Yaya. Yucky, awful, snotty Yaya seems to pull herself up by her bootstraps time after time. And Lord only knows the judges have been trying to deflate her ego. They snap at her. They tell her she's haughty. They denigrate her sense of style. But nothing works. Yaya is certain that she's the shit, and she's not about to let anyone -- not Tyra, not the rest of the metrosexuals, not nutso Jay Alexander in his high heels and shorty shorts -- take her down a notch. "Go ahead!" her face says. "Brandish those kitchen shears in my face! Make snipping sounds with them, even!" It's no use. She'll still put on her Erykah Badu head wrap and her little black T-shirt that says "Respeito" (That means respect, OK? Got it? Good.) and she'll toss her head back and tell you she's a smart black woman like she's the first smart black woman on the planet.

Meanwhile, another smart black woman, Eva, has gone from being utterly outspoken and angry to playing her cards just right, learning to pose and strut and choose the right fashions and kiss the right asses and avoid trouble even as trouble seeks her out. Eva has green eyes and cool curly hair and she's always been the most striking and the most graceful and the biggest personality of the lot, save only Toccara the plus-size goddess who was only around so Tyra could make a point about big girls before one of the metrosexual masochists on the judging panel sent her packing. Eva is no Barbie. Eva is that doll your aunt bought for you in Holland, the one with the black braids and the green eyes and the little brown clogs and the tiny feet that you never, ever have even the slightest urge to chop to little bits.

See, this is what makes "America's Next Top Model" so much less predictable and more fun than shows like "Survivor" and "The Apprentice" -- it's not based on the whims of fellow contestants, or worse yet, the whims of The Donald. (Who in the world thinks inept political femme bot Jen should have made it this far?) Tyra Banks and a carefully selected panel of extremely egocentric, bizarre, sadistic human beings pick out the next top model, and they do it by looking at actual photographs and footage of the girls strutting on the runway. These women do real work, as silly and staged as a lot of it is, so that by the time a winner is chosen, we have a very concrete idea of how good each woman might be at this profession.

We also know them all, and we have our favorites. Lordy be, do we have our favorites! By the time Amanda was dismissed, I was practically shaking, hoping and praying that sweet little Eva the anti-Barbie would win it all, and dumb Ann and bitchy Amanda and nasty Yaya would all have to eat crow. But I was fearful. I wanted it too much. I was bound to be disappointed.

I should've put my faith in Tyra from the start, though, because Yaya's bitter bun-head was summarily dismissed, and Eva won it all! A modeling contract, some money -- I can't remember the details, all I remember was seeing those big green eyes well up as Eva told the cameras, through tears, how she was just a tomboy, how she was never the cute girl in school... OK, whatever, we're still glad you won. In an instant, all of the carnage made sense, and somehow all those fallen Barbies -- dejected and crushed and ready to stick their heads in their Barbie "Bake With Me" Ovens -- they made this moment all the more thrilling. Sort of like the NFL playoffs, except more glamorous and dramatic and melodramatic and gay. In other words, better.

OK, so maybe you missed this season. No big deal. But next season, you have to watch this show. You'll thank me for it. And in the meantime, join me in a little prayer that Eva will get her Dreamhouse and her hot-pink Corvette. Let's hope she loses the sad, saucer eyes and gets her diva attitude back, too. She deserves it.

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