Yesterday evening's event capped the end to a very long week. Enough stressful scenarios and fashion "emeeergencies" bubbled over to make a person sick - quite literally (Thera Flu's got my back)! But it's been more so on a personally emotional level for me most people don't quite understand.
It's hard to know how to properly convey my experience of something like this coming together from the point of view as an ex (I'll admit even, struggling) anorexic/bulimic.
Not that this experience was not surreal or exciting at all in some points, to see and have a conversation with some people I never would have even come within the same room - let alone same dressing room - if I wasn't a part of this team; this production conjured up an especially daunting amount of horrible feelings and memories right to my face hour after agonizing hour, day after day, all week long.
As I help dress this girl whose waist couldn't have been more than 19 inches and close to 6 feet tall, I fight the thoughts of needing to be there again too. Needless to say, of course some people have tiny frames (this girl was Asian), but to see the bones in your throat and to have a baggy thong...my God, save me from having a nervous breakdown.
Liya Kebede would be crushed by a light breeze and her skin looks so weathered and tired, just nothing close to what a 32yr old should look like.
I had to see Chanel Iman - born from a model and obliged to keep the tradition going. Maybe you didn't know, but she's now a Victoria's Secret Angel. I don't want to get blasted for calling her, by far, one of the worst things I've ever laid eyes on (I honestly don't see how she got a spot modeling lingerie, when I'm being generous in calling her an A-cup...which she is not filling).
On one hand, I see it as a sacrifice - a Goldman Sachs employee may sacrifice sleep and hours away from home to keep up with a grueling, high pressure job. They sacrifice the health of a good night's sleep on a regular basis to get the job done and to meet deadline. I've reasoned with myself it's ok - I sacrifice my health for a while (2 weeks with no food and running 3 miles a day on nothing but coffee to maintain my standard 103 pounds and 33" hips ). They need to be a certain look, a certain size (even though more often than not, the sample clothes have to be taken in to fit this type - I know. I've been there.) That's one thing, not that I'm justifying it.
But to glorify this is a different animal. To be subjected even to window mannequins that have projecting ribs drives me to a point of wanting to give up the fight, break down, and go throw up. To listen to these girls be called "slender" (skin stretched over premature osteoporosis frames is more like it) leaves someone like me on the verge of a nervous breakdown. It is a constant struggle to burn into my skull my 35inch hips are NOT blubbery and repulsive.
So please forgive me as I excuse myself of partaking in this moment "going down in 'history'" to just hate it all for a few minutes. Give me some time and a little space to not take this all personally and say to myself it's OK to go eat a tomato slice of that tray.
Not that I see many girls or women wanting to be one of these girls per se, but we all want to matter to the rest of the world and be put on a pedestal like these girls are - whether or not they're walking advertisements on how well of a job not eating (or doing blow, or consuming tissues soaked in lemon juice) keeps one "slender".
And maybe that is one of the reasons now why I've become obsessed with the food world, depriving myself of it for so long (on and off for nearly 7 years...mostly on). Modeling goes against my grain too much anyway, hell - I'm Italian and coming from cooking nearly every day with my Dad before moving here FOR modeling.
And for what? For my hair to fall out and be sick all the time, only to hear a photographer tell me, quoting Kate Moss as I pick up a handful of grapes at a shoot "Now, Juliet remember, 'nothing tastes as good as skinny feels'" and having to suck in my (already concave) stomach for the next 5 frames.
Fuck you.
I just want to know truly what it feels like to not beat myself up for feeling full.
"It doesn't matter, mom. I could be eating a bag of gummy bears or an apple and still feel the same."
"So let it be the apple."
UUUUGH ok fine.
Although, I commend Daria Werbowy. She looked great and had vibrance to her skin and a sense of humor.
I'm continuing to train myself that I matter to God, my creator, and that this world is fickle and dying. I have life through Him and Him alone.
Liya Kebede would be crushed by a light breeze and her skin looks so weathered and tired, just nothing close to what a 32yr old should look like.
I had to see Chanel Iman - born from a model and obliged to keep the tradition going. Maybe you didn't know, but she's now a Victoria's Secret Angel. I don't want to get blasted for calling her, by far, one of the worst things I've ever laid eyes on (I honestly don't see how she got a spot modeling lingerie, when I'm being generous in calling her an A-cup...which she is not filling).
On one hand, I see it as a sacrifice - a Goldman Sachs employee may sacrifice sleep and hours away from home to keep up with a grueling, high pressure job. They sacrifice the health of a good night's sleep on a regular basis to get the job done and to meet deadline. I've reasoned with myself it's ok - I sacrifice my health for a while (2 weeks with no food and running 3 miles a day on nothing but coffee to maintain my standard 103 pounds and 33" hips ). They need to be a certain look, a certain size (even though more often than not, the sample clothes have to be taken in to fit this type - I know. I've been there.) That's one thing, not that I'm justifying it.
But to glorify this is a different animal. To be subjected even to window mannequins that have projecting ribs drives me to a point of wanting to give up the fight, break down, and go throw up. To listen to these girls be called "slender" (skin stretched over premature osteoporosis frames is more like it) leaves someone like me on the verge of a nervous breakdown. It is a constant struggle to burn into my skull my 35inch hips are NOT blubbery and repulsive.
So please forgive me as I excuse myself of partaking in this moment "going down in 'history'" to just hate it all for a few minutes. Give me some time and a little space to not take this all personally and say to myself it's OK to go eat a tomato slice of that tray.
Not that I see many girls or women wanting to be one of these girls per se, but we all want to matter to the rest of the world and be put on a pedestal like these girls are - whether or not they're walking advertisements on how well of a job not eating (or doing blow, or consuming tissues soaked in lemon juice) keeps one "slender".
And maybe that is one of the reasons now why I've become obsessed with the food world, depriving myself of it for so long (on and off for nearly 7 years...mostly on). Modeling goes against my grain too much anyway, hell - I'm Italian and coming from cooking nearly every day with my Dad before moving here FOR modeling.
And for what? For my hair to fall out and be sick all the time, only to hear a photographer tell me, quoting Kate Moss as I pick up a handful of grapes at a shoot "Now, Juliet remember, 'nothing tastes as good as skinny feels'" and having to suck in my (already concave) stomach for the next 5 frames.
Fuck you.
I just want to know truly what it feels like to not beat myself up for feeling full.
"It doesn't matter, mom. I could be eating a bag of gummy bears or an apple and still feel the same."
"So let it be the apple."
UUUUGH ok fine.
Although, I commend Daria Werbowy. She looked great and had vibrance to her skin and a sense of humor.
I'm continuing to train myself that I matter to God, my creator, and that this world is fickle and dying. I have life through Him and Him alone.
You are my baby. You will never have to fight alone.
ReplyDeleteI know that, and I love you!!!! Thank you!
ReplyDelete