That Year’s Model

Leslie Writes…and I listen.

I had better explain and tell you why I am writing this piece (always seem to be explaining myself). In Ms. Writes’ work about a previous career, I made a comment about one of my more embarrassing employment moments and received the following response:

Oh, come on! You can’t drop a

smoke bomb on something like

that! You have to write about it now!

She was right. I did drop a bomb, and I am still moving through the smoke and debris of that moment and finding a way to talk about this…without sounding like the worst egoist.

I was a model.

Almost.

*

Let’s go back to the early 2000s. I was working in Tokyo, Japan, moving from contract to contract as a freelancer who got the chance to see parts of the city and the rest of the country that many of my fellow housemates never saw. And with such an open set of contracts, I took on almost any job that filled in the time. Some of my friends noticed this and were…concerned. In fact, there was so much concern, that I was offered one of the most ridiculous job offers ever.

“Kendall, have you ever thought about modeling?”

I loved the people I met in that house, I really did. That was M., a young woman who stepped away from teaching ESL to do other jobs with other companies, including working for a modeling agency. I saw one of her head shots and was impressed. But what did I think of myself in such a job?

I just laughed…

And to be fair, I had to imagine that this was just an elaborate prank. I had no success in my hometown with dating or being anyone’s example of a stunner, a ladies’ man, or a player (or is that ‘playa’?). It was only in Japan that I noticed a few things that seemed to change my life. First, I lost weight, to the point where one day I was at work, and a colleague noticed that my pants and belt were just hanging off my body (the old suits were for a heavier time). It was not just his comment that stood out. After a trip home to see the family and attend a wedding, everyone commented on this change (it was hard to understand how perceptions shift when staring at old faces). Secondly, I was suddenly dating. It was easy to go out and meet other people. At the bars and pubs that we patronized after work – I rarely walked straight home – I was meeting plenty of people in the same boat who were trying to find themselves overseas. And my dates were not all Japanese. I dated people who could have attended my university or high school. The problem in Japan was knowing when lines were being crossed. I understood why some teachers got into serious hot water with students. I never did, but I did face some temptations that could have ruined my reputation (that is for another article). Housewives and office ladies were often just bored and wanted to talk in class, especially in private lessons where their husbands would be absent and – on rare occasions – their wedding rings went missing. So, there was an interest on both sides…

But modeling?

I kept laughing…until I was given a card and a date to show up at a particular studio.

*

There were three of us, including the woman who was a coordinator for the agency. And I was put into a group with a wrestler (saw the head shot and would have guessed as much from his body language and demeanor) and a very tall, dread-locked gentleman who seemed to have all of the experiences with modeling that I would never have.

And what did we have to do?

Only one thing…

There was a circular platform in the middle of what looked suspiciously like an airplane hangar. We were told that this was to be a photo-shoot for a poster to be used for a jazz festival. I relaxed at that bit of knowledge. I had on a proper suit and tie, and told myself that the two other people there would probably not give that particular musical vibe on film.

Oh, dear.

I was atrocious. They told me to sit on the chair provided on the platform, pick up a guitar and pretend to play and smoke at the same time. Then it was, “Throw your head back!” “Close your eyes and dream!” “Imagine all of the applause around you!” And so on, and so on…

Now, I can play the guitar (the Gretsch electric hollow-body in my hand needed a tuning and I was very tempted to fix this before the cameras came out), and maybe if I had made a real attempt at it, I would have been hired. But the whole pretending to smoke, dream, and letting my thoughts settle on an imaginary audience did not play out that well. So, I let the others come in and try their best.

The dread-locked fellow got the job.

I did see the poster later and I will admit that he did suit the part. Maybe there was some special Zoolanderian skill that I needed to develop. But I never got another chance. The staff told me that I could do this for a living, but when you realize that hanging by the phone waiting for someone to call you to take your picture is not the career for you, you move on.

But I still wonder about what could have been…

*

Thank you for reading!

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You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

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