Model Wannabe

We just finished a grueling photo shoot. I let the photographer pick the models. The last time we did a shoot he was despondent over my model choices. He hated them. Passionately. He almost walked out on the last shoot, but I thought the models were good. So I figured he would have absolutely no excuses for mediocre images if he chose the models this time. Photographers love to blame the models when the images are mediocre. Sometimes it’s true, but often the photographer just screwed up and isn’t taking responsibility. Images of Linda Evangelista in LaPerla lingerie and Christian Louboutin shoes could look like a Cherry Budweiser Sponsored Amateur Modeling Night in the Deliverance Trailer Park if she wasn’t lit properly and the camera angles are wrong.

We've done photo shoots for five years, there are rarely problems except for the occasional no-show. Modeling is not an easy job, I acknowledge that. Most models usually work hard without acting like prima donnas. I've had a few models with significant hangover issues, but they usually rise above it with the help of strong coffee, Vitamin Water and lots of cigarettes. This shoot was different.

Photographers if given free reign, almost always choose the most expensive models they can get away with. This time they were $3,000 per day, per model, two models. We are a small company and this is a lot of money for us. The whole one day shoot cost about $15,000 total, not the kind of budget Dolce & Gabbana would have, but a lot of money for us. Our expectations are always high as it means so much to us to get it right.

Models arrived. Hungover. Puffy. Dark circles that implied a not-so-distant ancestral mating with a family of raccoons. I should have been smart enough to not schedule a shoot that day. It was the morning after a major American drinking holiday. I should have sent at least one home, but was hopeful that the combined skills of heavy makeup/Photoshop-clone/blur tools would render their obvious physical discomfort less visible to the human eye. Sometimes the heavy-lidded look can be interpreted as “sexy”, as opposed to the reality “I’ve had about 30 minutes of sleep after drinking a bottle of Ketel One, and I wish you would get that fucking flash out of my eyes”.

I suspect one of them was high.
a. She smelled like pot
b. She ate two Danish, 1 croissant, 1 fruit cup with granola and yogurt and a breakfast sandwich consisting of scrambled eggs, ham and cheese within ½ hour of arrival
c. She was asking about lunch at 9:00 in the morning after consuming the above.
d. She found my question “Hello Jane, how are you today?” very, very funny.
e. The make up artist said she was stoned and it was hard to apply make up that made her look "awake".

I don't care if you smoke Nicaraguan Sandinista Guerilla Gold by the kilo. Enjoy yourself, inhale deeply. I do give a damn if you do a wake and bake before a photo shoot where I am paying $3,600 a day for you. Jesus Christ... Is this so hard to understand?

Here’s a sampling of the day’s dialogue. When reading the Model part, be sure to use a very slightly feminine but thick Kissinger-esque accent.

Model: "Don’t put that on me, it has vool in it."

Me: "Are you allergic to wool?"

Model: "No, but vool is itchy. I don’t like vool. I DON'T VEAR VOOL." (throws garment to floor)

This puts us in a bad position as 50% of the garments that we needed photographed have wool in them. We try to coax her to put them on, but she won't do it.

Me thinking: How is it possible that you are a fashion model if you won't let wool touch your body? Do you only allow certified organic cotton vegetable dyed fibers to touch your pristine ivory skin? That must really limit your employment prospects in the industry.

You are essentially a highly paid clothes hanger, it is your job to display clothes beautifully. Put the fucking wool sweater on for 10 minutes, your agency is getting paid $3,000 a day +commission for you. I wouldn’t hire a diva like you to lick postage stamps in the real world. Based on what I've seen today, your only employable quality is what some would term freakish genetics. 100 years ago you would have been put in a travelling carnival, given the title Skeleton Girl and shared a booth with Midget Man and Gecko Boy.

Me seething: "Oh, maybe we can have the stylist find something to put under the outfits so you don’t itch."

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Model: "How many more shots today?"

Me: "Well it's only 2:30 in the afternoon and you are scheduled here until 5:00 so I don't know. Even if we finish with the garments we may go back and re-shoot some things that we are not happy with"

Model: "I have another audition to go to."

Me: "You won't be here past 5:00"

Model: "My audition is at 4:30, I NEED to leave at 4:00"

Me: "So call your agency, you won't make it on time. I am sorry"

Model, voice rising: "But it is for a huge imporant account!"

Me: "Okay, but maybe your agency should have thought about that when they booked you with us today. I'm not closing the whole shoot down one hour early so you can leave for another appointment."

Model swearing under her breath: "undistinguishable word, undistinguisable word...fucking job"

Me thinking: You must have attended a prestigious charm school in Slovakia

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Me: "Okay, so for a few of the shots the hair person is going to put a wig on you."

Model: "I hate fucking vigs"

Me: "Yeah, I know, wigs are hot and not very comfortable, but we want to change your look a little"

Model: "Vigs hurt, I hate fucking Vigs. My hair won’t fit under a fucking vig!"

Me thinking: Hasn’t your “tourist visa” expired?

Me: "Well it’s the last shot of the day so you won’t have it on for long, we’ll try to keep it short."

Model (almost hysterical): "But it vill vreck my hair and I have an audition for a dandruff commercial this evening. My hair has to be long and lustrous! (tosses wig on floor)."

Me losing my temper: "I don't particularly care what your evening job demands are, at this moment in time you have been hired to work for us. Please let them put the wig on you."

Me thinking: I hate you more than you will ever know.

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