I woke up this morning- EARLY this morning at 4am because my shit fuck head of a neighbor was up doing drugs and playing the drums. I called the police. Which is funny because the police were here two days ago to arrest Mark for threating a girl who lives in the building next to us. My new goal is to get him either evicted or put in jail. I love my apartment enough to stay but he’s ruining my life.
As you know from me complaining about it all the time- I’ve had an ongoing battle with acne since I was 15. I took Accutane a few years ago, which cleared up everything. Without makeup there’s a little bit of scaring but it’s so minimal that I’ve never been rejected a job because of it. This morning I went in the bathroom to examine my skin and it looked better than it has all year. It makes me very happy when my skin is clear, and despite being woken up by Mountain Dew Mark, I was feeling really good about myself.
I had an audition for an insurance commercial and I ran into a girl I know. I mentioned that my current print agency isn’t working out (I’ve been on maybe 20 twenty castings since they signed me 8 months ago and I’ve booked 6 jobs, oh and they owe me $2000 from a job I did in December where they cut all my hair off). I told her I had a meeting at a new agency and she said, “ehh, they’re okay.” I knew they were an “ehh” agency but I know a girl there who gave me a booker’s contact info and he wanted to meet me so it was easy. At this point any agency would be better than my current one. I didn’t feel like being rejected by Elite or Ford again so I figured this new smaller agency would be happy to sign me.
I get to the office and it’s in a large building on Wilshire. I open the door and see that it’s a little ghetto. Two older blonde women are sitting at a table across from each other and don’t notice me. A few seconds later a guy walks right by me and sits at the table and immediately starts talking about how some drunk girl hit his car. This story goes on for about ten minutes.
He finally looks at me and says, “Hi, do you need something?”
“Yeah, I had an appointment with you at noon, Melissa.” It’s about 12:15
“Ok fill this paperwork out.”
One of the blonde women walks over and hands me a clipboard with basic info bullshit, sizes, age, blah blah.
“Wow, you’re cute!” She said and smiled. They already love me.
The booker comes over and sits in a chair next me. “So, tell me about yourself.”
I talk about working in NYC and how I was constantly busy, and how I just got back from London where I signed with an agency. I mention I’ve worked for Target, L’Oreal, Nikon, Vice, In Style, etc. all the big jobs I’ve had, the designers I’ve worked for in NY, and tell him about the national commercial I’m in that’s currently running. I’d be impressed with me. That’s a pretty great resume for a model that’s only been working 3 years.
Someone walks in and we move to the table with him and the two women. Some strange Indian guy comes out of a room and says something to one of the women and walks back. It was weird. I notice the wardrobe the two ladies are wearing- not very good for a modeling agency. That sounds snooty but every other agency I’ve been in has been full of well-dressed people who are on top of their shit in the fashion world. The office didn’t look professional. I’ll just say that. To be honest I was ready to leave right when I got there because I didn’t feel comfortable.
He looks through my portfolio and says, “Well, the first thing I notice about you is your skin, you have some scarring?”
I’m surprised he brought this up because a few hours earlier I noticed that my skin looked great.
“You need to take care of your skin, what are you doing?” He asks sassily.
“Well I took Accutane a few years ago, use Retin-A every night and I’ve been getting chemical peels but no one has ever mentioned it as a problem in the past year.”
“Okay, well I notice it, and if a casting director sees a girl who looks like you, then sees you, he’s going to choose the girl with the better skin.” He talks to me like I don’t know how the modeling business works.
At this point I’m a little annoyed and I don’t like how he’s talking to me. He looks through my portfolio again.
“Your book needs a TON of work.”
I give him a confused look.
“You don’t think so?”
“Well, actually, no, I’ve gotten nothing but compliments on it in NY and last month in London. I think it’s very strong.”
He goes through each photo saying “yes” or “no” to them. He stops at my L’Oreal photos, which I think are strongest in the book, and says, “Eww, these are tacky.”
“Those are from L’Oreal, that was the biggest job I’ve ever done and those are on the L’Oreal website and in salons.”
“Well I don’t like them at all. How long ago did you cut your hair? These photos don’t look like you.”
UMM HELLO ISN’T THAT THE POINT OF BEING A MODEL??!? My job is to transform into whatever the designer or director wants and I have a look that does that. OF COURSE every photo isn’t going to be a 100% noticeable photo of my face because most models look very different when photographed.
I’m so annoyed. I wanted to leave. He asks me to stand up. I’m wearing a tight short skirt and a cute shirt. He asks how big my hips are.
“Hmm.” He moans. HMM WHAT? Did you not know that 35 is the most common size for models hips? Kate Moss has 35 inch hips, Agynes Deyn has 35 inch hips. Every fucking model I know how has either 34, 35, or 36 inch hips. Don’t “Hmm” me.
“Well you have a commercial agent already?”
“Yeah, and I like them, I booked a commercial with them and they send me out on lots of auditions.”
“We like to keep our girls all under one umbrella- commercial, print, theatrical, just so we don’t have to compete with your other agency and get schedules mixed up.”
Sure, that makes your life easier, but I’m not willing to risk losing a great commercial agent to try out your agency when you don’t even like my portfolio and think I look too dissimilar to my photos.
“We’ll sign you for print, but you have to give up your commercial agent and sign with us commercially too.”
“I’m sorry, I just can’t.” He hands me his business card and says if I change my mind to let him know.
No. I won’t be doing that. And honestly, I don’t like you. This isn’t New York, you don’t have to pretend like you work at the top of the chain at Elite. You are in a shitty rented office building with those square foam ceiling tiles from 1987 and a piece of white paper that has your agency’s name typed out and laminated on your front door. If my portfolio is tacky then your “faux” hawk is even tackier.
Good day, sir.