- imani nicole
- Jul 20, 2018
- 5 min read
"you should model" ok but are you going to sign me like
You know when you're a kid and your parents convince you that you're pretty much good at anything? You ultimately believe it, and pursue just about everything. Well, that's how I got introduced to the industry of modeling.
The first thing you learn very quickly when trying to get into modeling is this: Never, EVER pay an agency to sign you. Agencies literally make their money based off their models bookings. So paying an agency is literally a scam. Although I and my family never fell for any of those scams, it was a little disheartening to feel as though you're so close to what you want to do, only to be shot down in the end. From 2010 to 2015, I never understood what it was that contributed to my failure. But, you eventually get over it.
Fast forward to 2016.
I'm minding my business at work, and a guy stops me and asks me if I was a model. Cue the typical sentence structure:
Your [ body part ] is so [ extreme compliment ], you should be a model!1!!
But are you gonna scout me though.... like? Of course he wasn't a scout, but he goes on to say that he knows a woman at what was called Factor|Chosen Model Management. He put the two of us in an email together, and BIIIIITCH did I think I was Naomi Campbell! In that moment, I already saw myself in print magazines and Prada advertisements. I saw myself getting off of one flight just to go visit an agency in Paris. I saw myself on THE Victoria's Secret Angel private jet-- and I hadn't even met the woman yet. We email back and forth for a bit and finally set up a date to meet, and once that day came BOIIIIIIIIIII I walked in her office like hi sis. It's me, the one you've been waiting for, the one you've been emailing. THE next Tyra Banks. Where do I sign?
Why she look at me like I was lost? She gave me that look that every college student gives the kid who accidentally walks in the wrong classroom while class is in session. I instantly feel shitty. She hands me a clipboard to fill out my information and measurements, but I already sent this to her in the email! I felt like she didn't even remember me. I had to make sure I was talking to the right lady, and I was.
To keep a long story short, she ultimately tells me she'll review my application and the shitty pictures we took outside. She asked me if my hair was real. Of course it's not sis, damn! What that gotta do with anything?! 'Twas a 8 minute interaction honestly. She didn't even ask me to put on my swimsuit, and she asked me to bring it! She wasn't half as enthralled to see me in person, but those exclamation points she put in that email sure made it seem like it. I leave and wait a while to follow up with her. Almost a month, to be exact. I wait a month to hear this:
We think you are lovely, but unfortunately not right for our market and clients. Thank you for your time and interest in us. We wish you the best!
First of all
Why'd you even hype it up like you loved me in the email bu-... never mind.
I take that L and decide to keep applying to these modeling agencies, calling nonstop, submitting photos, going to open calls, submitting via social media hashtags (#wlyg for IMG Models was the main one!) and so on. I called Elite, submitted a million and one pictures; DNA, DAS, Next, One.1, Lions NY, Wilhelmina, Womens, Mother Model, all of that... I got to a point in my rejection where I was desperate AF. I got in contact with a woman from New York who spoke to me almost on a daily basis, and she called herself giving me advice when she said I wasn't skinny enough to model. "Just lose two more inches and you're in."
Anyone who knows me knows for a fact that I am skinny AF. So for me to lose two inches off of anything is OD. But an agency in New York? I was so excited. At this point it is about December, and I became obsessed with the fact that I was so close to something I've really been wanting to do my whole life. When I tell y'all I tried everything under the sun because sis gave me the impression that that was all I needed to be official! So, like the stupid child I can often be, I bought some pills to help me lose weight. Determination or desperation?? Find out next week on Dragon Ball Z.
Anyways, I'm popping these pills like Flintstone vitamins. Constantly checking my waist measurements at work, and praying that these pills will give me my one way ticket to New York. After a month, the only one way ticket I got was to the hospital. I got sick one day, I had no appetite and I was throwing up straight water. I was mad as hell because I used the last of my groceries to make some veggie pasta. I ain't even eat it! I was sick-- low heart rate, low blood sugar, low blood pressure etc... and I was admitted for 5 days. I spent my nights being woken up by a nurse to come draw blood and come check my heart and blood pressure. I had to sleep with heart monitors on my chest and an IV in my arm. Ya girl was depressed.
I spent my week in there not even leaving the room for any reason. I tried to cry myself to sleep because I felt so stupid allowing the opinion of this random ass "scout" (or whatever the fuck she calls herself) cause me to question my own body, worth, and health. It wasn't worth not eating as much, and it damn sure wasn't worth the sleepless nights at the hospital, it wasn't worth not being comfortable in that bed, it just wasn't worth it. On my last day before I was discharged, I spent my time unfollowing every agency, scout, model coordinator, etc., because I didn't need that kind of stuff on my feed to remind me of my desperation to be as skinny as those models. Shit, coming out the hospital I was about 118 lbs. Lookin' like Coraline's "other mother" in the face.
I gained my weight back, I don't submit to agencies, and I threw those pills far, far away. I'm over trying to be the next Kendall, Naomi, Emily Ratajowski, whoever the fuck else.
BITCH I'M ME
34- 26- 37 AND ALL
SO YOU AGENCIES CAN KISS MY ASS
(unless y'all fr want to sign me)
BUT UNTIL THEN BYE
