"Seriously, there is nothing worse than being treated as a stereotype. I should know because I was holding tightly to a super model status I had earned like a woman clenching her purse with her entire paycheck inside. Not only that, I was trying to apply old methods to new problems. Let me explain.
I’d always thought of the fashion world like a crime scene. Fashion designers were the bank robbers, models were hostages, and agents were ransom negotiators. That was back then. Now, having trouble to secure a job on my own, I find myself being challenged all at once.
I made this discovery since I had adhered to the model/agent relationship for a very long time. For those of you who have found somebody to fight for your new position with a higher salary behind closed doors, I envy you. At least, I need a headhunter to protect me like a sheriff.
However, my appointed hero wasn’t that savvy but he knew my desperation like a thief knows which purse has money before he snags it. It was all in the body language. In his words, he believed in throwing the spaghetti against the wall and see what sticks. This was his approach? Coming from the person who will negotiate my way out of this torment?
The first few weeks I found myself shuffled through nothing but group interviews. It was neither vanity nor arrogance that kept me away from this new trend. I was about to loose hope in my callous job hunter when I got a one-on-one meeting with a peculiar store nevertheless.
I decked out from head to toe, drove 40 miles for the interview, and agreed to discuss the sales position on camera as part of an ongoing reality show about the store, another trendy thing these days. When I got there, I pretended not to notice that the store was empty and its owner looked as if stranded on a deserted island after a plane crash. I stiffed a laugh when I saw that her eyes were slightly vacant.
In front of the camera I chattered non-stop about my sales skills for free advertising. I spoke with exaggerated gestures, making dramatic faces and flapping my hands in the air. At one moment she stopped my hands and faced me with a grave expression, “You’re too skinny! Do you need an intervention?”
Why would somebody actually ask me that? My frowning made my forehead twist like a pretzel. She must be doing this for the camera, I thought. I got where she was aiming but I really didn’t expect to be the target of ridicule.
Forsaking my need for this job, I countered that not all skinny people were borderline bulimics. I assured her my diet was very healthy. Then she stood up, walked a few steps, turned to the camera and snapped in a joyless voice, “It’s sickening how easy it’s for models.” That sounded crazy but it put my mind back on focus. My turn now, “Yes, small size is definitely back in fashion,” I said whatever came to my mind.
Surely, this interview was bound to get out of hand when she began eating my resume. “How can I hire you, a mere size 2, when I’m a size 10?” she barked with pieces of paper stuck to her teeth. 
Apparently she seemed to believe intensely in her own bad joke because she happened to be skinnier than me. The last hour had been nothing but bad TV. She should call her show “half-witted” for that effect. I shook my head to the camera as though I could stop this temporary insanity. Goodbye.
Apparently she seemed to believe intensely in her own bad joke because she happened to be skinnier than me. The last hour had been nothing but bad TV. She should call her show “half-witted” for that effect. I shook my head to the camera as though I could stop this temporary insanity. Goodbye.
The next thing was explaining what happened to the headhunter. He phoned the crazy woman to attest his authority. His muttering was impossible for lay ears to understand it. When he hung up he refused to look at me. “Do you want to tell me why you didn't accept this fabulous job,” he asked. No, that wasn’t important anymore.
Although my publicity stunt ended up on the editing floor, I can take care of my own job-hunting from here on. Too bad. Now, how hard is it to be interrogated like a cunning shoplifter, cornered for being suspiciously underweight and having to fight for better wages on your own? I just told you…"
***Gisele Zelauy SHAKE-UP: HER first novel about the misadventures of a 21-year-old supermodel who's now too old to do anything but make trouble. A roman a clef dark comedy of the adventures of a naive but wily model who moves from one disaster to success to disaster to success to another disaster. The story takes place in the '90s. This novel contains sensuous erotica. Buy this book on Amazon.com
Recent Comments