When I Realized I Could Never Be A Supermodel... And Why I'm Almost Ok With It
August 22, 2014
I’m not sure when it first started. Or when the idea came to my head. Yes, I’m incredibly narcissistic and self-involved, but little girls don’t grow up thinking they can be models. Someone has to put the idea in her head.
It definitely wasn’t my mom. In fact, when I was an infant, like all mothers, my mom thought I was perfect and gorgeous. So, she submitted my photo to a modeling agency. Let’s just say they went in a different direction. Most kids don’t have this opportunity until later in life, usually around middle school or high school, but not me. Thanks to my mom, I understood rejection at a very young age. And, was constantly reminded of it for years to come.
When I was 18, I was in London shopping in Top Shop when a lady came up to me. She told me she was something with models, I forget, maybe an agent, and she gave me her card. I remember I was wearing a gray pea coat that was very British feeling, so I figured that was probably why she gave me her card. Thanks to my mother, I also didn’t think there was a chance that anyone could have wanted me to model. I just laughed at the idea. I figured it had to do with the fact that the coat was long and covered my entire body. She must have thought I was model material because I have a small head. I get it, my head is small. Did she really have to rub it in?
If that happened to me now, and someone gave me a card to model, I would call them up as soon as I got home. Maybe even from the cab on the way home. I would start fantasizing about being a famous model, having millions of Instagram followers and being awesome.
But back then, there was no Instagram. So what was the point of modeling? I probably thought if I called her up, she was going to somehow murder me. I could see little naïve me getting myself sold as a sex slave. That would happen to me. I would get raped and murdered.
My funeral would be so sad and pathetic. I can just see everyone standing around my grave and grieving. My parents would be so angry with themselves for raising such a naïve child.
“Did she really think she could be a model? I tried to give as many backhanded compliments as possible so she would have a realistic body image.”
“How could she have fallen for that?”
The rabbi would be giving the speech and would casually turn to show my picture to the small group, and he would burst into laughing. “Wait, THIS is the girl who thought she could model?”
But my life changed this past April when I went to Coachella. I went with no expectations, considering I had never been before and had no idea what to expect. I didn’t realize it would be filled with celebrity ogling and everyone trying to dress like they had their own fashion blog.
On Instagram, I follow a few models. They are pretty and fun to look at. Also, every time they post a picture of themselves modeling I think to myself that I could easily do this. What a great profession. They just get to do nothing all day, travel the world and make millions of dollars. Sounds perfect for me. I secretly, and not so secretly, have wanted to model for a long time.
Years ago I approached my mom with my idea. “Mom, I really want to model. I think it would be a great way for me to make fast cash and I could write while I’m sitting around all day. It’s perfect!” I was young and excited with high self-esteem. Those were the days. My mom responded that she really didn’t think I would be able to model, “Maybe a plus size model.” She swears she was joking around. But the scar and the dive my self-esteem took didn’t really get the joke.
Anyways, despite my mother telling me I had no chance, I still thought I could do it. I’d just have to lose like 20 pounds or so. Piece of cake. Ugh, I would probably have to stop eating cake and all of those other foods that I love. That would suck. But I could handle it. Modeling would be amazing.
But everything went down towards the end of the festival on Saturday. I stood at the bar and tried to get the attention of the bartender. He wasn’t looking my way at all. It wasn’t until he started walking over towards me that I thought I finally got his attention. I was wrong. He walked right up to the person standing next to me. Being the incredibly unobservant self-involved person I am, I hadn’t even taken the time to look around me. But in order to give a dirty look to the person who was ordering a drink before me, I turned to my right. All I saw was legs. So I slowly craned my head up to see who was stealing my alcohol. There she was, towering over me, Behati Prinsloo (a victoria secret model). Her two legs combined were half the size of one of my legs.
Hoping she was just unusally skinny for a model, I looked in my other direction. There, on my left, was Candice. I don’t know her last name because it’s not in her Instagram name. But she was also double my height and half my weight. These girls were not human. They were superhuman. Some sort of other worldly amazing species.
That was the moment when I realized I could never model. That was the moment I realized I better get funny ASAP or I’m really fucked in this life. That was the moment I gave up on my dreams of modeling and had to admit, for the first time ever, despite it going against everything I had been believing for years, that maybe, just maybe, my mom was right.