Alright folks, I’ve had enough!!! Let me just set everybody straight! MODELING IS NOT GLAMOROUS!!! There is nothing glamorous about it unless you’re a Victoria Secret supermodel. Even then, I’m pretty sure it’s not all rainbows and sunshine. I can guarantee you they aren’t counting down the days until their next bikini wax.
These girls are definitely dedicated… or born with some alien genetics. I have to give them kudos for the amount of their life they waste in the gym so that their @ss doesn’t jiggle when they hit the runway. Share some of that motivation with me!!! Here I am rambling on again!Okay, back to business. Living in NYC as a model is obviously competitive. I’ve never seen so many types of perfection. It’s no surprise that the number of girls is a million times greater than the number of jobs. Which is why when work isn’t coming in, some of us resort to showroom. For those of you who have no idea what showroom is, imagine the movie castaway. Tom Hanks. Stranded on a deserted island. Wilson. (If you’ve never seen this movie, just stop reading this post!) It has to be the most boring job on the planet. Okay, okay, not all the time, when you’re busy trying on clothing for buyers, time flies. When you are hired and numb-nuts that thought there were appointments for the day had it wrong…not so much.
One time in particular I was hired for showroom. Normally, for this client I work on the 10th floor. For some reason, this day they sent me to the 11th floor.
NO ONE is ever on the 11th floor. It’s like in the movies when they send people to a particular place, and it happens to be where they send people to die. Yep. I was being sent to die! I was being punished! I got to the 11th floor and they told me where my closet was. Yes, a real closet, with clothing racks, and hangers, and clothes… and me! Am I the only person that finds it absolutely insane that these people think its normal to stick models in a closet? We are people too! Well I was lucky enough this time to be with a friend. Thank God her and I like each other because we sat in that damn closet from 8am until 5pm and did absolutely nothing. Not once did we try on clothes. Not once did someone come to check on us…maybe ask how we are doing? Maybe see if we are still alive? This is where Castaway comes in. I’d say after the first 3 hours our mental state started to suffer. With limited cellular service and nothing to do but climb in and out of clothing racks like a 4 year old, things started getting a little kooky. I had a conversation with the naked manikin in the closet. Don’t judge me! She was my “Wilson.” I came up with this whole story about her. She lived in a nudist colony…she hated being clothed…the clients didn’t appreciate her nudity so they would make her stand in the closet. I felt bad for her, standing in the corner, at least we got to sit on the floor. What a luxury! Anyway after nine hours of insanity the other girl and I finally came out of the closet. I’m not going to tell you again that I’m not gay. This is getting old! We went downstairs to ask if we could be used on the 10th floor, seeing how we’ve been doing absolutely nothing all day. At this point I was ready to file paper work, clean toilets, honestly anything but sit in that tiny white room. The fact that I was willing to clean toilets should speak for itself. Of course, just our luck, they had no idea we were still up there and told us we could go home! Really?! So you’re telling me I basically got paid all day to sit in a room and lose my sanity? Thanks!I remember telling my brother once I left the job about my day. He thought my job was so easy. I got to sit around and do nothing. Maybe after reading my blog he’ll understand that my mental health was somewhat affected!
