004, we found out by accident that Susan had done a Playmate test shoot. We flipped out. For me the issue was not that Hef let her test but that she didn’t tell us about it; just a few days before we found out, she said she did not want to be a Playmate because it was cheesy, a career dead-end, and they were all hookers anyway. I was appalled that someone who was my friend would go to the trouble of saying all those things and creating this web of lies as if we wouldn’t find out. Emma was upset, not only because Susan withheld the truth, but also I think her ego was a little hurt that Susan got to test and she did not. Even though she was denied earlier, she had hoped that as Hef’s Girlfriend, she would be given another chance; plus, she looked better now than ever before, so why not try again? But I think no one was more dejected by the fact that Susan got to test than Bridget. We were also mad at Hef for being so deceptive and going behind everyone’s back to do this, knowing what a sensitive issue it was for most of the girls. The kicker came at the end, when Hef told Susan her own friends ruined it for her. I didn’t think it was very mature for a man of his stature to turn the girls against each other, and then tell the girl she wasn’t getting it because of her own friends. Especially since everyone in the house heard that she was rejected for Playboy because apparently at 32, she was too old. I just couldn’t believe Hef used us as an excuse instead.

  There was also the drama of finding the right fiftieth anniversary Playmate. All year long, the girls kept coming to test and though some of them made Playmate, none was what Hef wanted for the fiftieth anniversary. They had such a hard time finding the right girl. Hef told the Girlfriends more than once that we were so much better looking than all of the other girls who had come through the door. “We know!” was the unanimous answer. But we knew he would not do anything about it. The funniest thing was when Bridget launched her campaign to become the fiftieth anniversary Playmate. She was telling us—Susan, Playmate Miriam Gonzales, and me—about her aspirations, and decided to go get the scrapbook she had prepared so that we could see it. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I thought it was tacky and unprofessional; it was like a photo album with cut ‘n’ paste pictures of her and a letter written by her about why she should be chosen. Bridget sent the scrapbook to the Playboy offices in Chicago, New York, and the Santa Monica Studio. I wondered how many times a girl had to be rejected to move on. But she kept crying and whining about it and continued to do so when she saw that Hef felt bad for her. It seemed to me she learned how to work Hef with tears. I would not be surprised if he gave in and put her in the magazine out of pity.

  For me personally, the matter of becoming a Playmate was inconsequential. That was not why I began dating Hef or moved into the Mansion. In fact, I was fairly certain that even if the opportunity presented itself, I would not do it. And I know people will think I am just saying that because I didn’t become a Playmate or because I am bitter for some reason, but I am not. Hef told me several times that I was photogenic; I didn’t make too much of that, and I never tested. I was the only one of the Girlfriends who did not test or become a Cybergirl, which all of us were “allowed” to become. The Cybergirl title was a concession in my eyes: you got a $1,000 for the same kind of pictures that Playmates got $25,000 for, except you were on the Internet and they were in a magazine. There are fifty-two Cybergirls each year, and there are only twelve Playmates. I am sure if Hef wanted to make all of the Girlfriends Playmates or wanted to feature us in the magazine, I would have gone along with the plan at the time. But it wasn’t my dream or my goal like it was for Bridget, or Holly, who said on The Girls Next Door that “being a Playmate is all Bridget can achieve in body and mind.”

  I did not want to jeopardize my education and future to pose nude in a magazine. The money is good, but after taxes, all you were left with was about $13,000. I made a decision at the very beginning of my life at the Mansion that if I ever posed nude in Playboy, it would have to be for at least the amount of my school loans, never any less. It wasn’t about being prudish. I am European and very comfortable with my body; I think being nude is natural, as natural as we can be. I remember being at nude beaches on the Black Sea Coast in Romania and Bulgaria when I was a little girl. I vividly recall seeing my first penis on one of those beaches. As perplexed as I was about its purpose, I giggled at the ridiculous sight of it, pointing up surrounded by a strawberry blond bush. I was five years old, and I refused to take off my bathing suit. It is comical to me now that I, the child, was the only modest one at a beach where people who should have stayed clothed were strutting their stuff. But after the initial shock of mass nudity, I relaxed and took off my bathing suit, perhaps aided by my discovery of how much fun it was to play with therapeutic mud. There were these fabulous mud baths and seaweed wraps for people to cover themselves with; I thought they worked well as a cover-up. Ever since then I have been comfortable with skin. I consider Playboy to be a classy magazine. I think the pictures are tasteful and artistic; my decision had nothing to do with nudity per se.

  Being a Playmate is not a career in itself, at least for most Playmates. Yes, they get attention when their issue comes out. After that they move to L.A. and try their luck in modeling and acting based on their Playmate status. What most Playmates want and hope the centerfold will get them, is a career in modeling or acting. Many went on to such work, though not at the high end. Anna Nicole Smith, Miss May 1992, modeled for Guess jeans, but others are more likely to end up in swimsuit or lingerie ads and, especially, in beer ads. In the meantime, they try to get Playboy promotional jobs through the company such as making appearances at Mansion parties and playing hostesses at charity or other events. They get about $500 for an evening and a couple hundred more if they wear their bunny costumes. I noticed that it was mostly the same group of Playmates who worked the events. I am sure there are the favorites who tend to get rehired because of their dependability and personality. I know some Playmates stopped getting hired because they had visible drug problems or hooked up with the guests; they did not reflect Playboy well. Because the cost of living in L.A. is so high and jobs are limited, a lot of the Playmates move back home. We had
more than one stay at the Mansion when she ran out of money. There are a few who make it in the entertainment industry, but there are only so many jobs for the Playboy type. It seems like back in the days of Pamela Anderson and Jenny McCarthy, the look was more popular, but now the demand is not nearly that high.

  Marriage, of course, was another thing the Playmates had in mind, and several of them landed rock musicians or professional athletes. Several Playmates’ claim to fame is snagging a celebrity husband. Shanna Moakler got pregnant by Blink 182 drummer Travis Barker, and they got married soon after. Jaime Bergen married David Boreanaz, and Shauna Sand married and then recently divorced Lorenzo Lamas. And Shannon Tweed met Gene Simmons at a Mansion party. Playboy Mansion parties serve as the perfect opportunity for Playmates to hook up with rock stars or actors.

  To say that all of the Playmates long to be Playmate of the Year (PMOY ) is an understatement. First, there is the $100,000 prize to be won, along with a car and a motorcycle. Second, there is the title, and the title means jobs, promotions, appearances, and even more money. And of course there is the bonus sense of superiority in relation to all of the other Playmates of your year who thought they were going to get it. The PMOY is supposedly chosen by the people in a poll. However, the rumor is that it is really Hef, with his elite team, who chooses the PMOY.

  It’s funny, but you always know when it’s that time of the year: the time before a PMOY gets chosen. All of a sudden the Playmates from that year start visiting the Mansion more, showing up at all of the parties. In 2002 a certain Playmate could be seen at the Mansion every single weekend playing Scrabble with fellow Playmate Julie McColough and even cards with Hef’s secretary, Mary, and other older ladies. And then the PMOY title went to Dalene Curtis, and that other Playmate was seen only at Mansion parties, where she was always chatting up celebrities.