Here is an excerpt from my book, How not to be a Supermodel. It’s from a chapter about model casting and the physical/athletic skills I lied about having to try and get some work. Could I play the drums, for example? Sure:
Was I a professional ice skater? eh Yes:
They were necessary little white lies, by the way, because I had next to no physical skills—I couldn’t jet-ski or surf, ride horses, or even swim underwater—and I hadn’t “faked it” until you succeed’ would have ruled out half my job prospects.
In this chapter I end up in some compromising – but strangely zen – positions and completely lose any shred of dignity I thought I had.
And so, without further ado: an excerpt (abridged) from How not to be a Supermodel.
When it came to casting models, I was happy to give almost anything in the name of a hefty salary. There were many skills that were in high demand, usually ones I didn’t have. Not that it mattered, obviously.
“Baby,” my agent, the Texana, would say, “can you ski? It’s for Breitling watches and you have to be able to do slalom in a shot.”
“I’ve never skied,” I said, “no.”
‘When;’
‘No.’
“Baby, anyone can ski. Just tell them you skied as a kid, you’ll be fine.’
“Okay, but when I get the job, surely I’ll have to ski?”
“We’ll deal with it if it comes to that.”
OR,
“Hey honey,” my other agent would say, “can you drive a scooter? . . .Okay, but when push comes to shove?’
The worst casting I ever did was for a new women’s sportswear brand that was launching its yoga clothing line. And the fault, this time, was entirely mine.
‘Baby do you do yoga?’ Texana asked when I called to check in for the next day’s appointments.
“No, but my mom teaches it.”
There was a pause.
“Okay baby, but . . . do you do i do yoga It’s just that for this casting, you have to go through a series of poses, so you have to know the language.
“Yes, I can do the positions,” I said, “the stretch and the crossed legs. I can probably still do a headstand.’
‘Correctly. . .’ Texana said. I just . . . I am wary of a repeat of the commercial situation of beer.’
“Where did I do Karate Kid moves?”
“Oh my God, baby, what the hell. They said it was like watching someone drop acid and then try to fight themselves in a hall of mirrors.’
“Huh,” I said. “I’ll make sure to do some yoga poses then.”
“You’re posing, baby,” Texana said. “They’re called poses.”
“Don’t be afraid,” I said. “I’m turning white as we speak. Going for the warrior dog and the downward spiral.’
The yoga casting took place in a dance studio, beautifully lit with sunlight streaming through two full-length windows, reflected by a wall of mirrors on the wooden floor. The customers, three friendly women in their thirties or maybe forties sat behind a table that was littered with model portfolios. They looked very serene, with hair loosely pulled into ballerina buns or draped over shoulders, all dressed in soft fabrics and soft colors that make your clothes look like they were stolen from an eighteenth-century vampire.
“Nice to meet you, Ruth,” said the first customer. “We’re desperate to book you for a campaign, so it’s great that this yoga series can fit the bill. You have exactly the look we want.”
“We’re going to start with warrior pose,” said customer number two, playing spa music.
Warrior pose? What land was this? Couldn’t they just see me in leggings and a crop top and be done with it? Surely on the day of the shoot someone could just sort out my legs and arms?
“It’s important to us,” said customer number three, “that whoever we use does genuine yoga.”
Oh
“We really want the campaign to be authentic and the images to speak to our customers – we’re not just a brand that uses models that look good in our clothes, we’re a brand that uses models that will wear our clothes in real life. Real athletes, gymnasts, climbers, and you, hopefully, as our seasoned yogi.”
Wait. What?
“Yogi?”
“Let’s get started and see how the samples look,” said customer two. “I can’t wait to try the gray harem pants on you.”
For a warrior, I pretended to hold a spear in one hand and put the other on my hip. To be fair, it wasn’t a million miles away from the right stance: I’d put my feet in a strong, long stance that looked relatively convincing, actually. The forward stance was pretty self-explanatory and, miraculously, I actually knew the bridge. It was when the other poses came up, the more abstract names, that the shit really hit the proverbial fan. Who would have ever thought that “mountain pose” would be “standing upright”? Which mountain is tall and thin and not big and round, like a boulder? Which would obviously make more sense, fully explaining why a person would think they should turn into a big ball, hug their knees and put their head between their legs. . .
“Okay,” said client two, the slightest quiver of confusion in her voice, “let’s move on to downward facing dog.”
I mean, how would a dog look down? Isn’t it already mostly down due to the fact that it walks on four legs?
“This is more of a cow stance,” said customer one, “but with four straight legs. Not sure I’ve ever seen it like this, but ok. Let us now pass to the posture of the child.’
Well. Even under such intense pressure, my mind was spraying ideas left right and center, God bless it. He had sensed extreme career risk and risen to the occasion, providing solutions to every prompt with a second or two’s hesitation. It was like being in a weird version of Charades Brainin which the presenter called out a random word and I had to find which action could possibly – like one in a thousand chances – be the right one.
My mind and body have never had to work as hard as one. And now, after the cow and the downward dog and a mountain pose and a boat pose (which I was very pleased with, as if I had managed to use my hands as paddles and one leg as a mast) I had one last challenge. The child’s pose.
Do it. . . do you need help?’ asked client three as I stood quietly on the mat, eyes closed, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. Buying time.
“No,” I said, eyes still closed, hands over my ears, because it felt good, “I’m fine, thanks, just taking a breather before I make the next stop.”
What poses did the children do? There was the fetal position, which didn’t seem flexible enough to be a yoga pose and so was my least preferred option, and then I considered skipping it. But you couldn’t hold a hopping pose or skip in slow motion unless you wanted to look like a complete fruitcake, so that wasn’t possible either. The kids loved climbing the trees, but I had done the tree pose with my branches outstretched and my toes curling on the floor like roots (nice touch!) so what were the chances of me being made to repeat the myself? No, it would have to be my fourth choice and I was pretty sure of that because so far I hadn’t been asked for any of my solid, tried and tested yoga moves. And I didn’t feel like butting heads in front of them, so I plopped down in the most childish position of all, the position that all under-tens must adopt for hours during the school week, in a room that reeked of boiled vegetables: sitting cross-legged.
“Uh,” said one customer.
“Um,” said number two.
“I’m not sure that’s exactly what we’re looking for,” said customer three, as I awkwardly climbed into the standing or “normal” position.
“It’s okay,” I said, “I know my kind of yoga isn’t for everyone.”
How not to be a Supermodel available in hardcover, ebook and audiobook here. If you’re not in the UK, please note that Waterstones delivers worldwide. At the time of writing, there are a limited number of signed first editions available at Toppings here.
