For years I considered being a model, when my Grandmother passed away I knew I wanted to give it a real shot. My Grandma was a brilliant model, I am still amazed at her skill, poise, and beauty in photos from years of photo shoots.
I decided to dive headfirst and see where I landed; I told only my family and my boyfriend that I would be trying out for ANTM. Mike was less than thrilled – supportive. He kept telling me that reality shows were what was wrong with Americans today, that the directors would show me in the worst light, and that he in no way condoned my idea to tryout. My parents were completely the opposite.
The morning of tryouts I stood in line with a grip of woman all as tall as me if not taller, I couldn’t look around because I knew I would get intimidated. Two girls in front of me chatted away like they were best friends and the line refused to move. I looked down at my ticket that read Americas Next Top Model #259; I can’t even imagine how many tickets they gave out that day.
The process of waiting to get face time in front of the camera was arduous to say the least; like cattle we were lead around a technical college building where every stop presented another chance for the school to tell us “a little about themselves.” The final room we entered before filming was a large mess hall, where groups of girls huddled together on the floor or around tables waiting for their number to be called.
I had the misfortune of joining a table of woman whose conversation had been usurped by a girl with a tiny body and “no stretch lines.” She seriously wouldn’t shut up about her new born baby and her utter shock that she was left with no stretch marks. The girls around me looked exactly how I felt, like we had nothing to compare her story to, wondering if we should high five her, or congratulate her, or just not engage her at all. She looked at me wild eyed and exclaimed “You haven’t seen my bikini photos have you?” Oh my holy God. So she showed me her body with no stretch marks and suddenly the table of woman was showing their bikini photos to one another and I realized I was supposed to have a photo of myself in a swim suit, the possible nail in my coffin.
My number was called five of us stood in a line where we were given instructions on how to behave in front of the camera, how to hold our hair to get the correct profile, and never to look at the person asking us questions but stare at the camera instead. The announcer lady told us that we would be asked one of three questions, “Where do you see yourself going in this competition?” “Why do you want to be here?” and “What is one thing you would change about yourself?”
I repeated the answers to myself over and over again. As a side note I should mention that I do not think well on my feet at all. I blame the brain damage I sustained in my rollover car accident, I can be asked a question and nothing comes to mind. I try to break the question down in a way that I will understand and find an answer, but often I just respond because I think too much time has gone by and the response is completely incorrect.
Inside I did everything I was told to. I walked the runway; I showed my profile holding my hair just so. I stared down the camera like it was a ghost, which was the most difficult part as the woman asking me questions was to my far left, but thankfully I could see the cameraman’s head bobbing up and down as he filmed. He was actually nodding at me; like I was doing a great job. It was a great confidence booster and suddenly I was thrown a curveball, “How would your friends describe you?” The interviewer asked.
Without thinking I said “My friends would describe me as crazy.”
Intrigued the interviewer asked “What is the craziest thing you have ever done?”
Blank, my mind went absolutely blank. I stood in silence for an uncomfortably long amount of time; the cameraman was still nodding, but now leaning over his camera to hear my response.
Rather than talk about white water rafting with my brother and my Dad, getting into a car with complete strangers at the University, living in a frat house, driving backwards through a drive-thru four times, trying to jump into my friends car through a rolled down window in the middle of traffic… or any of the other ridiculous things I have done, I said…
“The craziest thing I have ever done would have to be coming here.” There was no gusto behind my voice, the cameraman stopped nodding and looked down at the floor shaking his head.
“Thank you for coming in.” The woman said to me as I packed up my stuff to leave. I wanted to explain, I wanted to excuse myself for having a cottage cheese brain, but at the same time I blamed myself. I never should have said my friends would describe me as crazy because frankly they wouldn’t. Brave maybe, loyal definitely, funny sometimes, but crazy… no.
I never got called back.
-ducksoup- 