Down the Rabbit Hole: Curious Adventures and Cautionary Tales of a Former Playboy Bunny

by Holly Madison

Around the turn of the millennium, it became fashionable for women to appear stupid—to get by solely on their looks and to be concerned only with fame and materialism.

“I’m an adult. I’m here because I choose to be. I’m here for adventure, a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I’m here as a stepping-stone to something else,” I routinely told myself. And perhaps the biggest disillusion: “I’m here for love.”

My dream was always to make something of myself, and by allowing me to afford to stay in L.A., this job was a means to that end.

It never dawned on me that the girls I was about to be spending a lot of time with had ulterior motives beyond simply being friendly, and that all of their encouragement was just for show. As I’d come to learn, they saw me as a useful pawn in their twisted game of Playboy chess.

Since most nights the girls were locked up in the mansion like some twisted version of Rapunzel, they used these evenings out as opportunities to meet other men.

Hef was a notoriously lecherous 70-something old man offering me Quaaludes that he referred to as “thigh openers.” Are you kidding me? Why didn’t I run for the nearest exit? It doesn’t get much creepier than that.

“I’ve read just about every issue of Playboy since I was 15 years old,” began the host, Jimmy Kimmel, “And not once did I see a Playmate say that one of her turn-ons was fucking a 75-year-old man.”

The day-to-day stress of mansion life had taken such a toll on me that I could feel myself mentally regressing. My memory started to dull—and things I used to know with certainty started to fade from my mind. I’ve always considered myself an intelligent girl, but I could feel myself getting dumber and began second-guessing everything.

Losing sight of what it was I had even wanted before moving in, I became obsessed with being the last one standing in this perverted elimination game . . . I was determined to win.