Getting behind the nasty sting of ‘Queen Bees’

“I’m NOT the smartest person in the world,” avers Michelle, 18, one of the participants in the N’s new reality competition “Queen Bees” (8:30 p.m. Friday). “Not that I feel, like, my good looks are the only thing I have. I felt it was important to me because that was something I was good at. I don’t do really well in school. You know, I couldn’t throw a basketball if my life depended on it, I feel, like, you know, I was really good at doing my makeup, I was really good at making my hair nice.”

Were this sentiment uttered in the context in which these young women were lured to participate in this show -- a competition to see who was the biggest diva, in a good way -- it would have been groan-worthy and fatuous, further proof of the contestants’ vacuity and fertile ground for loathing.

But in this context -- during a group therapy session on a show in which mean girls are sent off to attitude rehab -- this qualifies as utterly sensible. In last week’s debut episode, each of the seven participants was asked to analyze herself in front of the others. There were a few revelations, and Michelle’s explanation of how she came to be superficially minded was the session’s most lucid moment.

It wasn’t the most riveting, though. That honor belonged to Camille, a 19-year-old engaged woman from Texas who began the conversation in sunglasses. The session leader, Michelle Callahan of “The Tyra Banks Show,” asks her to remove them, and it isn’t a few minutes before the waterworks begin. “I really am mean to, like, my fiance,” she admits. (He nominated her for this show; all participants were nominated by a loved one.) “I take advantage of the people that, like, I love the most, you know? I’ll hit people. I don’t mean to hit them; it’s just, like, I don’t have any other way to express myself.”

Maybe Camille was just waiting for someone to speak to her as if she had an emotional range beyond imperiousness. In the mold of “Flavor of Love Girls: Charm School” with a dash of “Intervention,” “Queen Bees” hopes that seven completely self-involved young women will see the errors of their ways when forced to look in the mirror.

Thus far, there is thin reason for true hope. Though all of the contestants have given lip service to betterment (all the girls want to win, even if they’re not quite sure why) and Camille in particular seems invested in change -- her performance in this week’s episode skewering herself in a comedy routine is both entertaining and fascinating -- mostly the girls barely look beyond their own noses. Brittany, 20, who recalls a dippier Mary Cherry from the late WB series “Popular,” has fake breasts, name-drops Brody Jenner and talks about dating a billionaire in his 40s. Shavon, 20, decides the quickest path to her own healing is by telling the others about their weaknesses.

“Queen Bees” would be better, and meaner, on MTV or the CW. There’s a shocking lack of schadenfreude here; on the N, a network geared toward teens, affirmation must be the goal. Although these girls are portrayed as shallow, there is never any gratuitous gloating about their flaws, a reality television staple.

Justifying their behavior

The RESULT is humanizing, if not terribly revealing. This proves an underwhelming approach, especially as these young women seem crippled by radical insecurities, which create justification for their behavior in their minds. During high school, Gisbelle used a wheelchair for almost a year because of a spine injury. Brittany, her best friend says, “used to be a really sweet girl. We all loved her when she had glasses and braces and was flat-chested.” And Camille is frightening when she admits, “I will never fully trust anybody; I don’t think anybody should be able to touch me or hurt me in any way.”

Layers this thick don’t just melt away. And so even though the presence of cameras encourages good deeds, in the long run it’s likely that the bad behavior will persist. It’s already resulted in one reward: being on television. Why should anything change?