Today, I became the unthinkable.

     As a child, I always wondered what it would be like to be famous, to be a model. I had looked through various magazines of Vogue, Vogue Italia, Harper's Bazaar and seen what male models appeared like; Greek Gods. Growing up, I never had that confidence because I used to be fat. You may be thinking to yourselves, "What? You used to be fat? No way! You're lying!" No, readers, I was indeed fat; my mama just knew how to dress me well. So my body image and the image the American society has set as a standard for what male models must look like always brought down my self-esteem and only ever let this be wishful thinking. Until today.

     I had received an email stating that I had been chosen for a charity fashion show as one of the models. Shock. My mind could not comprehend this fact. I mean, I have never looked as great as I do today, but I know that I still have some work to do before I could ever consider my body to be model ready. Still, though, I replied with a definite, yes. Little did I know, this was going to be an experience of a lifetime.

     To start off, Siri is on crack. I don't even use the past tense, was, because she's still on crack. When I arrived to "The Show", Siri had informed me that my destination was to my right. False. It was not on my right. On my right was, which I'm very positive about, a commencing drug deal in front of a run down apartment complex. Either these people were trying to play me or it was the day I was finally going to get mugged, shot, and/or sexually assaulted. As soon as I parked, at the top of a hill mountain, I had walked down questioning whether or not I should turn around and go home. Then I saw the crowd of people and the venue itself.

     When I walked up, I was greeted by the Creative Director, France. You know those movies where there'd be that one character that recites a phrase at the end of everything they say; they exist. France's special word was "Fashion".

"Are the models ready? Fashion."

"I love your outfit. Fashion."

"Ok, we need to go downstairs? Fashion."

"Fashion!"

     As cooky as this may sound, he was still an amazing person to work for; full of fun and energy. I didn't know what to expect, especially since this was my first runway show. There has always been this imagination where I thought the models would be bitchy, catty, and stand-offish that I worried every time a took a step near them. Throughout the evening though, I learned how down-to-earth these ladies really were; they were nothing like how society perceives models. In actuality, there were only two guys that disgusted me.

     In meeting the ladies and some of the gentlemen, I thought that this was going to be a very laid back and fun fashion show. Then these two blockheads arrive; the Tweedles. Everything about them was very stereotypical; they're approach to the job, how they treated the women/designers, their "masculine" personality. They were the worst.

     When I first met them, I overheard the following conversation:

Tweedledee: Oh, hey man! Check out that chick. Look at that ass!

Tweedledum: Mm! She's really fine too. Look at that body!

Tweedledee: Yeah, I'd like a piece of that.

     Um, sorry boys, but you can't treat women like a piece of meat; this isn't the early days, we've progressed from that, you should too. But of course, it got better.

Tweedledee: Do you know how much we're getting paid for this?

Asian: Um, nothing? It's a free event.

Tweedledee: What?! Um, no. There is no way in hell that I would have done this for free!

Tweedledum: Yeah!

Tweedledee: Are you sure that we don't get paid?

Asian: Yeah.

Tweedledee: Do you know if we get credit for this?

Asian: I'm pretty sure. They're gonna take our pictures and I think there may be a dvd copy of the show.

Tweedledee: Oh, ok then. Then I probably remember submitting for this because I don't do anything free; it has to be paying or give me credit.

Asian: Ah, I –

Tweedledee: Yeah, but I don't remember submitting for this...you sure we don't get paid?

     Needless to say, their level of professionalism was nonexistent. So not only did they treat the girls like meat, they were also pissed off that they were doing this event for free. Boys, reality check, you are in the fashion industry. Yes, the girls may be hot, but they are your coworkers; have some dignity. I'm sure your mama did not raise you like that! Then came the tipping point.

France: Hey boys, this is another one of the designers, Arab. Fashion. He's got clothes downstairs and needs help bringing stuff up. Fashion. How many people do you need? Fashion.

Arab: Just one.

France: Fashion. So which one of you guys can help him bring up his stuff? Fashion.

     Now, France was not looking at me at all. I know this because I was watching his eye contact gazing upon the Tweedles. Why, you may ask? Well, they obviously had larger biceps than me. I definitely had the better body, but their biceps were so much better than mine. When I looked over at them, they immediately looked away from the designers and seemed as if they were trying to force the other to go help because neither one wanted to. It was at this point that I swiftly volunteered. Funny thing was, Arab only had one rack of clothes and it wasn't even that heavy. Finally, it had come to the point that I was over their negative and horrific attitudes.

Assistant: I want you to wear this. *hands Tweedledee a sequin blazer*

Tweedledee: Naw man. I need something else? I can't wear this. I'm not comfortable wearing this.

     Hold up! Did you just deny a designer's clothing?! Get out. You would be kicked out of the show if you were modeling for a top designer like Posen or Kors and had an attitude like that. Moeling is not about what makes you comfortable, it's about the client. I understand if somebody has morals or standards, but that would only ever be an issue of crosses certain boundaries and ethics. It's not like he was asking him to be nude or to make out with another male model.

Assistant: He doesn't want to wear this.

 Ms. Designer: Why not?

Tweedledee: I don't feel comfortable in this. It's whack.

Ms. Designer: Why don't you feel comfortable in this?

Tweedledee: I don't know... I just don't.

Ms. Designer: Here, try it on. See, it looks great on you!

     She eventually got him to say yes, but then he didn't end up wearing it because he was being a diva again to Mr. Designer. Then, of course, there's Tweedledum's.

Arab: Would you be comfortable wearing underwear?

Tweedledum: Just underwear?

Arab: No. You'll also be wearing a jacket on top.

Tweedledum: Um, not really.

Arab: You sure? I mean, I don't want you to do something you're not comfortable with, but are you sure?

Tweedledum: Yeah, no. I'm not comfortable doing that. I can't do it.

     Granted, I did just say that I had the better body, but he wasn't fat or anything; he was just bulky. Still, it was really annoying that he wouldn't walk for this designer because as an unknown model, you want to walk for as many designers as you can. Who knows, you may be walking for the next big designer known to mankind.

     Anyway, it was already 10:30 PM and I've been there since 4:00 PM. I was dying and losing steam. My youthful innocence started to dissipate due to the fatigue the other models and myself were experiencing, but most of us kept it together. When it came time to walk, I was so scared. I had talked with a few of the female models, Arab, and a hair stylist. They were kind enough to give me tips and support for my first runway. What was especially nerve wracking was the fact that in my first show, I opened for a designer. Fear knew no bounds. I trembled and quaked before I hit the runway.

     As soon as I finished my walk, Pita, the hair stylist, congratulated me on my walk. Then I quick changed into my next outfit. After that, we did our final walks and I changed into my last outfit for the evening. I did my final walk and had a quick pictorial with France and was ready to leave. As I was packing my things and saying my goodbyes, I traded information with various designers, models, and Pita. She was definitely one of my favorites that evening because of the hope she gave me.

Pita: You are so humble and sweet and you worked it out on the catwalk! I can't wait to see you grow and be a top model. I know that I'll see you in LA Fashion week soon!

     If you told me that I'd be a model when I grew up, I would have laughed at your face. There would have been others that would have done the same thing. Modeling, for me, was always just wishful thinking. What this experience has taught me, though, is that dreams do come true if you try. As long as you don't give up on yourself, others won't give up on you. So stand strong, readers, and follow your hearts! And know that you have at least one person that believes in you; me.

     Here's to more future adventures and experiences!

Sincerely,

An Asian