I have always viewed the fashion industry as largely contemptible. My critisicms of it were never original; I deemed it to be pretentious, superflous and incredibly crude. Those who work within it seem to be infused with a self importance that is largely unwarranted (its only the production of clothes for commercial purposes at the end of the day, not exactly saving the world), and those who worship it, seem to lack any real substance or sincerity in their own personal style. So when I was asked to model at a university fashion show I was presented with an opportunity to gauge the degree of superficiality for myself, to see whether my convictions were accurate or fair.
Ok, this wasnt going to be London Fashion Week, but it would probably be the closest I would ever get to the industry and the nature of the event required me to occupy the catwalk; the zenith like culminant of the business, revered whatever your take on the clothing industry may be. Not only would this be a rare opportunity to judge the social and cultural condition of the fashion world, first hand, it would also be a great opportunity to appraise the vocation of the model. I had to do it.
The craft of the model has always intrigued me; simulteaneously considered extravagent and inane. Their isnt a comparitive profession, where the professional is celebrated so much for doing so little. The faces of fashion have long been adjudged disposable by their own; designers, photographers, stylists (in the majority of cases atleast), and widely considered talentless and effectively lucky by the rest of us (Those of us who dont adore the world of fashion and its 'icons' anyway). But maybe there was more to this occupation than meets the eye? More to it than simply looking good in, or with, the product that you are promoting?
I was quite relaxed in the weeks prior to the event. Although I was flattered to be asked to model at the show this was not an activity that I held in high regard, nor was it something that I wanted to pursue professionally or recreationally. But as the event neared I became increasingly tentative about the whole thing. It came to my knowledge that there would be over a hundred and fifty people in attendance, professional models had been recruited from national agencies for the show and the runway would be over twenty feet long. I arrived at the estimation that this was going to be some scary shit.
The day was upon me and many of my judgements about the fashion industry where confirmed. The university lecturer, for instance, who had adopted a directory role in processions was pretttty serious; bearish, rude and cantankerous would also be fitting superlatives for the old bitch. I dont want to imagine the demeanor of a professional director at a fashion show.
The designer I was modelling for was lovely (however I knew her previously which might have affected that dynamic), but there was a feeling of superiority about many of the shows collective production team. It became apparent that the majority of people were not interested in what I had to say. My small talk was avoided like the salted peanuts at a 10 year olds birthday party. Perhaps this was because I had little in common with the make-up artists, the hair dressers, the event organisers? Or maybe it was to do with the fact that I was only a model?
I always considered the models to be the rock stars of the fashion show; the people who it all evolved around; the ones who they all came to see. But when you think about it, ofcourse they aren't. They're input is minimal at best. Unless you are top brass in the profession your contribution to the event is pretty insignificant; on par with the lighting and the music. The model, quite simply, is not a majorly significant aspect of the exhibition.
Although the influence of the model on the show is small, the task that they face is nonetheless demanding. You have to be confident, relaxed and psychologically strong. Easier said than done. What if I trip, I thought? Fall over? Get an erection? (there are many scantily clad women about after all!). When the six of us modelling menswear went through the dress rehearsal before the opening curtain, we looked more like the US soldiers partaking in the the LSD experiments back in the 50's. We were all over the fucking place. Not good for morale.
So when it came to the real thing, my arse was twitching. When you walk out on that stage the eyes of everybody in that room are on you and you alone, and that is no small thing. I managed to focus, let the moment wash over me and strutted down that aisle like Right Said Fred in his pomp! And Oh my word, what a feeling! I was utterly stimulated, exhilirated to the point of...well, not quite ecsatsy, but not far short. And contrary to common assumption I felt a genuine sense of achievement. So much for the empty vocation.
My foray into the world of fashion endeared me to the recreation of modelling as opposed to the profession. The dynamics of the experience would undoubtedly change if I was doing it in a paid capacity. Increased pressure, increased expectancy and increased criticism if your rubbish. Either way though, it is undoubtedly a challenging test of nerve, tact and general character; a respectable profession if you can get it. As for the industry itself? I still think it pretentious, superflous and incredibly crude. However if you asked me to do it again? ofcourse I would. And if you if you were paying me to do so? Even better.
