Claim to fame

I had a portfolio shoot a couple of weeks ago. It was upon the insistence of this modeling agency who happens to be our client. I met this agency last June, when I was a temp Project Coordinator because the old one suddenly got sacked. In between going over the contract, the proprietor kept convincing me to join his agency. At the time, the idea was appealing but I didn't take it seriously. Of course, I would be lying if I said I had no aspirations of becoming a model. It never fails to overwhelmingly flatter me when somebody asks if I do modeling jobs or if I belong to an agency. I have been asked to do portfolio shoots by different photographers, but I guess what held me back is the fact that personally, I don't see myself as model material.

I decided to do the portfolio shoot because 1) it was free, 2) the agency was so persistent, and 3) it's not a bad source of extra income. My parents were aghast when they found out and immediately launched into a littany of thousands of girls being scammed only to get raped or robbed by fake modeling agencies. My dad even sent me a very long text message about the news of some girl's thigh having been found under a bridge while the rest of the body is still missing. Mind you, the most my dad would text me is, "K," if not a missed call to save on credits.

The first time I did a modeling job ever was when I was 17. My parents allowed me because I modeled with some friends. The second time I was subject to studio lights was early this year for the salon thingy. I went to the shoot alone and I can't say I enjoyed it. Being objectified is not fun to begin with; to have eyes graze you from the tips of your hair to your toenails is not the most pleasant feeling. And not to have a friendly face in the crowd behind the bright lights makes it an excruciating experience. That's why I was secretly glad when my parents said they were going to come to the shoot whether I liked it or not. Their presence would mean support, even though their main interest was to protect me. And since my parents + glamour is an invalid formula, I was able to make light of the whole situation and breeze through the sets like I was playing. What made it more fun was the presence of couple of friends who came to watch too. The group almost outnumbered the agency people in the studio, which is admittedly very amateurish of me.

What I remember about the shoot is I had to wear several short short dresses that met the frown of my parents. To make it worse, on my third set, I was asked to wear just a tube top (more like a bandana for breasts, actually) and my jeans. It was for my "Sexy Set." You can probably imagine the look on my parents' faces. They're like representatives of MTRCB censoring my every pose. In those instances when I could feel the weight of disapproval hanging on the air like a heavy blanket, I made the world shrink so that only the camera and I exist. I "made love to the camera" the way you allow eyes to reveal your soul only to the most trusted, intimate person. If you do that, you forget about being judged and you find yourself acting out the photographer's directions before he even finishes his sentences.

I just found out that the pictres are out on the photographer's Multiply site. There are almost 70 comments on the three pictures of my shoot. So far, all of them are nice, if not overly patronizing. I was so afraid I looked stupid that I didn't even take a look at the raw pictures right after the shoot. When I asked the photographer how I could get my hands on all the pictures, he said I'll need to get from "my agency," which is ridiculous since I don't have a contract with them. I wonder what they're going to do with the pictures, and I wonder how many of them are worthless (a.k.a. I look like an elephant or an idiot holding awkward poses). Then again, I don't want to know. At least I wouldn't get nightmares over rejection anxiety.