Eating Disorder ProAna Blogger Focused on Body Image and Self Esteem

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. 

On to the Forbes Top Ten Ways YOU! Can Be A Supermodel!:

1. Stop eating. Grow.
2. Be photogenic
3. Get signed.
4. Be quiet.
5. Don’t party. Don’t be a diva.
6. Befriend powerful people.
7. Date celebrities.
8. Expand your brand.
9. Now you can talk.
10. 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.

-mamaV

P.S. song for the day

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xB7pQpNx-F4]

Model’s Apartment

Episode #4: Masturbation Capital of the World

Models: Angel, Diane, Jennifer, and me.

Location: Paris, France

Year: 1988

Ahh Paris…known for its lovely sights, romantic views, and masturbater around every corner.

My first encounter with a Paris flasher was some old guy, sitting on a bench in broad daylight, pants at his knees, happy as can be, as he pleasured himself in the park. I caught a glance of him first, told my friend Jennifer not to look, as we skirted around the corner to laugh our butts off. We couldn’t believe it. At 16, I had never seen such a thing, and we thought it as a fluke.

Fast forward two weeks. This time I am alone, walking to the gym with my headphones on. I am crossing the Pont des Invalides bridge, cars whissing past left and right. The young guy walking ahead of me decides to stop, and peer over the side of the bridge. I keep walking, but I can feel his eyes on me.

Out of nowhere, the guy burns past me, like he is all of a sudden in a big hurry, and disappears around the corner. Seconds later, I turn that same corner, and almost bang right into him. He’s got his khakis down, and he’s staring me right in the face, just waiting for me to glance down at his crotch.

I keep walking, fast as I can and don’t look back. My heart is beating out of my chest and I am just thinking “he looked so normal, like a preppy college boy.”

The story goes downhill from here. Next up is this creepy guy in the subway. He’s got his shades on, and he’s decked out head to toe in a red cotton sweatsuit.

I am sitting next to my friend Diane, and I glance at his reflection in the subway doors, only to see a huge bulge in the guys sweatpants. Of course this is funny, not scary, since Diane is at my side. I tell her “don’t look now, but we’ve got an admirer.”

We switch trains. Shades follows us. Now we are getting kind of freaked out. We know he is following us, but again, we figure its mid-day, we are together, what is the worst that can happen?

We hop off the train and try to ditch him. Shades is fast and he bolts to the opposite side of the street. We continue to walk fast down our side of the street, as he matches our pace on the other side.

Now we are laughing because the guy looks so weird, he is totally hauling ass to keep up with us.

Suddenly, he darts across the street, corners us, and yanks down the red sweats.

A poor old granny with a walker (no lie) someone gets stuck in this middle of this mess. She glances up, doesn’t change her expression whatsoever, redirects her walker, and just keeps tooling along. This woman acted like this scene was old hat for her. Unbelievable.

Diane and I bolt down the street, I look back to see ole’ Shades jacking away, getting a thrill out of the fact that he scared us. Diane and I make it to our casting location, duck inside the double doors and stop to catch our breath.

To this day I think about the gall of that guy and I am just flabbergasted. Why did no one react to that scene taking place? Is there some sort of unwritten rule in Paris that you are allowed to stalk women in this fashion? I have lived in the States for 37 years and I have never had anyone masturbate in front of me.

Anyway, there was another random, gross subway incident that I won’t go into. Same crap, different day. Instead, I will close with this pathetic incident.

One day, a new roommate arrived at the model’s apartment, her name, none other than Angel. Angel was a Christian beauty from the south, nice as could be, and we all liked her right from the start.

During Angel’s first week in Paris, she was noticed by this major fashion photographer named Fabrizio. She was booked for a test shoot and we were all so excited for her. Off she went on her booking early one morning, little did we know she would have an experience she would likely never forget.

About 7pm, Angel comes in the door and bursts into tears. As we all comforted her, we pulled the story out of her of what happened on the shoot.

Turned out good ole’ Fabrizio liked to multi-task. He shot photos with one hand, while he pleasured himself with the other.

Angel was totally horrified. She didn’t know what to do. She felt like she was sexually abused, and as a matter of fact she was. No one should have to endure that type of treatment.

Sure, she could have left, walked away, yelled at the guy, demanded to be taken home. But when you are 16 years old, modeling in Paris, weird things happen. They happen fast, they happen out of no where, and you literally can not even process what is occurring, until its over. Then you are left to sit, alone with your thoughts, beating yourself up for not being stronger, not standing up for yourself and saying no.

Today Angel likely lives with that brutal memory, and I live with my quirky masturbation stories.

Paris, France….one hell of a freak show.

Model’s Apartment, real stories, from one who lived to tell about it

Setting: Manhattan, early 90’s

Models: Grey, Paula, Angel, Katrina, and me.

Agent: Douglas

Ages: 18-20

I was considered a lucky one. I was chosen to live with my modeling agent, along with 4 other girls, in his upper west side penthouse in
Manhattan. We had the doorman, a few stars in the building, the whole nine yards.

As far as NY living space goes, this place was plush. There were 3 bedrooms total – one for our agent Douglas, one with two sets of bunk beds allowing for 4 girls to share, and the last for Paula, a prominent model whose success in modeling earned her the rights to her own room.

At night, I would usually work out like a manic, make popcorn for dinner, and hang out in our room, since the others would usually watch TV in the family room. On this night, I decided to not be totally antisocial and watch the Simpson’s with the girls in living room, so I sprawled out on one of the couches to relax – big mistake.

Doug, our greaseball agent, comes out of nowhere, and hops on the couch behind me. Before I knew it, he was snuggled up with me, staring at the TV like we were some sort of couple.

He was quite touchy feely with the others, but I was kind of a tough ass, I thought he clearly knew this was not an option with me. I thought wrong.

He had never made a move like this before, so I was totally caught off guard. I am ashamed to say it, but I froze. The next thought that entered my head – escape plan. I decided I would leisurely get up to go to the bathroom, but before I knew it, I felt his hard on pushing into my back.

Needless to say it was grosser than gross.

Now I really froze, for about 10 seconds, then I jumped up and went into my room. I immediately started doing sit ups, who the hell knows why, just seemed natural at the time. I was so pissed off in my head, and at that moment I started planning how I was going to get out of that privileged apartment.

Within two minutes the door opens, it’s him. He looks at me in this perturbed way and says “Where did you go?”

I say “I’m doing sit ups.” I know I looked scared.

Damn, if I could go back in time I would have said “Go get your cheap thrills somewhere else asshole.” (I can dream can’t I? I wish I had the balls to say it). How dare he do that to me? I thought he respected me more then the rest of them.

I was Heather. The smart one. The one that was above it all morally, physically, and mentally. I was the one he always came to when one of the girls needed a motivational speech on how to behave, or needed a helping hand getting around the city for castings, or needed to be pushed into the gym.

Well, no one is above it all in the modeling industry. If you choose this profession, watch yourself at all times, because no one will do it for you. The males that are in this industry are in it for a reason – quick access to young ass. Crude, but true.

At least this story ends on a good note. There were no other “boner in the back” incidences. I finagled my way into a different flat in the same building, with another model named Grey who was ready to get away from Greaseball.

To this day, I think about what I would say if I ever saw Douglas. I travel on business to NY quite often, and I plan on paying him a visit one of these days (I was just there last week but was too chicken to do it). It would just be soooo satisfying to look him in the eye, as an adult, successful mother, and respectable woman, and tell him what a sick impression he left on me as a young girl.

Wanna bet little Dougie boy would be scared?
Would he blush with embarrassment or shame?
Hell yeah.

Confronting your past. Priceless.

-mamaVISION

I have to say I have been completely blown away by the response to the first two episodes of Model’s Apartment, I concept I just dreamed up last Friday night when I was stuck on an airplane trying to get home from a business trip. These stories have been in my head for years, it feels good to get them out.

However, my blog statistics are actually scaring me! I think its because I have been hanging out here blogging, somewhat incognito, and all of a sudden BAM the blog world is all over you. However, all this traffic is bringing awareness to my mission so it’s all good.

The reason I blog is to expose beauty myths and modeling truths.We are a society inundated with airbrushed, unachievable images which only serve to drive women into the ground as they strive to be what they see in the magazines. I hope my experience as a 16 year old model in Paris can serve as a voice of reason to women and young girls.

This post I received today fully encompasses the POWER of blogging, this is the type of change you can create with your blog, your mission, your passion. I can not even begin to tell you how it feels to receive a message such as this:

Ellie | posted January 23rd, 7:55am in response to Ana & Mia

Hey, i suffer from ana with mia “tendencies”, im just 18. Ive read through your site and watched you videos on you tube. I currently weigh 90pounds but im 5ft9, like you said in one of your videos, i wanted to weigh 120…then 115…then 110 and thought just that little bit more, food restriction and calorie and fat content took over my life!Now i am trapped in what feels like an empty void, im numb and all i can think about is when am i going to crack and eat more than 200 cals,or when im going to start my next fast. It was after watching your videos that for the first time in 5 years i can actually admit im not happy. I dont wanna feel like this and dont want to look like this. I actually LOOKED in the mirror this morning and truely seen myself and what i really look like, and i really didnt like what i seen. I made my very first appointment with a docter today, im going on friday im really scared but im ready!I really want to thank you because you have saved me. I dont know what it is but listening to you talk felt right..i believed you, i trusted you yet i have never met you. I truely am in debt to you, you have saved my life, i will never forget you and will message you to let you know how my recovery is goin.

Much love Ellie x x x

To learn more about Ana & Mia (aka Pro Anorexia and Pro Bulimia web sites, go here). Honest to god, when I stumbled on these sites, they stunned me. As a parent, I couldn’t sit back and do nothing, so here I am.

A few scary statistics for you to ponder:

“Young girls are more afraid of becoming fat than they are of cancer, nuclear war or losing their parents.” Lisa Berzins, Dying to be thin.

Over 50% of women say their body disgusts them (Dove Internal Study, 2002)

Some six year olds already don’t go to the beach because they feel they are too chubby, Suzie Orbach 2005

In Fiji, a country without the kind of media we are exposed to, 12 out of 100 girls are now bulimic. The culprit? US TV invated their space in 1998, and ever since girls state they are trying to emulate what they see on TV, Suzie Orbach 2005

How you can do your part:

Be very aware of how you speak about your body, and attractiveness around your daughters….they are hanging on your every word. Mothers are proven to be the most influential person in the lives of our girls.

Stop buying the fashion magazines that make you feel like you are not good enough.

Chuck your scale.

Make a donation to NEDA, in honor of our Leah, who passed away from anorexia earlier this month.

Model’s Apartment, real stories from one who lived it.

Episode #2: The day 60 Minutes called me.

Setting: Milwaukee, WI

Model: me

Age: 17

After about a year in Paris and Milan, I decided to call it quits, and go home to get my head back on straight. A life revolving around what I looked like, left me drained of self esteem, along with a removable cast on my leg due to severe stress fractures from exercising my body to a pulp.

I had been home a few days, and was enjoying one of my notorious 14 hour sleeping sessions, when the blaring ring of the phone startled me out of bed.

“Hello,” I slurred.

“Is this Heather?” the male voice on the other end of the line inquired.

“Who’s calling?” I responded still half asleep. I could tell from the crackly, connection it was an overseas call

“I’m a reporter from 60 minutes. We are doing a story on Paris modeling agencies and wondered if you’d help us out. (Hell ya!)

I sat up to compose myself, and quickly answered “yes, what do you need?”

“We are looking for a girl named Heather, who worked in Paris earlier this year. We found your comp card and saw that you worked for Claude at Prestige Agency.”

“Yes.” I answered, still waiting for the punch line.

“This Heather I am looking for stated she was encouraged by her modeling agent to take drugs, cocaine in particular, and she was persuaded into a sexual relationship with him. There are accusations that your agency, Ford, and others are engaged inappropriate behaviors with underage models from their agency. Can you tell us your experience?” he inquired.

“Nothing happened to me, and I am not the Heather you are looking for…. but I am sure she is out there. What you are describing is par for the course over there,” I explained.

“Ok”, he responds waiting for me to continue.

“I can tell you this much, it’s not some big mystery that the Paris modeling scene has built its foundation scouting young girls, particularly from the US and Sweden. They herd us all over there, most girls are naïve, and fall victim to the agents and bookers to prey on their weaknesses,” I state, as a smile broadens on my face (the perverts are gonna get what is coming to them).

“Can you provide me with more specific information, who I should be taking to, where I should be researching?” he asks politely.

This question led to a lengthy conversation in which I spilled my stories, gave him all the leads I could think of, and wished him the best of luck in his research.

“Call Heather ____ in Sweden,” I conclude. “She will tell you how our agent Claude (the one who was supposed to be keeping us safe as minors away from home) crawled into bed with her at night. She was “chosen” to live with him along with several other girls, and he forced himself on her. She got the hell out of Paris, and headed home. I heard she told her story to her local newspaper, in an effort to warn other girls and parents about the dangers to be expected if and when they are selected to model with Claude’s agency.”

With that he thanked me.

“You made my day.” I said as I hung up the phone.

———–

The 60 minutes episode ran a few months later, which I watched with my parents. I was always honest with my parents, they knew all about the sex, drugs, and modeling scene crap….but seeing it exposed on national television was another story.

I believe the reason I escaped the sexual prowness and drug temptations is because was unusually street smart for my age.

I exuded an aura of confidence and toughness that sent the message to the powers that be – “Don’t even think about it.”

I felt bad for my parents. I knew they always questioned if they made the right decision, the decision to let me go live in a foreign country, alone, at the tender age 16. It didn’t help that they were continually questioned by friends and other parents in our small mid-western town on why they would let their 16 year old daughter go to Paris by herself. The truth is – they let me go because they had my best interest at heart.

They didn’t want me to miss this once in a lifetime experience. Sure, there were risks, followed by a hell of a lot of fall out. But in the end, the things I did, saw, and experienced during my years as a model literally made me who I am today. I mean that. This can not be overstated. Had they not let me go, where would I be today? I can tell you this much. I would not be the happy, content, confident women I am so proud to be today.

And for that I will always be grateful for my crazy, demented Paris modeling past. And finally, I have come to a place in my life that I am actually proud of it.

Thanks for reading,

-mamaVISION

Model’s Apartment

Real stories, from one who lived to tell about it

Title: I accidentally posed nude.

Setting: Paris, France late 80′s

Models: Jennifer & me

Age: 16

I met Jennifer, a Texan teen beauty, upon my arrival to Paris. We shared a model’s apartment, and quickly became confidants.

Jen was a dancer at heart, with a svelte figure, golden curls, and a freckled baby face. Her cute Texas accent only accentuated her naivety (not a desired quality when you find yourself surrounded by modeling agents, bookers and photographers circling for fresh meat 24/7).

Luckily, she had me as a friend. A somewhat rebellious, overconfident, con-girl of sorts.

I was a risk taker, willing to put myself on the line in the name of righteousness.

(Me…in disguise. This was one of my fun days as a model, I had a great time on this shoot, I felt like a different person! You should try it sometime, just get wig, deck yourself out and hit the town.)

Back to the story. A few weeks into our Paris modeling dream life, Jennifer came home crying.

“I accidentally posed nude,” she said and collapsed on the bed.

She went on to explain, she didn’t know why she did it, how she did it….she just let her guard down and now was stuck with the brutal reality that she had done something she considered against her morals and standards.

The photographer was Barry, a well connected guy, not someone you want on your bad side. He was funny as hell as a person, but his personality as a model photographer gave me the creeps from day one. He charmed the pants off all the girls, and had a scary ability to get almost anyone to take their clothes off (with the exception of me of course).

As luck would have it, good ole’ Barry lived in the models apartment upstairs (his girlfriend was a model, so he got to stay with her and the four other girls housed there). This guy hit the jackpot with this set up.

We immediately started devising a plan, I was determined to right this wrong.

“At the agency tomorrow, I’ll get the key to the upstairs apartment from one of the girls, I’ll tell them I need the vacuum cleaner or something. We go in, you guard the door, I’ll sift through Barry’s film and grab your shots,” I said confidently.

The plan was set. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough for Jennifer.

Jen was balling as we headed upstairs, and my heart was pounding inside my chest.

I figured worst case scenario Barry busts us and starts freaking out, which we both knew was a distinct possibility.

I clicked open the heavy steel door. No Barry in sight. But a few of the girls were unexpectedly home. Jen made chit chat with them while I pretended to go to the bathroom, but instead diverted to Barry’s room to start the photo hunt.

The room was a total disaster, clothes and crap all over the place. Then I saw his photo equipment, in a relatively organized pile in the corner.

Back in those days, everything was printed to slides, so I started by frantically flipping through books containing sheet after sheet of nude models. Lovely.

It took me about 2 minutes to find Jen’s slides and pop them out. On to the backup film. I had no idea what I was looking for, but I figured the guy had to have backup film. I dug around, almost gave up, but then saw film sorted by date in a file folders.

Bingo! Found them. Double checked that I had them all….and ran like hell.

Jen bolted after me down the long hallway. We were laughing like crazy, we beat the bastard.

Back in the safety of our apartment, we flopped down on our beds, caught our breath, and smiled at each other.

I am not sure where Jen is today, I’ve lost touch with all of my modeling friends. But I know she would remember this day, and be grateful we erased this moment of time from her past.

As for Barry, I ran into him at a club in NY about 3 years later. He was totally coked up, and pulled me into the girls bathroom to do a line (which I rejected of course) .

Once a loser, always a loser.