Finally, Blair returns to scheming. The fact that her scheme – to manipulate the bassstard out of Bass – was so clearly a way of sneaking an “it’s ok, it’s for a reason” snog, is beside the point. Finally, Blair remembered she wasn’t just a society wife-to-be, but actually a bitchy college student (hah) with loose morals.
Ivy / Charlie / annoying blonde Serene surrogate, could have done with a bit of the Waldorf witchery. With the help of La Hurley, she’s about to be outed for being a fake-der-Woodsen. In a highly ridiculous, it’s-such-a-big-city-how-did-her-dull-ex-find-her plotline, her dreams of living happily ever after were thrown off kilter by the return of the boyfriend she dropped for a taste of the good life. Obviously, she had to attempt to stave this off by smooching Nate (clearly the only reasonable solution when a girl’s got a problem).
But to complicate matters, Serena’s “single-man-on-the-loose-dar” went off with the arrival of Max.
With a smile and a toss of that mane, he is swept away, off to become another victim of Serena’s romantic rollercoaster.
The real story of the episode was La Hurley. That she is in the pay of Nate’s grandfather (grandson, sleep with a shady cougar to restore your WASP reputation) is ridiculous, but it is far, far less ridiculous than the alternative; that we are genuinely supposed to believe in Hurley as a media baron and see the New York Spectator as anything other than a glorified gossip blog.
Grandfather’s plan appears to be to shut Gossip Girl down (the site, not the show, don’t fret), presumably so that Nate can concentrate on the serious business of making something of himself. The fact that a) Gossip Girl will totally kick his ass b) A copycat site would go live in five b) Um, this is Nate we’re talking about. Other than using those dimples to advertise toothpaste, what’s he really going to do except squander his fortune on botoxed beauties?, seems to have bypassed him.
But I look forward to the battle of old money versus new media.
And of course there’s Dan, whose week of writing success (OMG, a book launch, rave reviews, I’m so loved, now I am totally self-actualised) has disintegrated into a book tour of empty seats and disappointment. So he holes up in his room in Brooklyn (despite an old-time pep talk from Rufus) and mopes.
Pathetic. Surely his speedy rise and fall is fertile source material for the sequel: “Outside”.