Stylista

The show is a lot of fun. Like playing dress-up when you were a kid--and about as realistic.

Stylista, which begins on Wednesday on CW, is selling itself as “The Devil Wears Prada” in reality-television form. But it may even surpass its predecessor as a treatise on the empty ambition and distaste for civility that girds so much of Seventh Avenue.

Stylista, which injects drama into the simple act of getting breakfast for the boss, offers other small surprises, but it's not without its icky moments.

Stylista is--what is the phrase?--like a little tick that you want to flick off, but it's no worse than other reality games that have come before and will come after.

Except in the decorative details, it is exactly the same as every other gimme-a-job reality show ever made, with the contestants all banged up in a fancy dormitory from which they disappear one by one after themed weekly challenges.

The contestants are full-blown neurotics, and neophytes to boot: They're so young, inexperienced, and catty that they're difficult to like and even harder to watch.

Gratuitously cruel and mind-numbingly dull, Stylista pretends to be "fashion forward" while it apes everything that has gone before.