I know this application is like ten years too late, but bear with me. I am begging you to bring back MADE, not for my own personal benefit, but because everyone and their mother are getting a fucking sequel in 2018. No literally, I think Jennifer Lawrence’s mother! is getting a sequel, and this time, they don’t eat the baby. Art cinema, wild right?
Let me help you recapture your millennial audience by letting you help me become a functioning adult. I desperately want to become a morning person. Teach me how to show up to my nine-to-five on time, fully showered, with clean hair, make-up, and an age-appropriate outfit that’s not just my attempt at finding clothes that feel like pajamas. If I excel under your tutelage, we can throw eating a balanced breakfast onto the syllabus just for kicks.
Speaking of breakfast, I ate toast once during my holiday vacation. Real fucking toast. Do you know how underrated toast is as a food? I’m convinced that if I just had some toast waiting for me in the morning I could be a better person. Stand those delicious little buttery slices upright on a rack like they do on Downton Abbey and let me open my mail with a letter opener, and I’d be a motherfucking lady.
A lady who would magically find the energy to wake up in the morning to read or write an entire book or just make herself a pot of coffee instead of metaphorically lighting her money on fire at Starbucks. All I need to get started is an MTV MADE Coach, and I already have some suggestions in mind.
I think, personally, that having a physically attractive coach would the best motivation to help me to get out of bed. I’m not sure what the dirty, sexy man from Westworld is up to in between seasons, but I’ll take him. Otherwise the dirty, sexy man from Good Behavior will be just fine. Yes, clearly I have a type, okay? Don’t even try to pretend like you’re above that, MTV. We all remember Jersey Shore.
Or you could get me a real life pro. Someone who knows a lot about getting up early. Kelly Ripa, perhaps? She was great in that episode of Broad City where she gave Abbi drugs as a thank you for returning her coat. I really don’t know any other morning show hosts, because 1) I don’t have cable (but I’d totally be willing to pay for some to see myself on TV), and 2) I’m not up early enough to watch morning TV.
Let Kelly throw out my dry shampoo and all my baggy sweaters and flannels, and reprogram my phone so that it’s physically impossible for me to hit the snooze button. Let her scream in my face and tell me that I can no longer choose between washing my hair, doing my makeup, or dressing like I actually work in advertising. Let her mandate that I accomplish all three steps. Every day.
You can even tape all the footage you want of me crying and making excuses like, “But Kellllly, I thought it would help to take a Benadryl after drinking a bottle of wine last night, and I’m still really drowsy.” Trust me, I will be extremely difficult to work with, but it’s only because I’m invested in our mutual success.
So invested, that I’m willing to let you capture my soft, lazy body at all kinds of unflattering angles as Kelly drags me to a 5 a.m. yoga class. I’ll cry some more when the breathing exercises alone are too complex for me at such an early hour. You can portray Kelly’s dedication by letting her slap me in the face after I doze off during meditation. I’m talking full-fledged “We were ALL rooting for you” Tyra Banks vibes.
I’ll beg Kelly for forgiveness. I’ll earn a second chance by ironing my clothes and using a lint roller before getting dressed. Slowly, but surely, I’ll develop a caffeine addiction that will have me holding a solid downward dog with the best of them while simultaneously reading the New York Times spread out on my mat so I can start my day fully informed.
So, what do you say MTV?
Anxiously awaiting your reply,