Читать книгу Almost 5'4" - Isobella Jade - Страница 12

I didn’t tell Danny, my boyfriend, about my modeling ideas or that I was thinking about the possibility of making it a career. I wasn’t ready to share my dreams with him just yet. Instead, I asked my friend Joel to help me. I met him at his house, out back by the swing set.

Even though we were old enough to break it, Joel and I swung, while his little sister Angela played in the grass with their snotty, snorting bulldog that I hated to touch.

‘Joel…um, would you do me a favor?’

I had known him since I was sixteen. Back then he was one of my only friends with a driving license, so he had done me many favors over the years. Now, as we sat and talked, he looked at me with his sad brown eyes.

‘Could you take me to meet a photographer in Fayetteville?’ I asked him slowly, as I took a deep fast swing and my shoe flung off.

Fayetteville was about twenty minutes from my hometown, and it would take Joel another twenty to get to my house from his, so it would be about a forty-minute drive for him. It was a longer favor than usual.

‘Sure, what’s it for?’

I wasn’t sure how to respond. I really had a photo shoot but saying I was just going to meet a photographer sounded safer.

Only a couple of days before, I had discovered a free modeling website called Onemodelplace.com. It asked the models to place ‘five images to show your look.’ I didn’t know what my look was, and I didn’t have any recent ones to put on there, so I uploaded one of the photos from high school.

In less than a week, I already had a shoot with a photographer scheduled.

The site allowed photographers to mingle with models. It was interesting to browse all the other models’ posted photos and to receive comments. It was intriguing and I thought to myself, I’m just as attractive as them.

After a few hours, I heard back from a photographer via email. For the next few days, I waited to be contacted by more photographers. They would tell me what they were interested in shooting, and how much they would pay. I didn’t care about the money, or if it was a TFP, which I learned stood for Time For Print. This meant that even if I didn’t get paid, the photographer would give me a CD of images in exchange for my time. It sounded like a good deal to me.

You could find every kind of woman on the website from younger, soft-skinned, seventeen-year-old girls pushing together nonexistent cleavage, to older women in their forties who had stretch marks and yellow-stained teeth, and who posed in their lingerie. Some started with their senior class photo, like me. A few even included their friends in the photos, posing cheek to cheek or with cigarettes in their mouths giving a sly ‘don’t fuck with us’ look. Most showed skin. The shots weren’t about high-end clothing or make-up but about the amount of flesh you revealed. The more nudity, the more hits and clicks and comments you received. That should have warned me about the sort of ‘work’ I could expect to find.

Anyone could set up a page for free. There wasn’t any webmaster saying, ‘You’re not pretty enough.’ Any person with a photo to upload could do it. It was a new world to me, a world I planned on keeping a secret, a world of hits and clicks that defined ‘hotness’ and ‘worthiness.’ It was obvious that the site was about being exposed and considered ‘hot.’

Many girls underestimated the seriousness of it. No one did a background check on the photographers or the models. There was an FAQ about how to use the site but should you have a complaint or almost get killed at a shoot, there sure as hell wasn’t a union for the Internet model. But we were prepared to ignore any risk for the thrill of seeing our own webpage and receiving offers of work.

Just by entering the information for my profile I felt a rush of excitement. The uncertainty of it was exhilarating. I analyzed the size of my nose, my curvy ass, my short fingernails, how well I shaved my legs. Suddenly my eyebrows looked way too bushy, and my eyes needed mascara.

I started to check off my ‘interests’ and flesh out the rest of my profile. I ran to the bathroom and stripped to my underwear to take a better look at myself. When I was done I checked off that I was ‘comfortable with swimwear and lingerie.’

I tried to work out what ‘casual’ meant. I feared it meant wearing an itchy sweater and being plain – I wasn’t sure I wanted anything to be casual.

I had the choice of clicking ‘fashion’ or ‘commercial print’. I hardly knew what these terms meant since I didn’t read Vogue or magazines like that. The closest I’d been to fashion and glamour was reading Seventeen magazine. I certainly wasn’t seventeen anymore; I was legal. I checked off ‘nude’ as a yes. ‘It was just skin,’ I told myself. I ran to the bathroom again and this time got completely naked. Frowning, I stared at my body and noticed what happened to it when I moved and twisted and looked over my shoulder. My breasts were nonexistent compared to what most girls had on the website.

Still, I thought I had a nice body. Years of running had made my ass curvy and tight. I admired my flat suntanned stomach in the mirror and my bony hips that made perfect cuts down along my bikini line were now something sexy. Only three photos were decent enough to show my body off, so I posted those. For the first couple of moments I waited, hands folded, in my lap, for a hit on my fabulous new page. By the end of the day I received over ten comments and compliments, which were all flattering.

‘Welcome to the site. I like petite girls, would you want to set up a shoot?’

I didn’t want to look like a first-timer, so I took a few moments to think about my reply and wrote back, ‘Yes, I’m interested. What type of photos would you like to shoot?’

I would be more prepared for the next one and know what I was looking to shoot. I mentioned in my profile I would be coming to New York City after the summer. Most of the photographers were there and I wanted to keep them interested.

I had convinced my mother to let me attend the New York City campus for the remaining three years of college, but that wouldn’t start for another two long months. So when photographers wrote me to say hello, to welcome me to the website or to plan a shoot I wrote back, ‘Sorry, I can’t shoot now, let’s keep in touch.’ They would reply, ‘I would love to be one of your first shoots in New York City, so remember me.’ Or, ‘OK, just let me know when you are in town.’

I saved all their comments and emails. For now, I was stuck in Syracuse and the excitement of modeling in New York City would have to be put on hold. Until then I had to content myself with a shoot with a photographer closer to home. I would consider it practice for the big city.