I realized the other day that I have really high expectations for life. I really do expect to win the lottery or “be discovered.” For what you ask? No clue really, I just believe that someone is going to come up to me and say, “You are so interesting and the whole world must know immediately.” Might be the same reason why for the entirely of my teen years I was convinced that if Keanu Reeves could just meet me, he would love me. Yup, that’s why I’m in therapy people. I am not sure where these delusions of grandeur come from but I think it might have something to do with a few childhood moments. Let me explain…
Somewhere between the ages of birth and seven, people noticed that I didn’t take bad pictures. In fact, pull out a camera and I was likely to put on my best smile. I might even strike a pose or maybe you want me to do this with my hands or laugh like this?
Like an actor slipping into character one vertebrae at a time, my camera persona fell over me like a familiar old jacket. It was nothing I was taught, I just loved the feeling of being captured in a moment. As though the camera could hold time still and I could languish in the attention for an eternity. As time went on and awkward teenage years ensued, I would loose that love but for the duration of this part of the story I was always camera ready.
Obviously people encouraged my ham-like nature, which in turn fed the compliment hungry beast. All of this picture taking/pose striking led to obvious questions about what one might do with this skill that I possessed. After hours of discussion and an ill advised but thankfully short deliberation about pageant entry, my mom and I decided that I would try to get a gig as a child model.
My mom proceeded to take pictures of me in different situations and sent them off to several talent agencies in San Francisco. After a considerable wait period, we got answers from two of them. The first was a huge agency in the City that represented some pretty big child stars. The agency asked that I come in for an interview. I vaguely remember the waiting room to be a bit like the set of Ugly Betty, lots of pictures on the wall of beautiful people and glass doors. There was also lots of pastel because after all, this was the 80’s and who didn’t love the Miami Vice look?
For weeks my mom and I had rehearsed my “audition” and I finally had it down. I would be reciting the lines from a popular L’Oreal commercial, only we had changed it up a bit. For those of you that remember the 80’s, the commercials we chose were done by Andy McDowell and she always started them with the line “You know what really chips me off?” Then she would explain how whatever chipped her off wasn’t her nail polish because L’Oreal nail polish doesn’t what? Chip. That’s right.
We had added a little humor to the lines and I felt comfortable enough to say them aloud in front of strangers. “You know what really chips me off? When I go to Paris and my luggage goes to Rome!” Oh the hilarity! What 8 year old hasn’t experienced that unpleasantry?
When they called my name and I walked down the hall all by my lonesome, I began to feel nervous. Just because I could manage not to look like a freak in front of a camera didn’t necessarily translate into solo interviews with strangers whereby I recite a ludicrous commercial and wait for approval. However, as I sat down in front of the four adult strangers something strange began to happen. I shook hands with all of them, and began to recite my commercial. After my first line, they laughed…in a good way. I was dizzy with the glow of approval, they thought I was funny! When I finished they asked that I repeat the commercial again, only this time with a southern accent. I’ll be frank, I was 8 and I am sure my version of southern was no where close to spot on, however if they were going to laugh again, I was willing to do anything. I’d speak martian or gibberish or Valley Girl for that matter. Come to think of it, I think Valley Girl was involved.
They pretty much offered me the job on the spot. My mom was shocked at the process and told me in the car that she could hear them laughing from the waiting room. She implored me to tell her what exactly I had been doing in there. I told her what happened and I distinctly remember her reaction was something of shock. She hadn’t taught me that part, the part where I make stuff up on the fly. Her little ham was growing up!
To make a long story short, I didn’t go with the big agency because they wanted too much of my time and I wasn’t ready to drop out of school and hire a full time tutor. There were Barbies to play with and kids to prank call, I didn’t have time for “homework on the set.” However, the agency we did go with paid me $80 an hour for the work I did, which was mostly print work for Macy’s and brand name toy companies like Mattel.
According to an inflation calculator, $80 in 1985 has the same buying power as $163 dollars today. Considering I just took a job making somewhere in the $30 an hour range, is it really that surprising that I am disappointed?
These days I have settled for less money in the workplace but also I have moved to the other side of the camera and now relish in taking pictures of others. I look back on my years doing modeling work as an important part of my life. It made me learn to be comfortable in an interview and at ease with a crowd. Unfortunately, it appears that my 15 minutes of fame may be over and I was too young to enjoy it. Like a meringue on a foggy day, I peaked early.
Twice now our family has had professional shots done and both times the photographer asked if our son Isaac would ever consider modeling because, you guessed it, he takes great pictures…