it was time to demonstrate value and blow Heidi out. I ran a piece I'd invented after meeting the fake sisters in Miami—the best friends test. "I have to ask you guys: How long have you known each other?" I began. "About six years," one of the girls said. "I could totally tell." "How?" "Rather than explain, I'll give you two the best friends test." The girls leaned in toward me, thrilled by the idea of an innocous test. Guys in the community have an expression for this phenomenon: I was giv- ing them "chick crack." Most women, they say, respond to routines involv- ing tests, psychological games, fortune-telling, and cold-reading like addicts respond to free drugs. "Okay," I said, as if I were about to ask a serious question. The girls huddled in closer. "Do you both use the same shampoo?" They looked at each other to decide on an answer, then turned to me and opened their mouths to speak. "The answer doesn't matter," I cut them off. "You already passed." "But we don't use the same shampoo," one of the girls said. "But you both looked at each other before you answered. See, if you didn't know each other well, you'd keep eye contact with me. But when two people have a connection, they look at each other first and communicate al- most telepathically before answering. They don't even need to speak to each other." The two girls looked at each other again. "See," I exclaimed. "You're doing it right now." They burst out laughing. Big points for Style.