[align=center]Not So Superficial
[align=left] An echo of “click, clacks” bounces off the concrete walls of the parking garage as I rush in four-inch pumps through the door of a steel business building. Page Parkes Modeling Agency; third floor. Finger to button number three, and the elevator doors glide together, sealing me in a mirrored box. There are many words to describe who I am, and conservative is not one of them; so using the streak free walls, I shake my hands through my hair, giving myself a messy, chic appeal. Three synthesized Dings! later the metallic doors silently slide open.
If someone had asked me a year ago if I wanted to model, without a beat I would have professed, “NO WAY!”
A faux blonde sulks by, her face dripping with silent tears; Rejected? I question. The heavy steel door leading inside the agency shows no signs of giving as I forcefully push it; luckily I spot the small geometric sign that declares Pull. Head held high, twelve steps forward, pen to paper, I smile brightly to a tiny woman behind the front desk as I sign in, her face however is too shot full of Botox for any emotion to be reciprocated. Cautiously I place myself on a small, black, pleather love seat next to a brunette whose hair is as split as a Hollywood romance.
I’ve always thought I was cute, but because I didn’t devote my body and soul to suburban teen trends I figured I could not constitute as a beautiful girl. During my junior year all of the girls that seemed pretty were becoming very self-conscious, and therefore seemed vulnerable and ugly in a literal and metaphorical sense. Confidence reached an all time high in myself, and I realized how gorgeous I was, without having to come across as vain, conceited, or self absorbed.
I swiftly jump up from my stiff seat as Ms. Botox calls my name and monotonously instructs me to go down the long hall, as she refers to it, make a right and go into the fifth room on the right. The long hallway’s tiled and has multiple doors on either side of it, some of which are open. I walk slowly to allow myself generous time to look into each open room, most being empty, but a few with preteens learning to apply makeup or males walking down a mock runway. My heels hit the floor with determination as I round the turn to the right, and I began to count the doors; one, two, three, four… five.
I’m still not quite certain what finally sparked my interest in modeling; it could have been the creative artistic pictures I would see in the editorials of art and high fashion magazine, or the watching the haut couture runway shows where girls would model the astonishing dresses while walking with graceful edge. I’m pretty positive that I was also out to prove that I had what it takes to be a model, and yet I was not some cookie cutter Abercrombie girl.
I lightly rap my knuckles twice against the partially open door leading into the fifth room on the right. The rectangular office’s walls are decorated floor to ceiling with enlarged, color photos of celebrities and models who all claim Page Parkes is how their multi-million dollar careers began. All the correct responses flow from my mouth as Ms. Toni Smith inquires as to why I would make an amazing model. Fifteen minutes, thirty-two laughs, and eighteen questions later, Ms. Toni Smith announces I will call you on Tuesday; in the fashion industry that means you are in.
I set up a talent evaluation with Page Parkes Modeling Agency, where they loved my personality and poise so much that I was invited to attend their model training camp. I had a portfolio shoot and was sent to audition at the Page Parkes Agency. Two months after setting my dream, I became a working model and I have gone far beyond what I ever expected of myself. It just goes to show that all you need are confidence, determination, and will power and you can do anything your heart desires.
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