FREELANCE MODEL ā A DAY IN THE LIFE OF
As some of you may know,Ā I'veĀ been in the illustrious field of part-time, then full-time and now back to part-time modelling since I was at the fresh age of thirteen. I wonāt quite get into what it was really like, or how it affected me growing up, as it would take too long, itās boring and Iām sure your best guess is pretty close.
As my vanity dictates, I must now show you a picture of myself as a baby model starting out at 13:
Yiker's Island.
Growing up in Hong Kong I had freedom unencumbered by:
Ā Worrying parents (Hong Kong is one of the safest places on the planet
Ā Monetary issues (Working from a young age + $5 a week allowance = $$$)
Not being able to drive (Public transport, yāall!)
This enabled me to really immerse myself in the fashion spectrum of Hong Kong, and I had a blast doing it. Though there is something about Eastern culture that encourages honesty, however brutal. For example, being told āYouāre too fat for this jobā at fourteen or fifteen can be a little jarring but you get used to it.
These days Iām not really sure what the worldās view of models is from so long on the inside of the industry, cocooned in a world of prestige, beauty, anxiety, cigarettes, fashion, more anxiety, free alcohol, gorgeous racially ambiguous Amazonian women, etc.
It wasnāt all bad and itĀ wasn'tĀ all good, but it was completely mad andĀ I wanted to share with you an average workday for me when I was a busyĀ bumblebee model in Hong Kong.
7:00am: Alarm goes off.
7:45am: Actually drag my body from my warm bed, still wrapped in my duvet as I slink around the house collecting cereal and brushing my teeth.
8:00am: Start on makeup.
8:15am: Get fed up trying to do makeup properly, go au natural (but not without sporting a cheeky kittycat eyeliner flick).
9:00am:Ā After finding something appropriate to wear Iām already late to my first casting. I throw on some heels and completely forget the promise I made to my feet to bring along flats this time.
9:45am: Fifteen minutes late to my first casting, and considering how much the factory buildings in Chai Wan look alike, Iām pretty pleased with myself that I found it at all. Unfortunately, after ambitiously walking from the train station to the studio, my feet hurt and Iām flustered and shiny.
9:46am: They ask me for my composite card. Iāve forgotten it like an idiot, but luckily my agent is there to save the day with a backup.
9:47-50am: Dirty looks from my agent.
9:50am: Why are all of the girls here 7 feet tall? And Russian? AndĀ chiseled? And have perfect skin and huge blue eyes that pierce theĀ soul? I do my part (try on the clothes, take some snaps, ācan you look more ācoolā?ā) and get out of there grumbling about how I definitely havenāt got the job.
10:00am: Cigarette time! One of the shamelessly gorgeous Euro-models comes down and joins me for a smoke and a brief conversation that neither of us are really that into. She smokes slim, long cigarettes.
10:15am: Stoked for my next shoot, I hop back on the MTR and zigzag across Hong Kong to get to Kwai Chung for more photos and more factory buildings.
10:45am: Get to the shoot early, grab a sandwich and bubble tea (ēē 儶č¶). Thereās no one in the factory building (that I can see) and I wander through the large hallways looking for the studio.
10:50am: Actually find the studio. The studio itself, and everyone in it, is stylish and sleek. Iām whisked into hair and makeup. The makeup artist has amazing colours in her hair and usually smells nice. We talk about my pale skin and her purple extensions.
11am-1pm: You guessed it, folks. THATāS HOW LONG IT TAKES TO GET ME TO LOOK NATURAL. #iwokeuplikethis
1pm ā 7pm: This is go time. All my training (which is none) and all my skills (I donāt have any) are put into play here and now. When I first started modelling I posed like a stick insect (awkward, I guess? Donāt actually know anything about stick insects) but now Iāve got my go-to moves and it doesnāt usually take long for the photographer and I to work out a system and rapport. Music is playing and I know on average one song every hour. I should get to choose the music, I think. Many shoots have a similar structure, maybe one or two makeup changes, a flurry of different outfits, and the quick clicks of the photographerās camera.
Iād just like to cut in here to say that Iām sure many are under the notion that models are spoiled rotten, in a cushy profession in which you are pampered and meticulously primped, with the team of creatives at your beck and call. While there is an element of pampering, models are by no means the star of the show and (should) act accordingly. Photo-shoots require a huge amount of collaboration and work and itās usually someoneās heart and soul going into the artwork of the clothes, the makeup, the hair, the photos, the styling, the retouching, etc. As a professional model you work hard to help their ideas come to fruition and immortalize their talents. Itās not the most physically and certainly not the most mentally demanding line of work there is, but those who are good at it, or want to be good at it, do work hard.
7pm: Quittinā time. Iāve really glossed over the bonding that goes on during a shoot. The end of the shoot is usually (always) followed by a group photo, a jumping group photo and a silly face group photo. Promises to work together again are made, hugs and goodbyes take place and then weāre all back on the MTR.
Iāve met some amazing people, made some unbelievably talented and kind friends, lost a few out of vanity and generally being an angry teenager, but I wouldnāt be the person I am today without having done modelling. So, I suppose, Iām lucky to have had the opportunity, though if I had the power to go back and change my decision to enter the modelling bubble, Iām not sure what I would do.
