I'm not your bitch, don't hang your shit on me.

Monday, November 29, 2010

Someone has faith in me

Recently, I have been going through a change, at least career-wise. Although I am a jack of all trades (and master of some) in the industry of which I work in, I have found that makes me appear too scattered when it comes to positioning myself amongst my colleagues and competitors.

After realizing what I have to do to accomlish my rebranding, I send a text to one of my friends who has supported me since the start of my insane journey of rediscovery. Not too long after my message, I receive one back from him.

So excited. I think a preview at your loft would be really relevant. One on one interviews and photo sessions. Some wine and few little platters it would be phenomenal. We will talk in person tomorrow. You will be a huge success and I have so much faith in you.

And, that's all I needed. It's a great feeling when someone is more sure about yourself and has more faith in you than you do.

Monday, November 22, 2010

Modeling is hard

Because my career contains an element of style, I have to take on a few jobs that I find to be quite interesting if only because I’m the boss.

One of those jobs is getting my photograph taken for publication(s).

This isn’t the same as having a friend pull out a digital camera and taking a couple of snaps of you trying to do your best Zoolander impersonation. This shit is for real.

To start, I ask/politely beg one of the photographers whom I recently worked with on a project if he would take a few shots of me. He’s a professional whose work has been published around the world. If you have to reach, reach for the top.

I tell him the shoot doesn’t have to be complicated. The only thing I need is a white wall and him; no stylist, hair/makeup required. All in all, I wouldn’t take more than 10 minutes of his time.

When I arrive at his studio place, he’s already waiting for me. There’s a professional set up with a background, and two umbrella lights with filters. I start to feel anxious and nauseous. This looks professional. I get in front of the set-up and take my stance in front of him. He takes a few shots to test the lighting. Even though I think I know what I’m doing, I don’t.

While I do a few poses and change my face by tiny increments, he tells me to stick my chin out even though it feels odd. When I stick my neck out, he corrects me; my chin, not my neck. I follow his direction when he says to look one way with my eyes while moving my head another way, to open my mouth (but not too much) and to smile without actually smiling. It takes me four seconds to start laughing.

Strangely enough, in-between the shits and giggles, I take a look at some of the images and they don't look too horrific. When I'm not “modeling” is when I have a semblance of being photogenic. The more fun I have, the better the outcome.

We talk about his last model who was 17. I was there for that shoot. His skin was wrinkle-free, he had an amazing, athletic body, white eyes, and I was old enough to be his father (if a 25-year-old can father a child).

The photographer reassures me that it’s all good and that my skin is pretty good and my eyes are white for my age. I’d hope so. I tried to get a good night sleep and refrain from any alcohol. If I was 17 and still “pure” with my body, I’d still not look as good as that kid.

“Don’t worry, it will all look good,” says the photographer. “We have plenty of shots to choose from.”

We might have plenty of shots, but God only knows how much photoshop he has to use to "clean up" the pictures look presentable...

Monday, November 15, 2010


Not too long ago, I went out with M and sent him a short text after our coffee. It was short and sweet, without the saccharine sentiment associated with the whole early-onset dating thing.

A few minutes later, I received a text back...

“I enjoyed that and I think you are very interesting as a person :)”

Now, when I read that, I scrunched my face, as to say, Emmm, that’s not good. I tell D this and he does the same face.

“Maybe there’s something lost in the translation,” I say to D, because M’s first language isn’t English.

“Mmmm, could be.” D’s response is non-committal.

It was only afterward that I understood what “interesting” was supposed to mean. Fortunately for me, it was a good thing. As it turns out, the meaning for M is one of quirks and endless fascination, keeping the other always on their toes.

And with that, I’ve been interesting ever since.

Monday, November 08, 2010

Out of my league, and into another sport

As I’m checking my Facebook, I see someone commenting on a friend’s last post of a photoshoot he did. I had also commented since I was at the shoot. I click on the profile because the name peaks my interest. It’s one of those names that almost sounds fake.

When I click through some of the images, the face becomes familiar. I’ve seen it on a dating site and I wrote a note (a while back). Clicking through a few more of B’s photos, I realize nothing will ever happen between us. Not only is B out of my league, but plays in another sport altogether.

Turns out, B is also an underwear model. Strange. All of the images on the dating site are cropped and fully-clothed; the Facebook ones are not. To make matters worse, B is also in medical school, graduating in 2011. It’s bad enough to personify a wet dream, but being smart can bruise even the strongest of egos.

Of course, that’s not to say there isn’t a chance for us to walk down the aisle. Until then, I'm going to have to learn to play whatever game it is to be on the same team.

Monday, November 01, 2010

The 20s are chasing me down

As much as I (and my friends) find having a 20-year-old chasing me to be a turn-on, I find there are a lot of negatives that come with youth.

No matter how mature they claim to be, someone who is in their early-20’s doesn’t know a thing about life. They’ve just graduated from university/college (if they went) and are now entering the real world. Many don’t even get to live life because they crawl back into the sheltered hole of existence of their friends and family.

Have you told a 20-year-old “no”? Their reaction is a shock to me every time I've said it to them; like I've shattered their perfect world of take-and-take.

Of course, it’s an ego-boost. A piece of ass who just became legal is interested in you? But it’s disconcerting I have a hard time finding anyone my own age (give or take a few years) to be interested in me. Do I have to be in my 40’s to get a 30-something to like me?