If you hadn’t seen the promo for Bravo’s “Gallery Girls,” and you tuned in tonight, you would probably assume that you had sat on the remote and changed the channel to some long-forgotten cycle of “America’s Next Top Model.” Maybe you didn’t even make it through. If that’s the case, then here’s what you missed. If you persevered, on the other hand, then here’s what we thought. This is our very-thorough “Gallery Girls” recap:

ACT I: Meet the Gallery Girls

The show proper opens with a slender Asian model clad only in a towel and Kabuki makeup. Cameras are flashing. The disembodied voice of an Australian photographer says, “Oh, my God. This is so incredibly ‘80s right now.” The voice belongs to David Schulze, who asks the model if she is OK with posing topless. The question barely escapes his lips when the model obliges and the viewer is treated to a brief view of flesh-colored squares. Meet Angela, an aspiring photographer, sometimes waitress, most-of-the-time model, and self-proclaimed “complete narcissist,” the wayward daughter of stereotypically tight-ass Orange County Asian doctor parents who left home to proudly fly her freak flag in Brooklyn. 

Next, we meet Kerri, whose Bar Rafelli cheekbones are rivaled by her Long Island-grown naïveté. Kerri and her mom are having a rough time schlepping a mattress up from their van to Kerri’s new West Village walk up. It’s a not-very-subtle metaphor for Kerri’s solid middle-class work ethic and her steep uphill climb towards art-world relevance. Kerri who has worked as a lifestyle manager for the super-rich, visited Europe, and seen some art there, explains that combining her love of art and her love of helping the 1 percent would lead to the “perfect package.” 

Uptown, Amy is taking a bubble bath whilst talking to her dad on the phone. At 24, she has the look, demeanor, and gravelly voice of an overgrown sorority girl. She lives on the Upper East Side, loves boys in sweater vests, and her daddy, who pays the bills and allows her to go out, party, and meet new people, as well as to work for free as an intern.

On the lower east side, we meet Chantal and Claudia, who are accidentally/on purpose getting high off floor polish while setting up for the opening of their fashion boutique-cum-artsy trinkets emporium, “End on Century.” Claudia explains that she used to intern at Gagosian, but decided the blue chip art gallery scene wasn’t “her jam.” Props to Claudia. Chantal, a squirrely waif in charge of the fashion/merchandise side of the enterprise, loses her shit over a piece of amorphous, nubby knitwear that seems designed to unflatter even the most Olsen Twin-sized of wearers. “If someone spills wine on this, I would just die?” she says, stealing Rachel Zoe’s catchphrase and turning it into a question. It becomes apparent, in fact, than Chantal has a special proclivity for turning all declarative statements into lilting, narcotic interrogatives. With her whimsical non-sequiturs, perpetually-stoned demeanor, and cabernet-colored lips, she’s poised as the show’s manic pixie nightmare girl. She will inevitably drive poor, hardworking Claudia fucking crazy. But all’s well for now. The girls keep saying the words “sparkle pockets” and giggle. Fade out.