It is not often that someone establishes themselves as a returning Lost in Showbiz character quite this quickly, but we can only offer the warmest welcome back to Treasury Barbie, the Trump administration’s most adorable deplorable. Has it really been a whole three weeks?

Treasury Barbie – or Louise Linton, as her heavily embossed plus-one card has it – is the new-ish bride of Treasury secretary Steven Mnuchin, whom she is squeezing into age-inappropriate Tom Ford with all the adorable cluelessness of a six-year-old girl who just knows the only thing stopping Ken and Barbie from shaking off those marriage-of-convenience rumours is the right sports jacket.

As you will recall, however, this Washington love story is not without its off-brand detractors. Last month, Louise took a day trip to Kentucky with Mnuchin, and Instagrammed a picture of herself sweeping out of a government plane, trailing a series of luxury designer hashtags and one gormlessly grateful Treasury secretary. When a fellow Instagram user replied: “Glad we could pay for your little getaway”, Louise misheard her remark as an order for a full pov-shaming. She promptly tipped all over this voter’s “adorable” misconceptions, in a viral post containing mutiple lowlights, such as the rhetorical inquiry: “Have you given more to the economy than me and my husband? Either as an individual earner in taxes OR in self sacrifice to your country?”

Mmmm. So what now? Louise has since granted an agonised mea-culpa-cum-ballgown-fashion-shoot to Washington Life magazine, and we shall come to that feature’s myriad delights shortly. But this is such a fast-moving story that even her white-tie soz has been overtaken by other developments. First, Mnuchin is being sued by an ethics group for the records related to that Kentucky trip, which many are convinced was to get a great view of the solar eclipse, as opposed to being a business outing.

And on Wednesday, in what Charles Ryder would deffo have classified as a blow upon a bruise, it emerged that Mnuchin actually HAD requested a government jet for his honeymoon, to transport him and Louise around all the stops in Scotland, France and Italy that comprised their three-week tour. Government jets are costed at the rate of $25,000 (£18,700) an hour. Apparently, this is something to do with their security features, and not because they will also defend you in The Hague or do unspeakable things on glass coffee tables in Jeddah.

Clearly, this does rather cast Louise’s original Instagram rant in a new light. “Cute! Aw!!!” ran one passage. “Did you think this was a personal trip?! Adorable! Do you think the US govt paid for our honeymoon or personal travel?! Lololol.”

Well. Who’s lololol-ing now? The Treasury confirms Mnuchin did make this request, but says that, in the end, alternative security arrangements were found. Even so, ABC News is reporting that an official inquiry into Mnuchin’s personal travel request has been launched.

For now, let’s turn to Louise’s “at home” interview and fashion shoot with Washington Life, which predates this latest cosmic misunderstanding, and in which she apologises extravagantly for her outburst in an interview accompanied by several pictures of her posing in full-length couture party dresses. Yes, it is the mag’s Balls and Galas issue – which, given the sackcloth-and-ashes nature of the interview itself, feels perfect. Needless to say, there is very little not to shriek with laughter at. Louise’s philanthropic work is gestured towards vaguely, with its most concrete example being the existence of “three rescue chihuahuas, who lay in their beds nearby”. We must hope they sleep peacefully, and are not troubled by nightmares about being left in a powder room by Paris Hilton in 2008, and forced to survive on canapes and diminishing appearance fees until they were scooped up and made Treasury department officials by Louise.

Other highlights? Her repeated insistence that the infamous social media post “does not reflect” who she is. And yet, having had a good look at Louise’s Instagram before she locked it down, I suspect it reflected her like a striplit mirror in a nightclub at 4am: horrendous, but you are probably better off knowing. She seems to be suffering from a textbook case of personality dysmorphia, where she imagines herself possessed of enormous humility and charm, but is, in reality, a boring little monster.

Then there is an hilarious attempt to remotely reach out to the Oregonian mother-of-three she insulted. “I would ask her about the causes that are important to her and perhaps find something that we could work on together in the spirit of unity and love.” Maybe they could rescue chihuahuas together, or co-host a black-tie fundraiser for abandoned minaudieres.

Of her husband’s reaction to the furore, Louise declares: “We love each other through thick and thin, through good times and through bad, and that’s all I can really say about that. We’ve been through good things, we’ve been through bad things and we love each other like any other couple and that means sticking together through all life events.” Look: they have been married a full three months and have watched some of the same box sets.

In the end, Louise reasons: “I see the irony of making an apology in a ballgown. But it would be dishonest to proclaim that I’m never going to go to another social function.” Frankly, there hasn’t been a more awkward clash between style and content since Brad Pitt was found posing knee-deep in the Everglades and talking about court-ordered visitation rights ($875 waders by Emporio Armani). Still, just as Brad did in that boggling GQ Style horror show, Louise does seem to be a making a concerted effort to appear pained in every picture. The aesthetic is very much: “Yes, I’m fabulous – of course I am – but I will cast my troubled eyes downward with my bejewelled hand to my temple, like it’s suddenly hit me what shitty lives chihuahuas in West Virginia may have.” Or as the picture caption prefers it: “Louise Linton is in the ‘Brielle’ ballgown with textured beading and illusion sleeves by Ines Di Santo.”

Dresses like this serve as a punitive tax on terrible taste, given that those they encase are unlikely to get away with paying less than $15,000 for them. Still, Louise is only promoting them. And here she is sitting at home on her white sofa, wearing 15 feet of red duchesse satin and a look that says: “I literally cannot stop thinking about this totes sad opioid epidemic.”

I do think Washington Life missed a trick not questioning her about In Congo’s Shadow, the white saviour memoir about Louise’s gap year in the great country of Africa, which she had to withdraw from sale last year after various ”discrepancies” were revealed. Still, you can’t have it all – as madam is perhaps discovering – and we must look forward to Mr and Mrs Mnuchin’s next appearance in this column at their very earliest convenience.