Midgets & She Beasts

“Where have all the pretty people gone?” Michael moans when he sees the latest submissions.

The morning's registrations are not promising, mostly a parade of midgets, she-beasts and wannabe gangsters, all feeling entitled to be models. They are tattoed and pierced, barely literate, and overflowing with fat they like to call proportion. They have bad teeth, worse skin, and grubby nails.  Farm animals would have better odds at runway careers.  I've seen flatbed trucks with better fashion sense.

Upon discovering that looks, talent, training and work are required, most will fade away. Some will have parents who will laugh at them and then rein them in with a fierce jerk. Others will be smugly confident and offended by our lack of interest. But some will come strutting in with their movie makeup, gel'd hair and boudoir heels. They'll chatter and smirk through Michael's runway demonstration and then walk like uncoordinated hunchbacks. If they can read, they'll stumble through their scripts as if their mouths were full of marshmallows and every multi-syllable word were in Arabic. As they leave, they'll offer limp handshakes, refuse to make eye contact and forget to say thank you. The call backs, what few there are, will be a nightmare.

They'll ask that we send them contracts and then ignore them. We'll leave messages and they won't have the common courtesy to return the calls. Those that do will plead poverty and want a deal. On a good day, Michael will explain the cost is what it is and wish them well. On a bad day, he'll tell them that we are not the Make A Wish Foundation and hang up. If we're lucky,

we might get one or two who are serious, who have potential, and whose families are willing to make the commitment. If we're very lucky, it will be enough.

It's a small slice of what the world is like now, I suppose, but telling. When it comes to following instructions, people don't read and if they read, they don't comprehend, and if they comprehend, they don't care. All I seem to see is lazy, entitled, spoiled kids being raised by lazy, entitled, spoiled parents. They want instant gratification and stardom but aren't willing to do the work. They've perfected the blank look. They want a free ride. And more's the pity, they all end up on our doorstep.

Nevertheless, I spend the morning organizing the audition materials and making sure I have enough of everything for the inevitable handful of too-good-to-follow-the-rules twits that will show up without having confirmed and the equally inevitable late comers who can't be bothered to be on time. When Michael tells them that “taking direction” is critical and wonders aloud if they can't be on time for an audition, what would make him think they'd be on time for a job, they'll squirm a little in their seats.  I'm a fan of comeuppance and petty and small minded as it may be, such moments make me smile.

Despite being specifically told to arrive no more than 10 minutes early, they'll start showing up an hour early.

Despite being specifically told not to bring their entire clan, they'll show up in packs.

Despite being specifically told we won't see anyone under 5'8 for runway, we'll get a dozen 5'1's and they'll all want to argue.  Others won't be able to fit through the double doors.

Despite being specifically warned about chewing gum and cell phones and crying infants, they'll have all three.

The afternoon isn't much better.

Directly underneath an ad that clearly states we're looking for women 5'9 and taller, are no less than 14 applications from women 5'4 and under. 

I have to explain to one starry eyed young mother that no, a picture she has on her cell phone is not the same as a hard copy photo.

A young Texan wants to know if he will have to come to Louisiana or can he phone it in.

Can I bring my 6 month old to the Parents Only session, another wonders.

One tells me he's his lifetime dream has been to be a "faction" model.  Another shares with me his belief that he's been called by God to model.

Lack of pretty people is only the tip of the iceberg.