What I learned from Life this week: If you don’t use it, you lose it. Perhaps not earth-shattering news, but a truism that took me to an uncomfortable realization.
In my youth I was a fashion model. Most of the time I was conflicted about it. I loved the travel opportunities (I lived in Paris) but I hated the assumptions about my intelligence (lacking). I spent a lot of energy finding ways to casually reference my studies at University while applying lip gloss. The irony of being paid to embody feminine ideals is I was all awkward limbs and insecurity. I was a candidate for the job simply for winning a genetic lottery, and I felt guilty about it. I developed the skills that helped me capitalize on the opportunity; I mastered gliding down the catwalk and smiling warmly while doing classic Sears catalogue poses. What I really wanted to do was act. And I had zero desire to be a hyphenate. Oh my god I was so desperate to be taken seriously! Models were not serious in the late eighties/early nineties, they weren’t ambassadors for causes. I retired from fashion as soon as I booked my first TV gig.
Last year I reconnected with my old booker who is now an agency owner. She said there was a market for models of a certain age. I love making money and I love fashion, so I came out of retirement. I’m old enough and comfortable enough in my skin now to not care about the opinion of people I don’t know.
I booked a couple of shows. Walking. So easy, I do it every day. Well, not in todays crazy high heels. I don’t think I ever wore heels that added more than four inches to my height. Todays platform contraptions can add seven inches in one step. At five foot ten I already travel in the higher altitudes on a daily basis. I took a practice run in the heels before my first gig. I think they gave me vertigo. Anyway, everything went well, no ankles were injured or twisted in the making of the show. More shows lined up. But no print bookings. My agent suggested a shoot to expand my portfolio — essentially non-existent. Oh, fun. Playing with makeup and pretty clothes and getting my glam on! Yeahum, not so much.
Don’t lose that smile just because you lost your arm!
Got the contact sheet back and as I scrolled through my thoughts were: Why does my hand look like a piece of meat? Why do I look like I have gas? Am I chewing on the inside of my cheek? There was a whole series where I was apparently demonstrating how to stifle a yawn and smile at the same time. I sucked! I closed the page and checked out my demo reel. Ok, I still had some talents.
I went back to the photos later. There had to be a few lucky shots, I couldn’t have wasted half a day being completely awful. I was lucky. Thankfully the good teeth I was blessed with make for a winning smile. As I went over the shots again I realized that the flaws were all technical. Things I knew twenty years ago weren’t second nature anymore. I was rusty. There is a skill to taking a professional photograph, just as there are skills to being an actor. I would never presume to get on a set or stage without doing my homework, especially if I hadn’t worked in a while. I would make damn sure I had made choices and knew my intentions because there’s more to acting than memorizing the lines. And there’s a lot more to taking a good picture than smiling pretty. I never saw it because I was too busy feeling guilty and hating myself. And yeah, I’ll say it, I did think a lot of models were vacuous flesh hangers.
I’m not proud about the judgement and assumptions. Not proud at all. The self-loathing has diminished over the decades and hopefully the next time I’m in front of the lens, I’ll have brushed up on my angles. And for those who make it seem so effortless, I salute you.
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