If Looks Could Kill
The Only
I really don’t feel like doing this today. It’s just that today has been too tiring; cameras flashing, make-up enhancing. Am I just not pretty enough? This picture probably isn’t full length; its probably got the face but body-wise it isn’t quite there yet. I’ve heard all of this nonsense before but even though I exercise five times a day it’s never perfect. Well I suppose I’m just going to have to do the usual: go home, exercise consistently and eat less. If you want to be the next Kate Moss you need to be her size. Just think about the amount of calories in a carrot! Being a model can be so thrilling yet it acquires commitment. You have to be the best; you can smell the competition in the air, along with the perfume we all wear.
There is this party I need to go to with my “friends” Mary and Kat. I’m not sure if I could really call them my friends, more like acquaintances because this industry is a dog-eat-dog world. Be seen and be heard if you want your next job or you’ll never get anywhere; in order for that to happen I must wear something lavish and possibly black; it really isn’t a lie when they say black makes you look slimmer. My stomach is growling like a monster under this dress, I can feel its emptiness. I heard the door knock lightly; I knew it was Mary and Kat so I hopped up to answer it.
I couldn’t believe how stunning they looked, so just think how I felt. “You look nice” they said with a friendly smile, both showing their perfect white teeth along with their perfect thick hair and perfect slim figures. Everything is perfect with them, it makes me feel excellent. I felt tears well up in my eyes as I wished I was them; how I wish I could succeed without a price, but we aren’t all blessed.
I couldn’t let them see me upset so I quickly snatched my coat and we headed out the door. I may have emotions but no way am I weak.
As soon as I entered the party I could smell the stench of cigarettes and the classy cigars that the men smoked, I could feel the smoke brush past my face. This is fundamentally one of the diets of a model, not that we uphold many. My mouth began watering as the smell of rich food wafted through the air. Although as I breathed deeply taking in the tasty scent a voice inside of me said to ignore it and think of food in its natural state, a vile state that only wants to hurt me and keep me down. This inner voice understands me- my determination and my will to succeed as a world-class model and it even knows the things that stop me from fulfilling my dream.
***
I’m absolutely ecstatic right now! I’ve just got work to model in British Vogue; this is a chance of a lifetime! All hail the colour black: it gives you a figure to die for! Kat is doing the job as well, however Mary isn’t, poor thing; she’ll probably punish herself once she gets home and get rid of all that un-needed waste that’s putting her down. Well, that is what I do anyway, but look at where it’s got me!
For once I feel on top of the world! I feel like the pretty one I feel like the talented one. My heart is jumping around like a child on a bouncy castle; that is just how happy I feel. This job isn’t offered to just anyone, British Vogue is a highly anticipated magazine! This could be my chance to actually become somebody, to see my face in magazines and on billboards, to have people going crazy as they hassle me for my autograph, to have the chance to be strutting down the magical catwalks of Paris and Milan. To be a major “supermodel”. Is this my big break?
*
When Kat and I entered the British Vogue studios the stylists and photographers rush to give us the once-over. Although all they’re really doing is giving us marks out of ten and basically comparing us to each other. The usual stuff like who is taller, prettier, skinnier. I should have all those boxes ticked because I’ve worked my butt off so hard that I don’t even have a derrière anymore. Although as I stare at myself in the mirror you’d think I’d see a beautiful alluring model in her Versace dress flowing like a river all the way down to the floor, with her hair and make-up impeccable. However think of what is under the mask. Truthfully there is a girl that is internally dying. Her face pale and drawn, hair limp and body disappearing as we speak. I touch my stomach and all I can feel is bones sticking out, I am honestly a living skeleton. At least I’m living but for how long? I feel my body shake slightly but I suppose I must deal with it. My head tells me I’m perfect even though my heart speaks differently.
As I hear the cameras flash I gaze at my surroundings. This is probably the ideal life for any young girl; a model’s life is full of glitz and glamour, except for mine. If only these young girls knew the truth I expect they’d think differently. I look at Kat then I stare down at myself. Why couldn’t I be like her? Why couldn’t I have such a slim figure without having to starve myself every day and night? I feel so alone, not even food is my friend. Everything and everyone is competition in the modelling industry. You can have all the passion and determination in the world but there is only one thing, and one thing only they’re looking for: the look. Size zero is the new size eight. The thinner you are the better: that is the strategy if you want to be on top. Either get there or die trying.
There is this party I need to go to with my “friends” Mary and Kat. I’m not sure if I could really call them my friends, more like acquaintances because this industry is a dog-eat-dog world. Be seen and be heard if you want your next job or you’ll never get anywhere; in order for that to happen I must wear something lavish and possibly black; it really isn’t a lie when they say black makes you look slimmer. My stomach is growling like a monster under this dress, I can feel its emptiness. I heard the door knock lightly; I knew it was Mary and Kat so I hopped up to answer it.
I couldn’t believe how stunning they looked, so just think how I felt. “You look nice” they said with a friendly smile, both showing their perfect white teeth along with their perfect thick hair and perfect slim figures. Everything is perfect with them, it makes me feel excellent. I felt tears well up in my eyes as I wished I was them; how I wish I could succeed without a price, but we aren’t all blessed.
I couldn’t let them see me upset so I quickly snatched my coat and we headed out the door. I may have emotions but no way am I weak.
As soon as I entered the party I could smell the stench of cigarettes and the classy cigars that the men smoked, I could feel the smoke brush past my face. This is fundamentally one of the diets of a model, not that we uphold many. My mouth began watering as the smell of rich food wafted through the air. Although as I breathed deeply taking in the tasty scent a voice inside of me said to ignore it and think of food in its natural state, a vile state that only wants to hurt me and keep me down. This inner voice understands me- my determination and my will to succeed as a world-class model and it even knows the things that stop me from fulfilling my dream.
***
I’m absolutely ecstatic right now! I’ve just got work to model in British Vogue; this is a chance of a lifetime! All hail the colour black: it gives you a figure to die for! Kat is doing the job as well, however Mary isn’t, poor thing; she’ll probably punish herself once she gets home and get rid of all that un-needed waste that’s putting her down. Well, that is what I do anyway, but look at where it’s got me!
For once I feel on top of the world! I feel like the pretty one I feel like the talented one. My heart is jumping around like a child on a bouncy castle; that is just how happy I feel. This job isn’t offered to just anyone, British Vogue is a highly anticipated magazine! This could be my chance to actually become somebody, to see my face in magazines and on billboards, to have people going crazy as they hassle me for my autograph, to have the chance to be strutting down the magical catwalks of Paris and Milan. To be a major “supermodel”. Is this my big break?
*
When Kat and I entered the British Vogue studios the stylists and photographers rush to give us the once-over. Although all they’re really doing is giving us marks out of ten and basically comparing us to each other. The usual stuff like who is taller, prettier, skinnier. I should have all those boxes ticked because I’ve worked my butt off so hard that I don’t even have a derrière anymore. Although as I stare at myself in the mirror you’d think I’d see a beautiful alluring model in her Versace dress flowing like a river all the way down to the floor, with her hair and make-up impeccable. However think of what is under the mask. Truthfully there is a girl that is internally dying. Her face pale and drawn, hair limp and body disappearing as we speak. I touch my stomach and all I can feel is bones sticking out, I am honestly a living skeleton. At least I’m living but for how long? I feel my body shake slightly but I suppose I must deal with it. My head tells me I’m perfect even though my heart speaks differently.
As I hear the cameras flash I gaze at my surroundings. This is probably the ideal life for any young girl; a model’s life is full of glitz and glamour, except for mine. If only these young girls knew the truth I expect they’d think differently. I look at Kat then I stare down at myself. Why couldn’t I be like her? Why couldn’t I have such a slim figure without having to starve myself every day and night? I feel so alone, not even food is my friend. Everything and everyone is competition in the modelling industry. You can have all the passion and determination in the world but there is only one thing, and one thing only they’re looking for: the look. Size zero is the new size eight. The thinner you are the better: that is the strategy if you want to be on top. Either get there or die trying.