It’s this super useless but admittedly fun show about this group of friends who all work for the same designer house in Los Angeles. Ramie is one of the designers, Isa is the in-house photographer, Dove runs the monthly magazine, Tash keeps the celebrity clients in line, and Clary is the stylist. Everything’s opulent and shiny and draped in glitz. No paint color is allowed to exist unless it’s also a shade of gems and jewels, of satins and velvets. Characters earnestly ooze words like posh and alluring every five minutes.

Other than Ramie and Dove being the two guys and the literal differences between everyone’s jobs, they’re all really just the same white twenty-something-year-old, living the same shallow life and dealing with the same superficial problems.

Which girl to date this week, which guy to sleep with? Which celebrity to style, which one to gossip about? Which dress to design, which outfit to showcase? Which spa to visit, which bistro to eat lunch at?

I get that the show being so ridiculous (on the practical level) while also relatable (on the emotional level) is exactly why it’s so popular.

But my mother’s kind of missed that memo.

She thinks it’s popular because it’s so very white.

In tonight’s episode of The Devil Is in the Design, Ramie and Tash are dating in secret, Isa is fighting with the celebrity she has to photograph, Dove’s worried about a bunch of lost photographs, and Clary can’t decide between Braden with the tight butt and Erica with the pillow boobs.

Meanwhile, my mind’s on the very real Hazel Eyes and how I now know that his name is James.

He’d scrawled it right beneath where his mother’s name had been printed (it’s her business card: abbey thornton, owner and manager, earl of shake). The card’s still in my wallet.

I probably should have just tossed it before heading home after my shift, given that I’m taking a break from dating.

I’m pretty sure James Thornton is like the whitest of white boy names.

I don’t want to Google to find out.

I also don’t want to analyze why I don’t want to find out. Or why I’m actually considering going by tomorrow just like he asked, instead of reminding myself how it sucks that Jackie Chan movies might be ruined for me forever.

How am I supposed to prove my mother’s wrong about so many things by doing exactly what she wants?

Maybe it’s because the sound of James laughing is way nicer to think about than the sound of Kyle and Dev and Ross laughing.

“See, Holly, this is what I want for you.”

My mother’s peeling and eating fresh lychees as she watches the television. She’s found out the fruit is low-carb and has filled the fridge with bags of them.