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Runnin’ round the big city, tryna look pretty

We thought it might be fun to include a weekly article from a fabulous guest blog that we are utterly in love with. Take a look at this fantastic account of setting out to make it as a model and yes… it’s written by a man! It’s not just the women making waves now, it’s men in a typically thought of as female world. How’s that for turning the tables? Shock horror! xx

So I threw in the towel where I live – the Isle of Man – and decided to move to London. Drastic considering I didn’t have a job lined up or a place to live but hey that’s me. I was stuck in a hole, hating my life and job and thought I can do better than this. I had enough money saved and decided to jump. People said I was crazy and/or stupid. Now I think everyone should be entitled to their own opinion, but fuck them all.

It’s been tough from the word go, I got delayed by 12 hours in the airport – absolute joke. The hostel I stayed in was great – The Talbot Pub in Acton Town, would highly recommend– and landlord was a great guy. Things turned ugly when a loud family (I won’t divulge the nationality in case I isolate readers) moved into the room next to mine, on the other side of me was the kitchen. Dinner time for said family was 11.40pm – WTF? They had a daughter called Molly, who couldn’t move without her mother summoning/howling for her. I felt sorry for Molly but then I realised Molly was a bitch. Every door she walked through a door she slammed it and she was a messy mother fucker in the kitchen. Their next stop was Amsterdam – I don’t think Amsterdam is ready for them.

Jobless and only a few days left in my hostel with no one responding to me on Spareroom it was looking grim. I thought what an idiot I’ll look when I rock up back home and say I couldn’t hack it. I shook the thought and decided to send my pictures to a few modelling agencies. They all said I was way too tall – damn! What do I do now? Major panic ensued but one looked promising. Long story short I rocked up and have been sent to a few castings and I absolutely love it. My feet are sore, I’m tired and destroyed but I’m living the life I want to live. I’ve waited 6 years to do this, and it’s finally happening!

The castings can be anywhere, and I mean anywhere, how people found the castings prior to Google Maps, god only knows. They must have been master navigators! It’s hot here and really humid, I only have a small amount of clothing and that which I do have can double up for Arctic expeditions. The sun doesn’t shine very often on the Isle of Man (north of north), it’s a god forsaken place, we haven’t seen the light in years. So I’ve packed all my worst case scenario clothes and I’m paying the price now. I left the hostel in a shirt the other day – unheard of and downright dangerous in the Isle of Man.

I expected everyone to be really nasty and bitchy, but so far (fingers crossed) I haven’t come across anything like that, so we’ll see. One of the castings was mixed and watching the girls walk is amazing. Some have just got it down to an art form, others less so. With their groins pushed forwards whilst they sway their arms behind them, it looks like a bizarre Hominidae mating ritual. And then I realise I’m next – fuuuuck. Time to look sexy and serious.

My face is sweating (northern clothing) and  all I can hear is my heart and it’s not sounding great. I suddenly remembered somewhere from a book that when a situation is getting the better of you, you disassociate from your feelings in order to regain control. I said to myself ‘this person is nervous, this person is scared, this person can’t walk in a straight line at the best of times how is this person going to do it now with everyone watching!?’ To be fair it seemed to work, I got through it okay and walked round the room with everyone eyeing me up. When things are looking grim give it a try and see what you think.

Hopefully I’ll get booked, but if not every no takes me closer to a yes.

Taken from http://www.amalemodeldiary.com


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