Musings of a Would-Be Model

I was thinking today, trying to decide what to write, when I realized I haven’t mentioned yet the fact that one of my dream jobs would be to be a high-fashion model. Here is the appropriate time to splurt coffee across your computer screen.

I am fairly certain I could handle the gruelling tasks of walking down a runway and posing unnaturally and uncomfortably while wearing six-inch stillettos. (It is true, I also wouldn’t mind getting paid zillions of dollars to stand around in designer duds.) While I am not generally photogenic, I have no doubt that after one or two disastrous photo shoots with no usable results I would have gotten the hang of proficiently mastering a sultry pout, instead of having my face captured for all time with my mouth slightly and awkwardly agape. However, there are just a few problems that come into play when considering my desired modeling career…

I am not tall.

According to the mean and teasing males I work with, I’m not even average. Though slightly taller than an Oompa-Loompa, I agree that it would be considerably awkward to watch me walk down the runway with the likes of lanky and excessively-elevated models such as Heidi Klum and  Alexandra Ambrosia. There was a time when I had high hopes of making it onto Tyra Banks’ America’s Next Top Model; sadly, when I printed off the 14 page application, one of the first requirements I read was that one needed to be at least 5’7″ in order to even be considered. It seems that it matters not that I can walk without teetering along in shoes that would immediately remedy this problem. Ah, well.

Secondly, I have excessive boobage.

I don’t know if many of you have noticed, but the clothing of high fashion generally lacks a sufficient amount of material to cover titties larger than those of a ten year old. Luckily for tall and thin models, this is not an issue. However, if you were to duct tape a couple of balloons filled with chocolate pudding to their two-peas-on-a-board bosoms, you would better understand the point I’m trying to make. The one and only reason that skinny girls are better than curvy girls is that they have the ability to wear whatever they want and it looks good. If I were to don an evening gown with a neckline that plunged to my belly button, I would look like I was ready to stand on the street corner and accept heroin needles and crinkled ones for blow jobs.

Lastly, I am not symmetric.

It is true that not all high-fashion models are beautiful. In fact, there are a great many of them who are very androginous and not ultra-feminine. But if you look closer, they all carry the same proportionate gene. Not one super model suffers from a lazy eye, or a bit of excess skin on her ear lobe, or a left boob that is bigger than her right, or, oddly enough, hair that is thicker on one side of her head than the other. I seem to have been unfortunate enough to accrue all these issues.

And so, until such time the Powers that Be find it discriminately appropriate to have a fashion line modeled by trolls, it seems that I shall have to pass up my future as a model. C’est la vie.