Tipster Tina led me to a great article in Forbes about the path to SuperModel Fame. This entire story reminded me of something I have been wanting to do for a while.
First, let’s set the record straight on a few things regarding my oh-so-glamorous past;
Yes, I was recruited to be a model in Paris, France at age 16. Let me tell you what this means – nada. It doesn’t mean squat. To the outside world it’s like “wow, you modeled in Paris! Holy crap, you were big time!”
I wasn’t big time, I wasn’t even small time. I wasn’t even one kernel on the cob (my husband came up with that analogy, we are cracking up as I write this).
It’s best to compare my status in the modeling world to the structure of Corporate America.
You’ve got your big wig Chairman of the Board, phone ringing incessantly, crackberry glued to his palm, as he watches the company stock….tick, tock, tick, tock. The A-Hole is filthy rich, and doesn’t give two shits about other human beings. His day is about money, fame, and prestige.
Cut to the dude in the company mail-room. In the basement, sorting through stacks of random envelopes. Mr. Mail sets out for his big day, delivering packages to coworkers backs, as they cower in their tiny cubicles, just too busy to turn around and greet this fellow coworker.
Mailroom dude doesn’t mean squat to Mr. Bigwig – not even on the damn radar, and never will be. He doesn’t exist.
As a model, I was mail-room guy.
This must be understood, so you all stop dreaming about being “America’s Next Top Model.
I was just one little girl, plucked out of my rinky-dink hometown, being used by one dirty old Modeling Agent to sell stuff. Sell sex, sell beauty, sell anything he could get away with. That was me and about 4o other “chosen ones” during the summer of 87′, all random beauties trying to make a go of it in the big city.
Me, as a kid.
Sure, I posed for some catalogs, and magazines, a couple runway shows here and there – but who cares? The mags land in the garbage within a month and getting to that point was hell on wheels.
Pretty damn glamorous huh? It was a pile of crap I tell you, a total and complete pile of crap. Ahhh…I feel better getting that out, thanks for listening.
Stop eating. Grow.
Don’t party. Don’t be a diva.
Befriend powerful people.
Expand your brand.
Now you can talk.
Don’t gain weight, ever.
mamaV’s add ons:
11. Take your clothes off.
12. Sleep with your modeling agent and/or booker.
13. Be serious arm candy.
14. Wear teeny tiny skirts to castings.
15. Get a boob job.
16. Sell your soul.
Ok that last one was dramatic, but I’m in a mood.
Still want to be a model?
God help ya.
P.S. song for the day