MODEL?! ME?!

I was walking down the main shopping street, alone, in CPH. It was Friday and unbelievable good weather. The street was packed with people. I was wearing some ripped blue shorts from second hand, a baggy micro-flower top from Zara, a new (must-have) cardigan -purple with rosy flowers from Just Female, my new black peek-toe shoes from Rocketdog and my fateful big black leather Chanel bag! A good mix between budget and pricy, –if you ask me.
Suddenly something caught my eye in an unknown new shop and I pushed my way though, what seemed like hundreds of people, to reach my goal!

Finally I made it and I went in to the store. The smell of new paint and heavy Chanel no. 5 hung in the air and made it somewhat unpleasant for me to breathe though the nose. The glittering pair of shoes I spotted out on the street turned out to be (funny enough) a pair I just bought last week!? Hah! That just shows me how much I appreciate those shoes already.
Okay, so I went out again, empty handed but as I made my way to the masses once more, a boney hand was gripping my sleeve. I went along with the manicured hand (didn’t want my cardigan to get ripped), and it pulled me to a small group of people. It was first at this point I saw who owned the boney French manicured hand. The woman was tall and abnormally skinny. Her black hair was pulled back in a twirly messy ponytail.

But my attention was forced upon a small man in a pink shirt as he reached his hand out to greet me. “So, how would you like to be a model?” He asked with in a slight gay-ish way. I was completely shocked, I mean, I know I lost some weight… But I don’t look like a model. So I answered: “Eeehm… But I don’t look like a model…” The small man giggled. “Oh look at her so sweet!” And his poesy chuckled as well. “Sure you do! We just street spotted you! If you are interested, just put down your address and your phone number.” As perplexed I was I managed to write (with shaky hands) my information down and thanked them.

The next day, Saturday, my phone rang. I didn’t know the number but I took a chance and picked up. A soft but still professional voice asked if I wanted to come to casting to a catwalk hair couture show Sunday and maybe do the show Tuesday. I didn’t hastate this time and breathlessly I said yes.

Okay you guys, I was at the casting. It took a lot longer than I had imagined. Apparently they were also doing a show today (Monday), so the room were filled with models. All skinny and tall. You better believe my selfastime (spelled?) was low…

In the meantime my boyfriend, who had agreed to take me to the casting and wait until I was done, waited in a park nearby and got some sunshine. But I was kind of feeling guilty. I promised we could grab a late lunch but it looked like I was going to be at the casting forever. I asked if I could move a little ahead in the list because of my situation, and I got bumped up to the Monday models!

When the turn came to me I had FIVE of England’s best hair dressers litterly in my hair. They pulled and braded and asked if I was okay with this and that. I just sat there and nodded. They didn’t do anything with the hair, just discuss what would look nice on me. And after my mind blowing meeting with these gentlemen I got sent off to wardrobe? I had no clue if I was accepted or not!? Then a lady measured me and my shoe size and then I got pushed in to the photo-department. A rain of flashes blinded me, and before I knew it, I was done and stood in front of the studio.

I felt like I just had sex. High on life, light as a feather and sweaty!!

Geez, tomorrow I have to walk... And I have to wear a couture haircut... I feel a little sick...

Wish me luck!!