Locked Myself in A Stairwell For A While

Showed up early for my fit modeling job this morning. I was so proud of myself. I even had time to stop for coffee before making small talk with the doorman and heading up to the 13^th floor thinking about what a great impression I was going to make with this new client. Then…I locked myself in the stairwell.

The last thing I remember thinking as I pushed through the door on the 13^th floor to head to the 12^th floor and meet with the woman who would take me to my dressing room was that she would probably be even more impressed with me because I had taken the stairs instead of the elevator. Obviously, this would prove that I was a serious athlete, and seeing as I was working for a huge athletic company, I was totally going to earn even more cool points. I love how my dorky mind works.

So toting my small rolling suitcase full of shoes and assorted bras and leggings that I am required to bring to every job, I skipped down the flight of stairs only to find the door at the 12 floor locked. Shit. I lugged the suitcase back up to the 13^th floor. Also locked. Double shit. Lugged it back to the 12^th, maybe I was just being stupid and it would open this time. No luck. Down to the 11^th floor. Locked. 10^th floor. Locked. Shit. Shit. Shit. At this point, I pull out my cell phone to see if I have a number for the woman I’m supposed to meet with to tell her what has happened. No cell phone service in the stair well. Fuck.

I’m starting to sweat now, of course, and I’m preparing myself for the reality that I’m going to have to lug my bag down 13 flights of stairs and hope that the bottom floor is open so that I can take the elevator back up to the 12^th floor. I climb back up to the 13^th floor for a last stitch effort and begin knocking on the door. No one hears me. I go down to the 12^th floor and start banging this time. I hear a voice. Obnoxiously, I start yelling “excuse me” and THANK GOD someone opens the door.

“Are you Ally?” the girl asks.

“Yep, just locked myself in the stairwell, sorry.”

“It’s ok.” The girl says, laughing as I follow her through the hall and toward the dressing room. “We were all wondering what happened to you when you didn’t get off the elevator.”

“Yeah, I thought it would be quicker to take the stairs,” I said, “Silly me!”

Way to make a SUPER impression on your first day with a new client Ally.

Needless to say, I actually enjoyed working for them and think that I was able to salvage the experience. They seemed to like me, even walked me to the elevator so I didn’t get stuck when I left; and they liked the fact that I looked like an actual athlete instead of a toothpick. It’s funny that I now think of that as an insult when it used to be a compliment to me. They meant it as a compliment, but all I can hear is that I am fat. Such a fucked up business. When The Agents say that I look athletic, they mean that I look too big. Same goes for commercial, curvy, busty, healthy, strong…..all of which I used to think were positive qualities but have now been conditioned to feel embarrassed about. 

Long, Fun, Tiring, Boring, Exciting Day

I started the day wearing a $5,000 designer dress in a studio set up in a photographer's living room. I ended it doing side volley's in the middle of a parking lot, wearing an all black Nike outfit while a different photographer's assistant tossed a soccer ball to me.

In between, I wore seven different outfits. I had my hair pin-straight and down in my face. Curled and teased into a fro. Pinned on the top of my head. Pulled back in a ponytail. I had bright red lips, nude lips, bleached out eyebrows, smokey eyes, no makeup, pale skin, tan skin. I shot in a boxing ring, an old abandoned gym, a conservatory, a park and a car. I was too big. I was too small.  I wondered why the hell I am a model. And I thought about how much I love my job. 

Sixteen hours on set. Home finally. Time to pass out. Work at the gym tomorrow. Oh life. <3

Four Crazy Moments of my Friday

The photographer of my photo shoot was the official photographer of Manchester United.  Woke up at 5am Friday morning to shower and get downtown by 7am for my photoshoot. We met at the photographers studio to get ready before heading out to our location, and while I was getting my face painted (aka my makeup done) I listened to the stylist talk to the photographer about all of the crazy things he has done, including shooting for major magazines and winning an Emmy. The makeup artist kept repeating everything the photographer said to me in a low whisper, just to make sure I heard, but I guess my lack of sleep effected my excitement. Then, as I was looking at the titles of the books on his book shelves I noticed a book about Alex Ferguson. I asked the photog if he was a Man U fan, and he told me that he was their official photographer for three seasons. Whattttttt??? I might not give a shit about a lot of things I'm supposed to give a shit about in the modeling world, but I was instantly impressed. I talked to him about Rooney (his decision to stay at Man U and his trouble with prostitutes mostly) and the guy was shocked that I actually knew something about soccer other than the fact that David Beckham is married to a Spice Girl. 

I had to run half a mile in platform boots to buy a pair of silver strappy shoes before my runway show.  Went straight from photo shoot to runway show on Friday. Showed up (barely) on time for rehearsal only to learn that they had switched the four looks that I was going to be wearing and now needed me to wear silver shoes instead of black. Searched in my bag to find only one silver strappy show. Fuck. Not having the right shoes is a great way to not get booked again. Told them it must be in my car. Ran back to my car. No second silver shoe. Looked up on my iphone and found a Payless about a half mile away. Started running. Weaved in and out of people on the street, but made pretty good time. Found a pair of silver strappys for less than 20 bucks. Bought them, put the box under my arm like it as a football and started running back. Made it back just in time for rehearsal to start. Sweating like a pig. (Not very attractive) Changed into my first look. Walked down the runway one time in my new shoes. Came back to change. Was told that they were going to switch my outfit again. Didn't need the silver shoes anymore. Black shoes would work fine. 

My dad got a little tipsy and almost dropped my brother's birthday cake on someone's head.  From the runway show, I raced back home from the city and went straight to Everett and Tula's show. It was Everett's birthday on Friday. My parents got him a cake so that we could have everyone sing to him after they finished playing. My dad took advantage of the $25 all-you-can-drink deal and got a little tipsy. During their last song, he went running back to the bar to get the cake ready, then proceeded to carry the cake, lit with 27 candles, through the tables full of people. For some crazy reason, he hoisted the cake over his head and held it up as he walked. I guess he was worried people wouldn't see the flaming sheet moving through the dark bar? Whatever the reason, it was funny enough just to see him perform this stunt, but then, things got even better when he walked through the final two tables. The cake suddenly slide off the cardboard cutout plate he was carrying and for a moment appeared as it would would certainly fall directly on the head of the woman sitting innocently at the front table. Somehow, he managed to get a shoulder beneath the cake, bracing its fall and then recovering the cake, miraculously keeping all but two candles lit while he finished the walk to the stage as if nothing had happened. I almost peed myself laughing, especially because his black shirt was decorated with frosting and candle wax stains for the rest of the evening. I see where I get my gracefulness from. 

Had a crazy dream during the middle of a late night conversation with Brad while we were laying in his bed cuddling. I was exhausted. I warned him that I was not going to be able to stay awake. Brad started reading me a letter he had written to his Uncle about me. It was incredibly nice, but it led to a conversation about us and where we were headed. I could feel myself struggling to stay awake. All of a sudden Brad asked me what I was talking about. What do you mean we should invite Obama and Trader Joe? It took me a minute to figure out that I was dreaming and that what I had just said made absolutely no sense what so ever. I spent a few seconds trying desperately to think of some way that I could convince him that I was not crazy, but I finally gave up and just started laughing and admitted that I must have been dreaming. Whoops. I'm pretty sure I'm not going to hear the end of that one for a while. 

Twenty Ways The Agents Avoid Saying the F-Word

Image by daniellehelm via Flickr

The Agents never call anyone fat. At least, not in those words and not to their face. They have learned clever, more effective ways of getting their point across.

1. They make you walk between the desks of The Agency in a bikini. Each person you pass will stare at every part of your body except for your face. They will scrunch up their nose and forehead, as if pondering, what is missing here? hmmmm... This will inspire them to dig out their measuring tape. (which sometimes is hanging around their neck. A convenient fashion statement) and then, ah-hah! you really gotta work on these hips of yours. 
2. Another tape measure trick. After measuring you, they will leave their thumb on your number and show you. Then, they move their thumb down two inches and show you again saying, try to stay right around here from now on.
3. You're looking a little too commercial lately. We'd like you to look more high fashion.
4. Have you tried a detox? Detox is code for not eating. Of course, they can't say not to eat anything, but they can say to go on a two-week cleanse.
5. Email: We noticed you were drinking a martini at last night's party. We weren't sure if you knew, because drinks can be misleading, how many calories are in one martini. A good drink to try is a vodka and soda. 
6. We don't want you to lose weight. We just want you to lose about 3 inches off your waist. Don't even step on a scale, just focus on those inches. 
7. If someone skinnier than you is around, they will rave about her. Look how she has that separation between her legs! Look at those arms. Oh my god your stomach seems to go inward. 
   Then, they will look at you and ask, How is your body doing lately?
8. Email: The holidays are coming! We wanted to wish you all a happy and healthy season. And remember, these times are especially important to eat healthy and get extra workouts in because Spring Runway season is right around that corner. 
9. Your body looks ok, but no desserts for a few months. 
10. Have you tried lifting lighter weights for more reps? Or walking instead of running? You need to tone your muscle, not build it.
11. We can't send you on any castings until you get your hips down another two inches. We really want to promote you, but you need to do your part here. 
12. During an instructional class: A funny thing happens after a girl signs a contract, she goes back to eating like she did before she signed. We see her after a few weeks and she looks bloated and we can't send her out for any jobs. We call this, Lazy Model Syndrome. 
13. The anorexic look is in. We don't want you to be anorexic. We just want you to look that way. 
14. You lost ten pounds! You look great! Oh my God, can you imagine how great you would look if you lost another 5?!?
15. Overheard after girl leaves: Did you see the size of that ass?? Girl wants to be a model with an ass like that?
16. Email: A Major Client is coming to town for a casting in two weeks. If you are getting this email it's because we really want you to look your best for them and want to give you enough time to make sure you can do this. 
17. After printing you 100 comp cards: we listed your hips as a 34.5 and your waist as a 24.5 because it looks so much better. If you get booked, you have to be at these measurements, so the faster you can do this, the better. 
18. We don't need you to lose weight, we just need you to tighten. Tighten. Tighten. Your stomach especially, just needs to be much tighter. (While speaking, The Agent will hold up their hands in front of them, like 2' apart from each other, and as they saw tighten, they will bring their hands slowly together, until they make a small circle with their fingers.)
19. On location of a shoot: You're going to have to stand to the side. Suck your stomach in. Your butt is hanging way out. You're looking a little too butch right now and we need you a little more soft and feminine. 
20. You have two weeks to lose two inches or we are going to have to re-evaluate your future here and re-think your contract with us. 

My New Perspective on Dessert

I was thinking today, as I was running, about my resistance to lose weight. I don't want to give in to industry standards. I know that I am not overweight. I know that I am thin. But, I realized that I have voluntarily chosen a career where the size of my hips and waist matters more than the size of my brain; and I spend the majority of my time either feeling like I should lose weight and being depressed about my size, or rebelling against the system and stuffing my face with junk food just because I want to not give a shit. Neither one is beneficial for me and I remain in the same place, complaining and wallowing in self-hatred. 

Today, I thought about why I can't just stop myself from eating when I begin my borderline bingeing behavior. I've tried a hundred different ways. I've tried hating myself and telling myself that I don't deserve to eat chocolate or ice cream. I end up eating more. I've tried being compassionate with myself and allowing myself to just do what I want because I deserve it. I end up eating more. I've started over so many times that the thought of starting over again, only to fall back into the same place again as I inevitably seem to do is depressing enough to send me back to the freezer right now so that I can save the trouble of the impending damage. 

For some reason, as I was running, I pictured myself giving an interview. (Yeah, I think about this shit.) I thought of someone asking me so, why did you never make it anywhere as a model? And my answer was because I went to an amazing candy store with a boy and he bought me sugary treats. And my mom ordered guacamole at dinner and it was just sitting there at the table, waiting for me. And my brother made blueberry muffins from scratch. I never wanted to be rude, so I just ate everything. 

It seems like such an unbalanced practice I follow. I give up traveling around the world. I give up money. I give up something I love to do. All for something that tastes good for a few minutes and then makes me feel sick the rest of the day??? What the fuck am I doing??

So, from now on, I'm going to try to think of this before falling into my old eating habits. I'm not going to stop eating. I have to eat to live and I do not want to go down the dangerous road of an eating disorder. I'm not giving up food. But, before I eat that dessert, or stuff my face again, I'm going to ask myself if it is more important than making it to London. If it is, then by all means, I'm going to eat it. But if it's not, then I'm going to start choosing what I want in the long run over what I want in the moment. 

Ralph Lauren Ready-to-Wear SP11 Collection

I am not someone that likes things (clothes, jewelry, books, etc.) just because they are a certain brand or are made by a certain company, without formulating my own opinion about them. In other words, I am not a blind follower. 

That being said, I love pretty much every Ralph Lauren collection. The Spring 2011 Ready-to-Wear collection is loaded with things I would go out and buy tomorrow if I could. (The fact that I can't afford a fake leather jacket from Target right now might clue you in to the biggest reason why this is not possible.) He's done the western theme before, but somehow still comes up with something fresh and new after over 40 years in the business. Sticking with a mostly white pallet, he accents his pieces with brown, pale blue, and silver, as well as intricate lacing and fringe, fringe, fringe. These are some of my favorites in the cowboy couture collection.

Three Days Till Photo Shoot

Found out earlier today that I have a photo shoot on Sunday. Of course, I found this out after eating every piece of junk food I could get my hands on. (Brad and I went to the lake for the day and wandered in a candy shop. I have willpower, but not enough to fight off freshly made fudge) 

So, as of this moment I have three days until the shoot and I am supposed to be about 10lbs lighter than I am right now. I suck at my job...Or maybe, my job just sucks sometimes. This is the ongoing debate in my head too often these days. There's no way to lose 10 lbs in 3 days. Not any way I know of that doesn't involve starving myself or swallowing a pack of ex-lax every ten minutes, both of which I refuse to resort to. 

Instead, I am going to try to make some kind of corny challenge with myself to see how much I can do in three days. I can't go without food for longer than a few hours, so I'm not even going to try to do any kind of "cleanse" or "detox" and my schedule is going to make things difficult to work out excessively. 

Instead, I'm going to try to cut out most carbs, junk food, alcohol (good thing I got a few farewell glass of wine in tonight!) junk food, soda, junk food, junk food and junk food. I'm going to try to eat small meals that are high in protein. Egg whites, smoothies, veggies, etc. I'm not going to eat after 7. Actually, make that 8....9 at the latest. No, 8...for real. And, I'm going to see how much working out I can do. 

What I'm really going for here is to feel better. There's no way to change my body in three days. I'm not an idiot. But realistically, three days is enough time for me to feel a little bit better. If I don't eat junk and I cut back at night, and I go for a few runs and do a major ab workout, I'll feel better about myself going in to the shoot and it will reflect in the pictures. Then, after the shoot, I need to get my fat-by-industry-standards-and-not-by-my-own ass in gear and get myself in shape. I'll plan that later. 

Okkkkk, officially starting the three day challenge! Ready? GO!