Wednesday, June 18, 2008


There was a moment last week that I almost became a model.

I got a message on Myspace from a "talent scout" for this New York company, said they were doing a shoot in Seattle and wanted me to be in it. I was a little puzzled, because it's a HAIR product company, and my hair, with its unyielding double cowlicks and limp, unmanageable thinness, is the bane of my existence. It has been since I first learned that my mom's embarrassed buzz cuts weren't actually the "it" hairstyle.

But they were going to pay me 500$ a day just to stand around and look good for a few hours, so I said, "Um, if you say so..." and agreed.

What they didn't mention was that the "meeting" they scheduled with me before the shoot was actually a quality-control meat inspection along the lines of 18th century slave auctions.

The time arrives, and as requested, I head downtown to the ritzy Hotel 1000 (where rapper Andre 3000 is reported to have stayed recently). I make a pitstop in the restroom for a hair check and nervous-pee, and marvel at the softness of the paper towels laid out on the marble counter. If I could have clothes and bedsheets made out of those paper towels....oh I would.

I am escorted into a room in the lobby, and without any preamble or explanation of what's going on or what's going to happen, I am introduced to some kind of director named Voltaire (of course his name is Voltaire). I consider introducing myself as Isaac 4000, but I'm caught up in the assembly line and pushed in front of an angry-looking British/Australian man who looks me over, inspects my gums, kicks me in the shins, and then dismisses me with an offhanded shout to his assistant, "Get a polaroid of Isaac". A woman tells me to look straight ahead and takes two mugshot-style polaroids of me, then gets my number (again) and tells me they'll call me that night to go over the schedule.

They never called me. Nor did they answer my followup email or acknowledge my existence ever again. So, readers, I'd like to take this moment to call for a global boycott of Bumble & Bumble hair products, on account of rudeness. I mean come on, I don't have the most majestic mane of hair you've ever seen, but what about my personality? What about my friendly smile and warm handshake? What about my thoughts and philosophies on life? Isn't that worth anything to you? Like, 500$ a day, maybe?
The whole experience was a real wakeup call for me. I mean who would have ever imagined that the fashion industry would be so shallow?


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