The Face Page #5

A Story about a lost girl.

• Fiction
• Diaries

								

	The recruiters had warned her to invest more money into her modeling portfolio or to forget future offers. She had arrived with a stack of Polaroids. The industry standard was to hire a professional fashion photographer for at least thirty different shots in different makeup looks, hairdos, and clothing. The topic bored me. I could not stand the idea of changing my makeup, hair, and clothing so many times. I have no idea why modeling is considered glamorous when it is tedious.
	I was asked to sub for some missing models on the runway for the annual fashion show at the mall. I have a size nine feet, and the shoes available were six to eight. I was expected to shove my feet into these smaller shoes. There was no one to touch up makeup and we had to do it ourselves. I just barely fit into the dresses, as my rib cage was larger than the average models.
	At the mall, there are a few thin, gangly, flat-chested, and tall women walking around. It must be hard to find someone to meet this standard. Back then, they wanted a 5"6 to 5"8 model who was willowy, with straight hair, a small rib cage, no hips, and small breasts. This look is also hard to find. Most women are not built according to industry standards.
	Mitch wanted to pursue this career. I lacked interest and went on with my job shadowing as a medical assistant and signed up for computer courses at college. I was offered a full scholarship for Social Work in the forensic area, under the leadership of the Vocational Health Sciences program, but I refused. My parents were irate. I did not want to take these courses. 
	I flipped through the scrapbooked negatives of the pictures Lorne had taken. Mitch had them developed, though she knew of three copies that existed. One of the sets was in Lorne's possession. The other two copies were with Gordon, a family friend. She had thrown them in with her regular modeling portfolio.
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