Update March 10, 2014: Today I was contacted by the 15th former model who found this post by Googling Douglas Asch and Claude Haddad out of curiosity on where these two jokers landed. Cruise through the comments section below to read the stories of many of them, all with the same story — these guys were predators. If you too were impacted by your encounters with these modeling agents, post your tale for all to see, the more the merrier.
Claude is indeed dead. Douglas is not.
I would like to believe they both regretted their actions, but we all know that would be incredibly naive. They loved every minute of it. We carry the memories decades later and we now have an ugly common bond. Since they got away with it, the least we can do is hammer home the reality of the horror that came along with our Paris/New York/Milan “dream” lives while modeling.
This baby face is what caught the NY modeling agents attention. But this baby face was too fat.
“Try these face exercises” my booker said, as he contorted his face for demonstration, “Big yawn…blow a bubble. Yawn….bubble, good. Again.”
I sucked it in like the word of God.
My mom was at my side my first two weeks in Paris, those weeks flew by and it was time to let me go.
Just last night my mom and I talked about it. The memory engrained in our heads. Thinking about it chokes me up today as a 37 year old woman, my mother 68.
The wave goodbye from the taxi.
I sat on the curb outside our Paris hotel, as my mom got in her taxi headed home. She crained her neck to the back window to desparately catch the last glimpse of me, both of us waving feverishly.
Alone. 16. Paris, France. No idea of what lied ahead.
My mom in her cab. Alone. Back to the Midwest. No idea of what lied ahead. Resisting the urge to run back and take me home.
Baby face shrunk down to half her size within a year, the cigarette & baby food diet will do that to you.
This glorious effort lead by the notorious Paris modeling agent, Claude Haddad (aka Claude Assier). I looked up the old asshole, but I think he is dead. I never got a chance to give him a piece of my mind as an adult woman, so I will tell you;
You lived a pathetic life Claude. A life focused on maniplating young girls with your power and prestige. How full of yourself you were.
Did you die a happy man? Or did the shame of molesting young girls eat at your soul? I wish you no peace.
Do you remember telling me to be more sexy? As you rubbed your grotesque hands over my childlike frame, all the while watching in the full wall mirror in your stately big man office.
The thought of this scene over twenty years later makes me sick. But I let you get away with it, because after all, it was you who gave me the opportunity to live every girls dream.
Ahh, your cohorts Douglas Asch and Pascal Grincourt. You trained them well. The three musketeers on top of the Paris scene, laughing as you brainwashed us into believing we needed to starve our bodies and our minds of independent thoughts.
I remember when you told me to stop making so many friends. Go on castings alone, you commanded, you’ll stand out that way. Keeping us separated was another of your sick control tactics. Boyfriends? Hell no, when I found my first one, I was shipped off to Milan within a matter of days.
Usually people’s faces fade overtime, but not you. You moved like Mick Jagger, surrounded by your harem, always watching with your prowling eyes waiting to give me the familiar nod to come sit by you at the dinner parties. Always had to have the jewels on your arm.
You may be gone, but there are several who gladly took your place. Stalking the States and Skandanavia for fresh meat. Why does the world look the otherway?
I may be gone, but my clones abound. Never a thought to turn you down. To be a model is to be a goddess.