Down the Rabbit Hole - Holly Madison

experience with a tanning bed. I was terrified of going to my audition bright red, so I asked for the
lowest possible voltage. It wasn’t a drastic difference, but it did the job.
As I pulled into the address I had been given, I spotted the tour bus immediately. It was so large
that it stood out like a sore thumb in the hotel parking lot it was stationed in. When I arrived, I was
ushered inside the hotel lobby with the other “potential playmates” to fill out some paperwork before
stepping onto the bus for the audition. Over my new metallic bikini, I wore a barely above-the-knee
black “miniskirt” and a white button-down blouse in hopes of capturing that “girl next door” image
photographers were apparently looking for. And, to be honest, it was also the sexiest outfit I owned.
To tell the truth, I was a bundle of nerves; I had never modeled before, so the idea that I’d be
posing practically nude was terrifying. But I figured that since editors were hoping to discover new
talent, they were expecting girls to be relatively inexperienced. On the bus, I envisioned a few stylists
helping candidates with hair and makeup touch-ups and a distinguished photographer guiding the
amateur models into the most flattering poses. Don’t get me wrong, I knew it wasn’t a full-blown
shoot, but I expected at least a little help. It was Playboy, after all.
After a few minutes of waiting, I was escorted to the gigantic 45-foot-long tour bus with two
other girls. We were made to wait in the ultra-lux “living room” area, which was wrapped in leather
with a seven-foot movie screen in the back. I remember thinking that it was nicer than any home I’d
ever been in. Framed portraits of Playboy’s most iconic covers hung on the walls that reached up to a
mirrored glass ceiling. A man with a clipboard walked into the room and greeted us. He gave us a
brief history of the magazine and then asked that we go around the room and introduce ourselves and
say why we were there.
One girl looked like a Pamela Anderson–inspired stripper with white poufy hair, a clingy
silvery dress, and clear-plastic platform heels (and appeared to have brought her pimp with her). For
a moment, I remember wondering if she was actually a female impersonator. There weren’t too many
women like her running around Portland at the time and I was so distracted by her appearance that,
for the life of me, I can’t recall a single thing she said.
The other girl was pretty, but not too remarkable, and I’d guess about 10 years older than me.
“I came to try out because I’ve always wanted to be a Playmate,” she gushed. The man with the
clipboard smiled and nodded, pretending not to have heard this response more than 20,000 times
already. “And me and my best friend have a bet on who would become one first. I want to be Miss
April.”
Then it was my turn.
“I’ve always dreamed of moving to Los Angeles and becoming an actress,” I explained, the
other two candidates glaring at me. “I love Marilyn Monroe and she was the first Playmate, so that’s
why I want to be in Playboy.”
For some reason, each of us believed we were total shoe-ins. I mean, I really thought I had a
shot. Knowing what I know now, though, none of us ever stood a chance.
After the meet-and-greet, each girl was called one by one into the onboard “photo studio.” When
my name was called, I stood up and pressed the creases out of my skirt before making my way into the
room.