All the chequered strands of what I do are affected by school holidays. Even though my daughter is signed with an agency, we haven't yet been called to do a job together. We both have wardrobes at the ready with a selection of casuals/smarts which can be picked up at a moment's notice.
I ordered some flesh coloured underwear and my skintone is categorised as caramel. It is so hard to get good underwear for shoots and jobs. The horror of stripping off in a crowded room is somehow lessened by having amazing sheer and form fitting non-showing underwear. It's taken AGES for it to arrive. And when it did, it simply wasn't large enough! I am categorised as a plus sized model, and the company assume that the only people who want to be colour co-ordinated are the same skinny percentage of models that we get shown day in and day out. Hardly anyone IS that size. Why do fashion people insist on showing us things in sample sizes only. If I starve myself and dance for 8 hours a day I can be that size again. I was always that size before I grew past my teenage years. I want to keep it real, but once again it's made difficult by silly sizing. I thought at least black underwear designers would believe in bootylicious bodies.
I had a quick photoshoot on Wednesday in a hotel, it was very much a conveyor belt affair, no time to fix hair and make-up, just one outfit off and another on. I chose a day and time convenient for me, not realising that I'd bagged a slot on the day for (shall we say) people of a certain age. One thing I've learned about pension aged women is that they believe in fighting for their ground. Although I was early, several of them claimed to be 'next' and managed to push in front of me.
The guy behind the desk was a typical media type. Bearded and trendy. A woman with stickers still on the bottom of her shoes, was opening flirting with him. She asked him where he was based, then pretended not to know how to fill in her details, pretended not have internet access, and then did a kind of Hollywood kick while leaning towards him, presumably to get a whiff of his cologne.
The kick displayed the price of her shoes. And the woman behind her had a walnut whip haircut. It was just like the 80s. I felt sorry for the woman queueing for 20 minutes of idle chat with the 20-something guy behind the desk. She had varicose veins. I started to look at her more closely and saw something around her ankle. I started to wonder if she had a vein around her ankle. Then I realised it was a gold anklet under her tights. I wanted to laugh.
Here's a shot they took, see what I mean about hair and make up... A basic shot. With a white background.
I had yet another sign up at an agency, where we all had to give a unique fact about ourselves. I think some of these people had a story lined up. A woman had travelled the world five times doing promotions, there was also a fire-eater, a clown, a breakdancer and assorted actors and models. Someone told a story about being able to poke their shoulder blades out and another their three permanently missing toenails!
I'll leave you guessing what I said.
Today I was working on the last day of a promotion on football cards. 600 kids and their excited parents (particularly dads) wanted to complete the cards on their idols. It was a 6:45 leave-the-house for me, in order to get to the venue in time.
I'm finally home in time to type this.
April is birthday month, as I may have said, three big birthdays this month; daughter, mother and grandmother. It's a landmark birthday for my gran. So in between the usual round of agencies and work, it's been cakes and get-togethers plus the excitement of my daughter's riding lesson. A grown man was learning with all the pre-teens. There's no age limit of course, but he was competitive. He managed to be the fastest at around-the-world.
I'm ready for a summer of opportunities, bring them on!
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