Strike a pose

When the makeup and hair is done, the clothing styled, and a bit of coke sipped, I walk towards the area where everything is set up. A fantasy photoshoot, starring me. My giddiness is only surpassed by my ability to take a dozen packages of diuretics within a 12-hour period.

The lights are adjusted and I’m told a few simple directions: Go over there and make the product look good.

A few moments after getting prepped in front of the camera, I imitate expressions and poses from major campaigns. The penetrating stare. The longing and wistful look. The arm reach. The over the shoulder. And my personal favourite, the broken rag doll.

“Stop hunching over. Stand straight up,” the photographer yells. “Straighten up!” Apparently, this isn't Italian Vogue and he’s not Steven Miesel.

“The light. Move towards the light. No, no, the key light. The key light.” What light? This shit you have on me is so fucking dark I can barely see anything. I want to yell back the key light can kiss my ass, but I don’t because it’s unprofessional and I don’t want to be known as Naomi Campbell Jr.

A few hours pass and the day is almost ending.

“Perfect. Yes, yes. More, more. More like that,” the photographer is excited. My back hurts and my legs are about to buckle from standing in the same position. “Ok. One, two… two more. Ok, we’ve got it. Thanks everyone,” he claps enthusiastically.

Everyone begins thanking each other for a hard day’s work. Air kisses and promises of drinks are flowing in the air like magic dust.

Someone taps me on my shoulder and tells me I can clean up. I throw off the car tarp I was under, let my eyes adjust to the light and walk to the prep area to remove the reminder of my day from my face.

Note: Inside joke. The point I'm trying to make is that I am so unphotogenic and unmodellike I can only be photographed if I'm completely covered with a tarp. I never said it was a funny joke, though...