Model year

This was written a year ago, so is a bit out of date...

M is my new friend. She's a nurse, from Mauritius, an exotic mix of every nationality you can think of. She's the slimmest girl you've ever seen, looks like a gazelle. We went out for her birthday, and what do you think her halfwit boyfriend gave her as a birthday present (bearing in mind she is so slim, you wonder that her legs don't snap in two when she walks around on them)? Was it:

a) jewellery?
b) perfume?
c) an exercise bike?

Yes, you've guessed it. He got her an exercise bike. The mollusc.

M's extreme slimness reminds me of my year of models. For some reason, they kept popping up in my life. It was the year I moved back to London after university. I was sharing a house with 3 boys and 1 girl, two of the boys were photographer's assistants. Sometimes we used to go out with their friends, all photographers, models, fashionistas and indie band types. They were less Vogue and Versace, more The Face and, um, Fara charity shop, into hanging out in grim pubs in King's Cross or Dalston for kicks.

Even drinking with these people was no fun when sitting next to them made you feel like a heifer. And let me tell you, there's nothing more demoralising than living with cute boys who spend all day taking pictures of Kate Moss (really) then come home to you. Oh sure, they said they didn't fancy the models, but did one of them ever make a pass? They did not.

So that was first incident of the models. Then I went to join a temping bureau, and found myself sitting on a sofa alongside many tall, freakishly thin and beautiful girls, all chatting to each other about New York and Milan. Turned out my temp agency shared their reception with Storm, but I found myself wanting to apologise to the receptionist and assure her that I wasn't delusional or anything.

Then I went to see my flatmate's textile degree show. In her year was a certain famous musician's daughter, who's since gone on to have a stellar (ahem) career in fashion. Whilst the other students got to use normal models, this girl called in some favours & got Naomi and Kate to model her collection. As soon as her stuff had been paraded down the catwalk by the supermodels, the photographers from the newspapers got up and left, pretty gutting for the other students who had sweated for 3 years over their degrees, I'm sure you'll agree. But that's a whole other story.

In an attempt to feel good about our lardy selves, now when we see a model on TV, me & the flatmates always have to hiss "Skinnybitch!" Yet you can't help being fascinated by them. Which is why I'm waiting impatiently for the final of "America's Next Top Model" competition on Living TV. My money's on Yoanna to win.*

*update... Yoanna won!

models