Showing up at 4:30 a.m. is a small price to pay for being first

In case you haven't heard, P. Diddy needs an assistant. As any good media mogul would do, he's using a VH1 reality show to find his PA. Dutiful soldiers that we are, we hit the line at Saturday's open casting call to find out who's crazy enough to want to work for a man who can't pick a name, much less a type of latté.

We heard rumors that people would be sleeping on the streets outside APT waiting for their shot at pseudo-stardom. There weren't, but our girl Adrienne, who *shameless plug alert* found the casting call on our job board, showed at 4:30 a.m. "I was waiting in my car, watching people come out of the club," she told us. She had a secret strategy for the interview, but refused to reveal it. Kimberly, the woman next to her who'd been in line since 6 a.m., was more revealing. "We're gonna turn our butts," which she proceeded to demonstrate.

While we were still contemplating this turn of events, a man sporting a Gandalf beard, who was dressed in red flannel pants and a fringed leather coat, asked us what the line was for. We told him, to which he replied, "I've got too much realness for [P. Diddy]." Later, we saw him standing in line for the Jeremy Laing show just down the street. Because nothing says "realness" quite like a fashion show.

Eventually, we were hustled into APT's interior to meet Danelle Gelfand, an executive producer on the show. She said it would hopefully debut this summer and that the casting directors wanted "hard-working, motivated, driven people who were looking to learn from an international mogul." She had worked briefly with Diddy and called him "smart and driven." We lobbied to watch the casting process (10 people at a time, divided into two groups, told their stories to the casting agents), but citing legal concerns, Gelfand escorted us out as the hopefuls began their interviews. We looked over our shoulder as we left. As far as we could tell, no one was turning sideways.

To our left: P. Diddy's casting call. To our right: Jeremy Laing. In the middle: Irony overload.

Next stop: Fame, fortune, coffee run

Does the Sartorialist need an assistant?