Those angels at MTV bestowed not one but two episodes of The Hills on the world Monday, and happily, each made much of the show's ascending sidekicks. With a two-faced charisma akin to Milton's Satan, Stephanie Pratt slithered in, apologizing to Lauren Conrad for her meddling ways, helping Heidi cleanse the apartment of Spencer, and feigning surprise that a café would have Eggs Benedict on the menu. Just like Hollandaise sauce, she cannot be trusted. Also stepping into the spotlight, Whitney and her Modigliani eyes. On the rise in the professional ranks, Whitney's ditched Teen Vogue for a fashion PR company, where she's honing her "meaningful voice"—the one about leather pants.

It's easy to see these Hills working girls as the counterparts to those romantic and professional Vassar grads of Mary McCarthy's The Group. Just substitute New York of the 1930s for Los Angeles, Vassar for the Fashion Institute of Design & Merchandising, subtract the "grad" and about 50 IQ points as well as the lesbian enigma (please consider this angle, Adam Divello), give it all David-LaChapelle-meets-Disney-princess gloss, and you see what we mean. We're left with an updated question to be answered: What becomes of girls raised on expensive garb and pre-teen spa parties? They style people! They publicize! The become hot designers, hot receptionists, or hot assistants! The possibilities grow and grow to at least seven options.

Leading the charge to quarterlife is queenpin Lauren Conrad, whose hair is looking a worrisome color of blonde. Monday's mise-en-scene portrayed her as the fading star-moon who can't escape the shadow of her tragically lame Brody situation. By contrast, Heidi's hair is growing blonder and straighter (her general aesthetic more stripper-chic with each passing scene) as she moves timidly to emancipate herself from beau Spencer Pratt. And what of Audrina Patridge? She's had little screen time this season, but a new batch of nudie pics helps fill that void.

And then there is Lo, dear Lo, who, like a Jane Austen character with her au natural face and squeaking voice, brings echoes of (relative) wisdom to the mix. Divello, where is her Mr. Darcy? Please deliver, but we beg do not make him French.