For D Magazine’s November issue, I wrote a profile on Katie Rogers—the owner of The Mermaid SEAlon, inventor of Mermaid Hair by Katie Rogers, shepherd of 141,000 Instagram followers, and possessor of a personality as big as her fake boobs. What she does not yet have, but absolutely should, is a reality show. And here is why.
For one, she is genuinely ridiculous—emphasis on “genuinely.” Yes, she is cosmetically enhanced from head to booty, but the glittering disco ball that she is is not an act. And yet, she’s somehow likable. Even I, a granola-leaning mom, couldn’t not have a great time sipping from the salon’s signature cotton candy Champagne and watching Katie transform girls into glambots. Plus, she already has a great cast of characters. There’s her super-hot blond roommate, known on Instagram as @summerslayy, and a buoyant staff of “mermaid makers.” But the biggest reason why Katie is prime reality-show material is the gloriously WTF rants that come from her heavily injected lips. Here is an excerpt from a boozy, three-hour dinner we had in July (I had just asked her if she felt like people judge her for how she looks):
Of course we all judge people. I know what I look like. I’m not stupid. I’m not one of those people who lives in a fantasy world of like, Oh, I don’t have gorgeous, beautiful hair and, like, bronzer and walk in in, like, a hot-ass outfit. Oh, I’m going to get looked at? Yes, bitch, of course you are. Especially if you have a blond version of you that’s 5-foot-10 walking in with you. We know what we’re walking into. And even if I’m not with her, I know.
I’m pretty and I have big boobs and I have long legs and I’m bronzed and I look sexy, and usually sexy doesn’t go with smart, and that’s OK, because I’m not book smart and I know that, but I’m very common sense smart. And for me that’s paid my bills and book smart pays other people’s bills for sure, like, typing a lot of big fucking words paid their bills. Typing all the cute fucking words pays mine, you know. So, I don’t know. To each their own, but no, I’m not stupid. I know when I walk in people are going to judge me.
That’s OK because I’d rather them have a low expectation, then sit with me and talk to me and they’re like, ‘Wow, you’re really down to earth, you’re really humble.’ Or, ‘I didn’t know that about you,’ or ‘You’re really nice.’ Because I feel like they had a girl in high school, maybe, who was really pretty, and when they would walk in, everyone was like scared, maybe. And I know that I hold that prettiness and that confidence where I could crush somebody by looking like this.
I could be a bitch if I wanted to. I would never. I would never. But I know, when I walk in, I have that presence of, like, people are scared because they remember in high school that people like me probably treated them like shit, so I always try to go the extra mile, to be extra sweet, because I don’t want them to be intimidated. I want them to be comfortable.
It’s OK, I know I’m pretty. I’m sorry. It’s going to be OK. Like, I’m sorry I look this good. Like, can we just be friends? Like, I’m not going to fucking throw food at you in the cafeteria or something. I’m actually a nice girl in, like, a pretty girl’s body.
I rest my case. Read the whole story here.
