And the FFA topic of the week is . . .
If I were a fashion runway model . . .
Well, for one thing, I would need to stop eating immediately and acquire a nicotine and/or crack habit pretty quickly. I’m a little worried, though, about how I would do on the actual runway what with trying not to fall over. Not from the 4-inch heeled strappy sandals, but from low blood sugar. I don’t do so well when I’m hungry.
Mostly, I think if I were a fashion runway model, it would only be because I was undercover, trying to implicate 7-foot tall scowling yardsticks in a drug ring. Not that I'm implying models do drugs . . . I'm just saying.
But I’m thinking it would go down much like that episode from 3rd Rock from the Sun where Sally has to infiltrate a group of alien models who are trying to take over the world. In order to trick the super-models into letting her join them, Sally has to go through intensive model training with them.
She has to learn how to walk in tiny skirts and skyscraper heels, and they teach her different looks (a la Zoolander). Show me “frightened”! Show me “seductive”! Show me “sleepy”! Show me “startled”! Show me “angry”! (By the way, I’m pretty sure I could pull off all of these . . . except maybe “seductive.” Just ask my kids about the rest.)
At the end of the training, she is exhausted and, of course, starving. They bring her out a big cheeseburger on a silver platter, and offer it to her. Her fingers tremble as she reaches toward it, but she carefully only takes one of the baby carrots off the plate and nibbles one bite. Then she yells out incredulously, “I’m full!” The models all cheer and hug her, knowing now she is truly one of them.
I’m thinking that’s the only way the runway model crowd is going to believe I actually belong there. I think I can pull it off.
Thoughts on the model lifestyle:
Plus: Getting to keep any of the clothes and/or shoes.
Minus: The clothes only fit sizes 0, -2, and -4, and oh yeah, where would I wear them?
Plus: Being thin.
Minus: Daily caloric intake of 500 (most of which is burned off by the nicotine or thrown back up).
Plus: Being tall
Minus: Hitting your head on door frames.
Plus: Getting into movie premiers and elite clubs based solely on looks.
Minus: I live in Utah. The only movie premiers and elite clubs consist of the latest Work and the Glory movie and the occasional ward function.
Plus: Having someone else pick out my clothes and do my hair and makeup.
Minus: Having to actually wear the clothes and having freakshow hair.
Plus: No more love handles.
Minus: No more eating frosting directly from the container.
If I were a fashion runway model . . .
Well, for one thing, I would need to stop eating immediately and acquire a nicotine and/or crack habit pretty quickly. I’m a little worried, though, about how I would do on the actual runway what with trying not to fall over. Not from the 4-inch heeled strappy sandals, but from low blood sugar. I don’t do so well when I’m hungry.
Mostly, I think if I were a fashion runway model, it would only be because I was undercover, trying to implicate 7-foot tall scowling yardsticks in a drug ring. Not that I'm implying models do drugs . . . I'm just saying.
But I’m thinking it would go down much like that episode from 3rd Rock from the Sun where Sally has to infiltrate a group of alien models who are trying to take over the world. In order to trick the super-models into letting her join them, Sally has to go through intensive model training with them.
She has to learn how to walk in tiny skirts and skyscraper heels, and they teach her different looks (a la Zoolander). Show me “frightened”! Show me “seductive”! Show me “sleepy”! Show me “startled”! Show me “angry”! (By the way, I’m pretty sure I could pull off all of these . . . except maybe “seductive.” Just ask my kids about the rest.)
At the end of the training, she is exhausted and, of course, starving. They bring her out a big cheeseburger on a silver platter, and offer it to her. Her fingers tremble as she reaches toward it, but she carefully only takes one of the baby carrots off the plate and nibbles one bite. Then she yells out incredulously, “I’m full!” The models all cheer and hug her, knowing now she is truly one of them.
I’m thinking that’s the only way the runway model crowd is going to believe I actually belong there. I think I can pull it off.
Thoughts on the model lifestyle:
Plus: Getting to keep any of the clothes and/or shoes.
Minus: The clothes only fit sizes 0, -2, and -4, and oh yeah, where would I wear them?
Plus: Being thin.
Minus: Daily caloric intake of 500 (most of which is burned off by the nicotine or thrown back up).
Plus: Being tall
Minus: Hitting your head on door frames.
Plus: Getting into movie premiers and elite clubs based solely on looks.
Minus: I live in Utah. The only movie premiers and elite clubs consist of the latest Work and the Glory movie and the occasional ward function.
Plus: Having someone else pick out my clothes and do my hair and makeup.
Minus: Having to actually wear the clothes and having freakshow hair.
Plus: No more love handles.
Minus: No more eating frosting directly from the container.
Uh, I think I'm going to give up my modeling career.