Fashion First

Nothing is so common as the wish to be remarkable ~ Shakespeare

Very little amazes me more than the quality of people, women in particular, who dream of becoming a model. I find myself constantly wondering what they see when they look into a mirror - it's certainly not what I see when I look at their pictures - and I have to resist the urge to be cruel. If you're 5'1 and 190 pounds, I want to ask, what exactly do you imagine yourself modeling? We have very little call for someone to be the broadside of a barn. And nobody's looking for someone to sit on the back of trailer truck holding a WIDE LOAD sign but thanks anyway.

The voice mails are even worse. No manners, not bright enough to leave a telephone number, and overwhelmingly inarticulate, unintelligible and mush mouthedly illiterate. I despair, not just for modeling but for the future.

“To hell with this,” I tell Michael at least once or twice a week, “Let's just go with the petting zoo or the gay nursing home and be done with this.”

Never willing to give up hope for a decent candidate, I wend and weave my way through the rest of the applications, weeding out the outright trash and sorting the rest into separate stacks. To the mothers, all of whom claim to have the most adorable and photogenic baby since the dawn of time, I explain that the next Gerber baby will not come from little ol' Shreveport but rather a major market such as Los Angeles or New York City. To the cheerfully rotund, two-ton Tessies, I explain that even plus size models have to be proportioned and have some semblance of a waistline. To the eager under 18's begging for the chance to be discovered, I suggest they talk it over with their parents. For the thousandth time, I explain that we don't take children under seven because we need them to be able to read and take direction. To an uncertain handful, most of whom will fade quietly away when they learn it costs money, I send an invitation to audition. When I'm done, the prospects are exceedingly dim.

Some days are exercises in patience, tolerance, and futility.  I suppose they're meant to teach me something, some obvious life lesson I should already know after nearly seven decades, something about hope or faith or never giving up, perhaps.  But most days all I can see is fog and dying light.