The Model

That night we went out with The Model. The Model was a friend of Porsche-guy’s who was new-ish in town. She lived in a model-apartment, owned by her agency. Porsche-guy knew her because one of his super-sleazy friends knew somebody at the agency, who could ‘provide’ fashion models for parties. I’d seen a few professional pictures of her, which Porsche-guy had shown me online, in these she looked stunning, but in real life she was oddly grungy. In a pretty, not much make-up, and faded jeans sort of way.

She was kind of mousy, half way between a blonde and a brunette. She kept her hair long, so it was versatile for shoots. The stylists preferred it this way. In the nightclub, she looked over at another girl she knew, also a model, in envy. The girl had this spiky elfin haircut, “omg she’s totally made it,” whispered The Model in awe. It turned out that the girl had just been booked for a Vogue cover and a CK ad. Nick Knight had been playing around with a new look for her. The editors liked her distinctive look. The boyish cut was different and brave, just what they wanted.

The Model had grown up in a trailer park out in Ohio, and had been spotted by a scout at her local mall aged fourteen. She was naturally tall, and thin, with a flat chested androgynous figure. As a teen she had been jealous of the more “well-developed” girls who the boys preferred. But when she came to New York she came into her own. As a high school running champion, she found it easy to keep her weight down, the treadmill burning the few calories she did consume each day.

We drank Mojitos and ended up talking about the Hot or Not website. (Basically you post a picture of yourself, and guys rate your looks.) “That’s just crap,” said Gina, “If you’re good-looking then you’ll just be perved at by lots of men, and if you’re not conventionally attractive, it’s just a depressing way of re-enforcing the fact.”

“Yeah, but isn’t that just a hyped up version of what we go through every day?” I said,

Gina nodded in agreement. “When was the first time you got perved at by a man?” she asked,

“Well,” I said, thinking back, “I would have to say, when I was about twelve and a half, I’d just started to develop breasts. I was wearing a vest because it was mid-August, heatwave, and these guys driving past in a van honked at me,”

“You never forget your first time,” said Gina, “I think for me, it was when I was about thirteen. I can’t remember exactly what I was wearing, but I was going to the shop to buy a magazine, and these three older guys, I would guess they were about eighteen, followed me down the street. I heard one of them say: lets go where she’s going.” The Model was completely hammered after drinking about three sips of vodka. She kept nodding and smiling at everything we said, but I don’t think much of it was going in.

I was starting to feel drunk, Porsche-guy in a fit of generosity had put his credit card behind the bar, and we were taking full advantage. Gina and I tumbled into a cab and slumped in the back seat while the driver chatted at us. Gina called to him to stop when we got to her street, and I watched her stumble up her front steps, and fumble with the key in the lock. The driver dropped me home. I think I must have paid him about $30, I don’t remember.

I woke up the next morning feeling crap, and resolved to go on a health kick. I drank juice for breakfast, and decided to go on a Broccoli-diet which I had seen on a program about aspiring models.

Advertisements

3 thoughts on “The Model

  1. Haha! The first time I remember being “perved” was after I had my son and my boobs were engorged from breat milk. It was at the airport. Kind of unnerving. “Perved” is a new word for me. I think I’ll start using it.

    • I think English women use it quite a lot to mean any gross attention from men. I don’t know if it’s so common in the US. (Obviously it’s a verb taken from the noun “pervert”. )

      • Yeah. it’s cute. American women just use the noun. It’s nicer to associate someone with an action than labeling them as a pervert. 🙂

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s