Look, you know how your work kinda makes your life suck? You suffer the rush hour, you're too tired to have a social life and the condition of the office toilets bring to mind images from the New Orleans Superdome. Well, try being a model: you can't eat, you barely get to sleep and you often have to wear really stupid clothes yet keep a straight face while the photographer shouts about how you should shag the camera, or something. I'm always grateful to get out of a fashion show alive as one day, sure as eggs, one of those models is going to go postal on the catwalk and stab a front-row editor through the heart with her stiletto heel.
There seems to be a general misapprehension that models lead really glamorous lives. Well, maybe I have high standards but schlepping around to parties for new mobile-phone network launches and getting leched on by P Diddy don't exactly qualify as the top echelon of glamour in my little world. Yes, we've all seen those tedious photos of "models backstage!" in which they seem to be gambolling about like little lambs in a field, making faces so exaggeratedly gleeful that a mime artist would probably weep for them. But what do those lipsticked grins hide, I ask you? Nights alone in hotel rooms without even room service to provide succour, that's what, and the terror of being described as an old trouper once they turn 24.
Despite all that, some seem to find it hard to move on from what Bruce Springsteen describes as these "glory days". There's Twiggy, still apparently finding joy 40 years on in twirling around in long skirts for M&S; there's Cindy Crawford banging on about how brilliant it is to have cosmetic surgery. And looky here - Helena Christensen advertising Ariel soap powder (glamour? Ooh, it never ends) on TV by saying, "It's cool being a supermodel. But it's even cooler being a role model." Like, could you be any more tragic? Wouldn't you look grumpy if that was your future?
By Harold Freeman in The Guardian UK