Читать книгу Almost 5'4" - Isobella Jade - Страница 22

It never occurred to me that the girls in Seventeen and Cosmo Girl or YM magazine made more money and got more exposure, which of course led to bigger things. Or that keeping your clothes on is even sexier and pays a lot more money because of the ad campaign. I should have known this. I was an advertising major in college after all, but I didn’t put two and two together.

I began to enjoy shooting nude more and more. It wasn’t just for practice though. It was for a feeling of empowerment – sexuality and fantasy all at once. I only felt good and confident about myself when I was modeling naked.

Yet inside my life felt like a roller coaster as I went from my boyfriend’s bedroom to my college classroom to the photographer’s bedroom, bathroom, living room, and kitchen. They had me taking off my clothing, running around, dancing and playing musical chairs, sitting, standing, sticking my tongue out, lounging in chairs, curling up with a pillow on a sofa, lying on dining room tables, or in bathtubs and on balconies. Then I’d run back to class. I would sometimes do my homework on the train in between. I was stressed all the time. In the back of my mind I heard voices saying, ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ And then, ‘You can do it little girl!’

All these bipolar-like emotions made me very aggressive, impatient, and anxious. My heart rate would fly as I spoke to the clerk at the lobby desk and then pushed the elevator button. Then, once I arrived at the correct floor, I wondered which way I should walk. Right? Or left? The pauses before I knocked or rang the doorbell were filled with thoughts of tiptoeing back to the elevator, out the door and back to my dorm room. I knew I wasn’t really a model because I saw magazines and billboards every day, and I wasn’t on them. I felt more like an escort, like a tease, like a present for the afternoon.

My ‘hobby,’ for want of a better word, haunted me daily so I decided to get serious and look up some modeling agencies. I found a list of agencies in NYC that accepted photos by mail. Besides the weekly stipend my mother gave me for food, which didn’t go far, I didn’t have much money, so I couldn’t get quality prints of my shots to send out. Instead, I used the printer in my dorm room. I spent a few hours adjusting the pictures in Photoshop and cropping them, then printing out a collage-like presentation of my photos. To my surprise, they looked pretty good and were sure to impress an agent or booker. Or so I thought.

I never heard back from anyone.

But I wasn’t looking to get famous or to become a supermodel; I didn’t care about those things. I was intense, fast-talking and excited to tiptoe around the apartments of anonymous photographers. It was just wonderful to feel the attention of the lens, from the photographer, and I got it so easily. I didn’t need an agency to give me what I needed.