Diary of a model
This week it's time to write a real ‘dear diary’ piece. I'll take you from Schiphol to London and give you a glimpse into the thoughts I have deep inside, but which I better not say out loud.
Tuesday
Rot rot rot (okay, not exactly the word I shouted in my mind, but let's keep it nice) alarm, sneer sound. It's way too early still, but I chose to book the early morning flight so I could sleep one more night in my own bed. Of course, I packed my suitcase at the very last moment yesterday, so hopefully I have everything with me. At Schiphol, after dropping off my suitcase and going through customs, I head straight to my favorite coffee spot. Joe & The Juice is the only place at Schiphol that has a nice oat milk cappuccino, and I could use some caffeine.
Okay, quickly summarized: flight, annoying crying baby as usual, smooth landing, quickly got my suitcase, booked an Uber to my Airbnb, dropped my suitcase, took a quick shower and freshened up before heading to my office. Upon entering, you are always scanned for outfit, appearance, and figure, so you better take some time for your look. Around eleven o'clock, I step into the office. All the bookers are buried in their emails, so I awkwardly hop from one leg to the other before someone turns around and greets me. All heads turn in my direction, I suck in my stomach and smile. ‘Cool coat!’ Phew. Okay, I'm approved. I thank them and walk towards one of the bookers to check my schedule for the day. Four castings are planned for today. I grab some comp cards from the shelf, make a quick chat, and I'm on my way.
Casting 1: Oops! I can't find the studio. Fifteen minutes late, I step into the casting. Do they care at all? Nope, I end up waiting half an hour before someone comes to get me. I probably will be late for the next casting too, darn! Can I try on some outfits *ugh ugh ugh, now I'm definitely going to be late!*. But trying on outfits means more chance of a job, so I say it's of course no problem at all.
Casting 2: An hour late, totally sucks. But they don't care at all. They were so happy to finally meet me. Great, this is starting off well. They know exactly who I am, have endlessly viewed my portfolio online, and want to see me in one of the dresses. ‘Oh my god, it fits perfectly! You look gorgeous!’ I walk around in a dress I wouldn't want to be found dead in and exclaim: ‘Yes, wow, I love it so much! It looks so pretty!’ (Fake it till you make it, right?).
Casting 3: Skipped lunch, otherwise I would never make it. *Maybe it's also good for my figure to skip a meal once.* This is a nasty thought that makes no sense, but it still crosses my mind. And since this is a diary, I have to be honest. The stylist I meet is very sweet, flips through my book, grabs a comp card, and then I can go again. *We'll never see that one again.* I already know that.
Casting 4: All the way to West London for the last casting. Party! But they are super enthusiastic. After trying on (and rocking) a number of outfits, I walk out satisfied.
The casting director walks out with me. ‘I really hope we can work together soon! But yeah, it’s not up to me. Have a good day, bye!’ Not up to her? But but, pfff, that has to go through a whole team. The stylist, photographer, and designer, everyone wants to have a say before the model is booked.
Exhausting. I come home exhausted after a day full of castings. Just, very briefly chill on the bed before I head out again. Besides castings, I'm also here to see my friends, and tonight there will definitely be cocktails. In my email, I see that I can start working right away tomorrow and have a call time at eight o'clock. That means just one cocktail for me, but with an extra portion of fries to make up for the missed lunch.
Kisses from Lily XX
