by Coco Simon
“Well, that’s too bad. But you are doing the right thing. I know.”
We sat quietly for a minute.
“Now, I just need to figure out the logistics of getting you into the city tomorrow for this go-see!” said my mom.
Oh boy. “Sorry,” I said. “We don’t have to go. It’s such short notice.”
“No, I think we should, especially since the Icon one won’t work out. We don’t want Alana to think you’re not interested. I can make it work. I’ll just have Jake go to the Smiths after school. Dad can organize dinner,” said my mom, thinking out loud. “Matt can come home alone. Sam’s working. . . . ”
I guess there’s more to modeling than just standing around in front of the camera after all.
The next day, my mom and I drove into the city because, even though parking is expensive, it would allow us to leave as soon as we were done rather than waiting for a train.
The go-see was at a studio in Chelsea, and it was very professional. They’d told me to come dressed like a typical junior high kid (well, that was easy) and to bring my portfolio (my dad had gotten it made at Staples, with big printouts of the photos he’d taken). We were one of the first to arrive, which was lucky, because about fifty more girls filed in after me, and I knew some of them would be here for hours. My mom was asking me all sorts of questions since I’d done this once before. It was kind of funny to have a role reversal where I was experienced at something and she was clueless. She seemed more nervous than I was! After about twenty minutes of sitting there with all the other girls scoping me out, I began to get a little nervous too.
I was called fourth, and my mom came in with me. We introduced ourselves and gave our representation info, and Alana’s name again drew impressed looks of approval from the three people sitting on a long sofa against the wall. But no one said anything. I stood there feeling superawkward as they just stared at me, and finally I just looked away and pretended I wasn’t there.
After a minute that felt like an eternity, the photographer and his assistant called me over and asked me to stand on the backdrop. Then they had me do the usual poses, which took about two minutes. Then the photographer thanked me. The people on the sofa still hadn’t said anything.
I stood for a second. Was that it? Three whole minutes? My mom looked at me uncertainly.
“Thank you! Next!” called the photographer. And we were out the door again, portfolio in hand.
“Well, that was fast,” my mother said as we put our jackets on in the elevator.
“Yeah. Kind of weird.”
“Was that how it was last time?” she asked.
“No. They asked questions and everything. They actually talked.”
“Maybe you just don’t have the look they need for this.”
“Yeah,” I said.
We fell silent.
“You sure you want to keep doing this?” she asked finally.
I nodded. “For now.”
“Okay. . . . ” And we walked back to the parking garage, and went home.
Saturday morning was chaos at our house, and early. I was tired. All this running around was catching up with me, and all I wanted to do was relax in front of the TV, but I had a huge day ahead of me.
The Cupcake Club had shopped, organized, and baked the night before, and I’d gotten up early today to shower and blow-dry my hair. I’d been told to dress as I normally would, so that was easy, and I was ready when the Cupcakers arrived at seven. We’d have to drop the minis at Mona’s on the way into the city, and then my mom would drop me and the Cupcakers at my shoot while she parked.
There was a lot to load into the car, and in the end, we had to sacrifice the tiered wedding cupcake stand that we were planning to use for the Jaden Sacks launch. We’d just have to shoot that next weekend at the event instead.
Luckily, everything went according to plan, and we made it to the Teen Look studio with only a few minutes to spare.
I checked in at the front desk and they escorted us back to the studio. Mia was in her element, drinking it all in—the editorial offices, the framed covers on the wall, the racks of clothing samples in the halls—and Alexis was buzzing happily in such a busy work environment. Katie was wide-eyed, saying, “I can’t believe I’m at Teen Look!” I had to giggle.
Polly, the lady running the shoot, was nice and superstylish. She had masses of long, dark ringlets, and was dressed from head to toe in black, including towering black platform boots that would have been impossible for me to walk in. The bracelets on her arm went clackity-clack, and her earrings went jingledy-jing, and she smelled amazing, like a cloud of flowers was following her.
She introduced me to the photographer and the stylists, who were all supernice and friendly, and she showed me the buffet, which was all laid out with bagels and spreads and fruit salad and juice. She told the Cupcakers to help themselves too, which was generous. All I could think of when I saw the buffet was Olivia and how she’d love to be here. I felt bad right then, but not for long, because I was quickly whisked off to change into my first look by a stylist named Shoshana.
I waved at my friends and they waved back, their mouths stuffed with breakfast foods. Still smiling, I opened the dressing room and came face-to-face with the ugliest, weirdest outfit I have ever seen.
It was hanging on a mannequin, and it was made up of so many elements, all I could think was that it would look better on a hobo lost in the Arctic Circle.
There were thin, brown leather pants, with a kind of raw edging that looked like an Inuit had sewn them in a rush (we learned about Inuits in social studies last year; they live in the Arctic and dress in heavy stuff, so you can just imagine). There was a gray cotton waffle undershirt that was ripped and distressed; with a plaid button-down overshirt in silk; a big shaggy vest made of fake white fur; a huge orange fur hat; gigantic platform Ugg-type boots; and masses of necklaces made of wooden and glass beads.
“Wow!” I said. “Is that for me?”
“Yes, isn’t it amazing? It’s from Slim Adkins’s new line. It’s genius. People are raving about it,” said Shoshana.
“Really,” I said. I was thinking more of getting sick about it. It all looked pretty heavy. It was a lot of fake animals for one person to carry on her body.
“Yes, let me just break it down so you can get started.”
Shoshana took the look apart and began handing me the pieces. I never change in front of people; I just feel insecure about it, so I stood there and waited for her to finish.
“Do you need something?” she asked, stopping what she was doing.
“No.” I was confused. Why? I wondered.
“Okay, then get going! We only have Miles until noon, so we’ve got to make the most of it. He costs a fortune.”
“Wait. . . . You want me to change now? Here?”
Shoshana looked at me like I was insane. “As opposed to where?” she asked, suddenly not as nice as before.
I felt myself blushing a deep red and was furious at myself. “Oh. Okay. Usually I have privacy when I change,” I said. I was proud of myself for saying it, but I was beginning to shake a little with nerves.
“O-kaaay. . . . A little unusual for a model to want privacy, but whatever . . . ” I could tell she was annoyed, and I was embarrassed. She rushed off all the clothes from the mannequin and kind of flung them at me. “Call me when you’re decent,” she said, rolling her eyes and then stepping out.
“Thanks,” I said, wanting to cry. I got on the pants and the waffle shirt as fast as I could, then I called “Ready,” and Shoshana came back in.
It took another ten minutes to get everything on, and then she rushed me out to the hair and makeup lady. That took another half an hour, and I knew my friends must be getting restless. Finally, I was ready, and they sent me back into the studio.
My mother had arrived from parking the car, and when she saw what I was wearing, her eyes widened in horror, but she didn’t say anything. I think she would have said it was
not age appropriate, but honestly, I’m not sure how old you’d have to be to pull off this look. I could hear my friends suck in their breath. I looked like a freak. They’d put red eye makeup on my eyelids, up to my brow bones, and made my skin really shiny. I had white lips, and my hair had been waxed into dreadlocks that dangled out from under the fur hat. I had to take baby steps or I’d fall over in the boots, and the pants were actually supertight on me.
But at last I was in front of the camera. The music was thumping, the lights were hot, and my friends were watching. It was all pretty uncomfortable.
Miles started asking for poses, and I was going along with it, but I felt so weird and stiff and so not like myself that I knew I wasn’t photographing well. He kept saying, “Okay, relax. Just shake it out. There we go. Okay, I won’t bite you! Don’t worry,” and stuff like that, but I just couldn’t get into it. “Okay, Emma, let’s just get a real, genuine, relaxed smile. We just need one for the keeper!” It started to be embarrassing, and I could sense he was losing patience but trying to be polite.
Finally, after about twenty agonizing minutes, he stepped away from the camera and went to look at the computer to see what he’d gotten so far. Then he called over Polly, and they went out of the room to chat.
In the meantime the Cupcakers were silent, just watching me. And so was my mom. I could sense they were all worried about me and feeling bad, which made me feel worse.
Finally, Polly came in, all businesslike, and said, “Miles is taking a quick break. I think we’ll try one more look, something a little less out there, and see how it goes.”
So back I went to try on something else. But this time, though it wasn’t all dead (fake) animals, I thought it was even more out there. They put me in a sparkly miniskirt, a bathing suit kind of a top, leg warmers, a cape, and chunky heels. I looked like Wonder Woman on Halloween. They changed the eye shadow to blue and teased my hair up huge. This time, when I went back into the studio, my friends laughed in surprise. I had to giggle too.
Miles came back in, and he began shooting. But my giggles wouldn’t go away. I don’t know if it was nerves, or because my friends were there, or because I knew I’d already blown this job, but I could not stop laughing.
“Glad you’re having a good time, now,” said Miles at first. “Okay, a few serious shots, then.” But I couldn’t do it. By this point I was laughing so hard, I was almost crying, and I think that given the chance, I might actually cry. “Okay, Emma, I just need a real, genuine smile. Just for for the keeper shot!” But I just couldn’t do anything but giggle. Oh no! Miles and Polly conferenced again, and Polly came over with a look of regret.
“I’m so sorry, Emma, but I think this just isn’t going to work today. We love your look, but maybe another time, when you’re a little more experienced.”
“I am so sorry,” I said. “I just—”
She put an arm around me and gave me a little sideways squeeze. “It’s okay. It’s hard to start at the top. We’ll get you again later, when you’re a little more seasoned.”
“Thanks. Really, I am sorry. And you were so nice.”
“You should see how some girls come in here,” said Polly, walking me back to the changing room. “Some are spoiled brats with terrible attitudes, some are exhausted from partying all night, or worse, still partying. It’s refreshing to have to deal with inexperience!” She laughed. “Thanks for coming. We’ll send you a kill fee if we don’t end up using any of the photos.”
“Thanks.” I stuck out my hand for her to shake, and Polly looked pleasantly surprised.
“Great meeting you,” she said.
“Same,” I agreed. And then sulky Shoshana helped me undress in silent disapproval, leaving automatically when I got down to the bathing suit.
Back in my normal clothes, I thanked everyone and grabbed some baby wipes from the makeup bench to remove my makeup. There wasn’t much I could do about my hair, though.
I went back out to the studio to grab my mom and my friends, but they had already left and were waiting for me back in reception.
“Let’s go! Quick!” I said, feeling like I was making a narrow escape.
They dashed after me, giggling, and we fled out onto the street in relief. I was laughing again, hard, but inside I was horrified by how badly I’d blown the job. I cringed thinking of how Polly would call Alana, and Alana would fire me as her client, and it would be awful.
But maybe not that awful. This business was hard, and I could see a little bit of why the models got paid so much.
You spend a lot of time and energy, all to be poked, prodded, and evaluated. You have to get to places at a moment’s notice and have the look down right. You have to deliver punctuality, professionalism, courtesy, all with a pleasant attitude. You have to be healthy and strong and fit and have a certain look, as well as no modesty or sense of privacy whatsoever. It was a lot, and I was glad to be done with it for the day.
“Let’s discuss all this later, okay?” my mom whispered as my friends chatted away. Thinking of Mrs. Allen and her public reprimands of Olivia, I was grateful and nodded.
My friends used my mom’s hairbrush to get my hair back down to normal, and then we set out to grab a quick bite of lunch before our next appointment. None of my friends said anything else about the Teen Look shoot, and for that I was also grateful.
CHAPTER 10
Model Cupcakes
By the time we hauled everything from the minivan up to the food stylist’s studio, it was just before one o’clock. The stylist met us at the door, and we introduced ourselves. Her name was Debbie, and she was older, like a grandma, and a little chubby, with short gray curls, a huge smile, and dimples in her pink cheeks. Her studio was quiet and old-fashioned looking, with brick walls, a big open kitchen that had vintage appliances and a big marble island in the middle of it, and soft-looking wooden floorboards. There was a fireplace off to the side, with a comfy old table and mismatched chairs around it, and classical music was playing over the sound system. She directed us to where to put our supplies, and she offered everyone hot chocolate, which we all accepted, even my mother.
While my mom talked to Debbie about how she’d opened this studio and what other kinds of work she did, we unpacked everything and laid it all out. Then it was time to start.
“Okay,” said Debbie, handing around the mugs of cocoa, “the first thing we do is create our shot list, with a brief on each shot. I think you’re planning ten shots, right?”
Alexis nodded. She’s our natural leader on Cupcake Club business. “Yes. I’ve written down the cupcakes’ names, and we can do them in any order. We did cut one at the last minute because we couldn’t fit the display in the car. . . . ”
We all giggled, and Debbie smiled. “Well, maybe we can figure out something else to show it on.” She looked over the list, and then she said, “Okay. Let’s go to the cupboard and pick out some pretty plates and napkins and background color sheets. I think we want to mix it up a little, so we’ll shoot maybe half of them in the natural light that’s about to start coming in over by the window, and the rest here on the counter with my task lighting. Why don’t we have each of you, including your mom, choose one cupcake and pick out a background and props for it, then we’ll line it all up on the counter and regroup.”
This was going to be fun!
Katie was in ecstasy, looking at all the great kitchen props. I couldn’t stop drooling over the top-of-the-line KitchenAid mixer, and I could tell by the gleam in Alexis’s eye that she was calculating how much money could be made in a business like this!
We made our selections and created little piles, then we worked on index cards for each shot, listing the props, the cupcake name, and whether it would be natural or stage lighting, and what color background.
Debbie chatted with us the whole time, telling us all the old-fashioned tricks of food styling, like how they used to use Elmer’s Glue instead of milk in cereal bowls for cereal ads, and how they don’t really cook
meat but brown it with a blowtorch, and how ice cream in ads is really just a mix of lard and sugar, so it won’t melt under the hot lights. Meanwhile, we each built our cupcake presentations. (My mom needed some guidance on hers, but she managed to pull it off in the end, saying she had a new appreciation for how hard we worked in the Cupcake Club!).
Debbie surveyed the cupcakes, telling us they were beautiful and explaining that when there were multiples to choose from, the chosen food item is known as the “hero,” because it’s the one that gets shot. She also instructed us to add some height to the cupcakes whenever possible, because height makes things more interesting in photos. Then she explained how she’d be spraying the cupcakes with cooking spray, to make them shinier, and shooting them at an angle, with the cupcakes filling the frame whenever possible.
Finally, it was time to shoot.
Debbie set up the shots quickly, but then she must’ve looked through her camera lens a hundred times before pushing the button to shoot. She’d go back and forth, adjusting the lighting, the angle, the background, using tweezers and other little tools to shape and prop and generally primp the cupcakes.
“It’s like you this morning, Emma!” said Alexis, laughing as Debbie shot a multicolored cupcake with a tall heap of rainbow frosting on top. “We’re shooting a portfolio, and this cupcake is our little model!”
“Yeah, with the teased hair and everything!” I agreed.
“That was ridiculous,” said Mia, with scorn in her voice. “No one dresses like that.”
It was easier to talk about it this way while we were working and no one was actually looking at me.
“Did you like any part of that, Emma?” asked Katie.
I could feel my mom waiting for my reply. “I would have liked it better if the clothes weren’t so weird. The money is great, but I probably won’t get much of it for today,” I admitted, then added, “And my agent might fire me.”
“Then she doesn’t deserve you!” said Alexis sharply.
Tears pricked at my eyes. I loved my friends. And I loved being in business with them. The Cupcake Club was hard work, but it was fun, and we were a team. Modeling was a lonely business. And I had to wonder, Was it appealing just for my ego, so I could say I was a model? Did I need money that badly? Did I even enjoy it? So far, the answers weren’t good enough. I’d really need to think hard about it this week.
