I've been weary about writing this post for a long time. Even sitting here, writing it now, I'm still weary. But if this blog isn't an honest chronicling of my life, lessons, and experiences what is it?
In light of this, I'd still like to begin with a disclaimer: I have nothing against modelling, the modelling industry, models or anything of the such. Any resemblance to this, dead or undead is purely coincidental.
I really hope you caught that reference.
I was back home in Jamaica at the time. I sat in the waiting room, which was actually just a patio set on the first floor of a small plaza. The breeze accompanying the gorgeous 29 degree weather shuffled my hair, and caressed my skin. The sun shone in the afternoon sky, bright but not over bearing. Palm trees stood tall, and green all around me. Couldn't imagine spending an evening any better. I scrolled through my twitter and instagram feeds, passing the time as any eighteen year old would.
From the stairs, a slender lady dressed in all business attire called us up to the dressing rooms. We went up and, as previously instructed, changed into our two piece bathing suits and high heels.
As I readied myself for this audition in the changing rooms, I took a deep breath and thought to myself, "What the actual hell am I doing here?"
Nonetheless I stepped out of the dressing room onto a balcony, facing the rear side of another building. How odd. I sat on the wall, the cool breeze rubbing against my essentially bare body waiting for...someone.
A man came out of his office...or rather... the troll crawled out from under his bridge and told us all to line up.
Before that, everyone was vibrant with chatter. Discussion flew around about who would get picked and who wouldn't. What category people wanted to model. Whether or not it was good to come to a modelling audition with false hair, acrylics and full makeup. (Word of advice: Apparently it's better to go without.)
"Are you nervous?" the girl next to me asked, in a small voice.
I shook my head, "Not really."
I wasn't nervous. What was there to be nervous about? I was allowing a strange man to judge me not only my (debatable) talents, my dashing personality, my skills, or abilities; strictly my outer shell. My body. The car I was given to drive through life with, and there's really nothing I can do about it at this point.
"Say your name and age." He instructed.
"I'm Leah and I'm eighteen years old." And these heels are freaking killing me can we please get this over with.
Silence then dropped around the balcony. The man, the first lady who called us up, another chubbier one, and a few strangers stood around waiting. You could cut the tension on that beautiful, weird back of the building balcony like a thick juicy steak. Yum.
He pointed at his first choice. A fifteen year old girl, 5'9", just over 100 lbs.
He pointed at another girl, and another, until he finally pointed at me and I walked over to the other side of the balcony. He kept two girls further examining them, and looking at every aspect of their face. He chose one more, and said a few words to the last girl before sending her home.
It was the same girl who'd asked me if I was nervous, who'd also confided in me earlier that day that she'd done this before.
We were then given forms to fill out, and our measurements were taken. I, like any other person who's probably auditioned for anything, was told to lose some weight.
This experience could have probably been the most glamorous experience for so many people, yet here I am almost embarrassed I'd subjected myself to that.
Nonetheless, it was an experience. I didn't particularly enjoy it, but I did learn from it.
It's definitely allowed me to reflect on what it is I want to do with my life. It hasn't given me sure, clear cut answers but I know for a fact I want to do something with my life that utilizes my abilities, talents, personality, and all the other things I've worked so hard over my life to develop. I haven't worked on the development of my body. That...just kinda happened.
Maybe one day I'll give a ring to the troll under the bridge. He might need a photographer.
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