Everybody Loves Tila

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Like eunuchs guarding a harem, the giant bouncers­ part, letting pass a wee sex goddess on platform silver heels. Tila Nguyen marches past and into the noisy sanctum of Atlanta’s nightclub Studio 72—tossing dirty-blond hair, flashing tawny bare limbs and cleavage, drawing gasps and pointed fingers from clubgoers along her path. She lights up the darkness, this tiny MTV star, a hentai Tinkerbell in a shimmering cocktail sheath. “I feel like a dyke in a dress,” Nguyen says of tonight’s wardrobe. “But this is my job, you know? I fell into this whole sex-icon thing, and now I have to dress up to play the role.”

And with a fanfare from the DJ, tonight’s performance begins. “Tila Tequila in the building!” his voice booms over blasting hip-hop. At which several hundred female voices rise as one: Aaaaah!

This much you learn fast when rolling with Tila: The boys stare, the girls go insane.

“The guys are more in the background, more nervous,” Nguyen says of the gawkers she’s been attracting since her MTV dating show, A Shot at Love, gained fame through its conceit of men and women both competing for her hand. “Maybe because I made it easier for people to say they’re gay or bisexual, girls are more comfortable feeling drawn to me now,” she continues. “So girls are, like, sticking their tongues down my throat, grabbing my breast, trying to rape me.”

Safe for now, Nguyen mounts the stairs by the DJ booth to enter a glassed-in V.I.P. section. There she takes a proffered mic and hollers to the crowd. “What’s up Atlantaaaaaah! You came to partaaaaaaay?!” Aaaaah! replies Atlanta.

And for the next two hours Nguyen does her job: being Tila Tequila. She gyrates, bumps and grinds like a pro video girl. She squats down to perform a bravura booty-clap. She stands up, plants both feet and sends shock waves out from her core. She gives the crowd the Internet-phenom/cheesecake-model/blog-pal reality star of 2008. She even performs her new de facto theme song, “Fuck Ya Man” (“I ain’t tryin’ to fuck ya man/Everybody know he my number one fan”), from yet another iteration of the Tequila brand: a recording artist of stripper-pole hip-hop, scouted for a deal by Black Eyed Peas frontman will.i.am, collaborating with Lil Jon and releasing an indie EP titled, with characteristic subtlety, Sex.

On a break, Nguyen comes over to join Blender on a banquette. She tosses back a shot of Patrón and takes a drag off a cigarette. And then she does something more amazing than her booty-clap: Loosely holding a digital camera, Nguyen throws out her arm in a careless stretch, takes a quick glance over her shoulder and—flash—snaps a random self-portrait. She shows us the image: a beautifully composed, perfectly centered photo that looks like it was shot by a pro and selected for a headshot—either a hell of a party­ trick or just one tool in a unique professional skill set.

“Oooh, yeah,” says Nguyen looking at the screen—then gives it a long, salacious lick. The inevitable steel-drum plinks of “Crank That” come through the speakers, augering a new crunk surge. Nguyen picks up a mic. “I love you, Atlanta!” she says.

Aaaaaah! Atlanta loves her. And will for at least the next hour.