Written by a friend of mine who wishes to remain anonymous. “My best friend is gay, but I like to do things in this business the straight way. There’s a lot of people that will try to push you to see how far you’ll go, but I don’t do that.”
We were less than 24 hours away from watching him lie on the cement in with another male model, both clad in nothing but tight white underwear.
What are male models really like? If you’re closed-minded enough to think Zoolander was a documentary, you’re exactly right. I worked in production on a “sizzler” weekend shoot involving an abundance of male models last weekend, and I hit the supplement jackpot.
First, we worked with a 21-year-old Californian (we’ll call him Blake) who was unable to answer basic questions about his life, such as:
- Whether or not he liked modeling
- Why he cared about his sister
- Anything within his own life experience
Blake’s most coherent thought was “Modeling is like slow-motion acting.”
He was also incapable of summoning the word ‘exaggerates’ without assistance, and pronounced versatile “var-sa-tall.” It wasn’t an accent thing; he just didn’t grasp that word.
After an hour of Blake beginning every answer to each question with a bumbling, defensive smile and chuckle, our producer declared the interview a stupendous success.
We then encountered the wily, worldly, ever-experienced model. In classic Zoolanderian fashion, this guy’s (we’ll name him Chaz) father was a coal miner who disapproved of his career choice.
Our South African Chaz had had all the covers, was built like a 1960’s Ferrari and seemed like he might die at any moment just from supporting his own muscularity.
I asked him how he got so veiny and if he had any advice for how I could get equally veiny. He started talking about some supplement that “increased vascularity.”
After contemplating his own suggestion, he advised me not to take it because it would “make you sweat like a runaway slave.”
If a model is walking down a hallway and catches sight of himself in a mirror, his first reaction is a look of genuine surprise. You can see the tiny hamster wheels in his mind turning.
He instantly thinks, “Who is that devastatingly attractive guy?” quickly followed by “that guy is me!” quickly followed by “I should make Blue Steel faces at myself to become slightly more attractive, if that’s even possible.” It’s incredible to watch this happen every time one of them passes an unexpected mirror.
The next model we met smoked me up on a blunt so I can’t be too mad at him, but I’m going to make fun of him anyway. We’ll call him Bernard.
As we entered Bernard’s apartment, one of our crewmates noticed his artwork and casually suggested a draw off.
“Michelle Obama has my artwork,” Bernard replied haughtily. “And the famed music group Earth Wind and Fire, too.”
Everyone knows who Earth Wind and Fire is. Bernard didn’t need to introduce them as ‘the famed music group.’
We took Bernard and his girlfriend out to a fake date at a restaurant down the street so we could discuss how much of a role model he was. His best example? “My best friend is gay, but I like to do things in this business the straight way. There’s a lot of people that will try to push you to see how far you’ll go, but I don’t do that.”
We were less than 24 hours away from watching him lie on the cement nearly cuddling another male model, both clad in nothing but tight white underwear.
What did I learn from all this? Absolutely f*cking nothing, because you can’t learn shiit from male models.
Footnote: if it seems like I’m jealous of these models’ appearances, I clearly am. Do you know where the f*ck I’d be right now if I had my mind in one of their stupid bodies? At the least I would be the supreme leader of a small eastern European nation, and at the most I would have full control of Luna.