I've been pursuing a modeling career for the better part of 2013. It's afforded me many adventures in Portland, and an opportunity to be at Fashion Week in NYC. I've signed with an agency in the city (RED) and am super excited to see what this crazy world has in store for me. I attended castings, runway shows, and checked out the amazing jazz scene in my down time.
On the plane ride over, I was pleasantly surprised to see another saxophonist boarding. He played tenor, and introduced himself to me on the plane. His name is Izaak Mills, and he gave me carrots from his mother's garden in Seattle. We meant to meet up, but our schedules never lined up. If I never meet him again, I will at least be able to say he's a gentleman that graciously offered his root vegetables in my time of need.
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My first full day in NYC was crazy. I slept in and caught up on a few days of..well.. not sleeping in. I went out to brunch at some underwhelming dog-themed cafe. I got a roasted shrimp salad on a bean/corn bed. It was ok, but I didn't eat it all. On the way to my agency (about a fifteen minute jaunt), I was pleasantly surprised to see a taxi driver practicing his trumpet while waiting for a fare.
The agency was just about how I had imagined it. Beautiful people coming in and out. Office wizards sitting at their computers emailing and photoshopping. The owner of the agency was sitting at a large desk with some clients. We briefly met before he had to tend to some business. My agent, George Brown, is an interesting guy. He scolded me for wearing shoes with a heel and baggy shorts. Apparently the shoes made me too tall, and the shorts didn't show off my long legs. He threw me a pair of jeans, and said to put them on. I was affectionately redeemed by the phrase "you're not as fat as I thought you were". He sent me to get a haircut at a very specific place. And thus began my horrendous first attempt at navigating the NYC subway system.
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| ooh bubblegum! |
At first I had trouble figuring out where the subway stop was. I guess I imagined it would be larger (It's usually just a hole in the ground with a small sign). After I managed to find the right line, I promptly boarded the train going the opposite way I needed to go. After I realized the numbers were going up, not down, I jumped off and tried to figure out how to get back. Asking for directions was difficult because a lot of people just ignored me. Either with headphones on or blatant f*** off style. When I managed to get an answer out of somebody, he told me it was his first day in NYC and he was looking for a bank that doesn't charge for VISA (whatever that means). But he also told me I just needed to go up, cross the street, and back down to get to the other side (where the trains go the opposite way). So I did. And there he was again. And there were the same Jehova's Witness ladies I ran past trying to give me Watchtower magazines. They tried again, perhaps not realizing I had just walked by them the other way. And the gentlemen that had helped me earlier told me I needed to cross the other street.
Finally en route to the barber, I started wondering how much a New York City haircut was going to cost. I kept thinking about an episode of The Office where Ryan returns from the big apple with a short beard and a $200 haircut. I had about $40 in cash on me, and was praying it wouldn't be more than $30. Turns out it was just $16. The place was called Astor Place Hairstylists. It was a hole in the ground with 20 or so barbers either working or waiting for clients. I located a scruffy old man with a clipboard, told him I was send from RED, and was told to find Sasha. It wasn't hard. He saw me come in and beckoned me over. I liked that his station was covered in graffiti and soccer stickers. He insisted on talking to my agent on my phone, and didn't tell me anything about what he was about to do. He shaves off one side of my head, then the other, and eventually I'm left with what you see below. Fast but quality. He told me to "get my ass out there and make some money".
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| eat your heart out, novak |
Back at the agency, I waited for a while while George was busy with another model. I got talking with a helpful guy named Ceasar. He had a lot to say about the business. Basically, that I needed to hustle if I waned to make it. I have to be able to live in shitty, expensive corners of Brooklyn or Harlem, work 4 jobs, and keep my eyes/ears open with my mouth.. well.. also open. I have to be energetic, and engaging with the right people in the right places at the right time. I told him I play the saxophone, and he said there's decent money in playing on the subway. I don't know if that's my style though. Perhaps I would need to come up with a schtick like the naked cowboy of times square. Suggestions?
After shooting some digitals, George and I worked on "the walk". Which, as it turns out, I completely sucked at. Past tense being the important thing here. When coming to a stop, a guy needs to just slow his steps, engage the core muscles, and stop walking as if frozen. There's no hip popping, side stepping, or swaying of any kind. A simple turn (without skidding!) and a walk back at the exact same speed. He said the best thing to do is be a blank canvas. A designer might want more of a march, some want a party swag thing. But the best is to have a clean go-to walk with no frills. A powerful gaze and a masculine stride are important. Energy without intensity. Tom, the assistant, told me I have two castings for tomorrow. And off I went.
I realized at this point that I had not eaten since my half-salad that morning. STARVED, I went back to HQ and ate the rest of it. I managed to find some good music happening, and hopped a subway (a complete pro at this point) to the Cornelia Street Cafe. I heard Greg Ward's Phonic Juggernaut. Featuring Greg on alto, Joe Sanders on bass, and Damion Reid on drums. It was, in the words of Anat Cohen, "KEEEEEEEEELING". The drum and saxophone interaction reminded me of the Portland group GRAMMIES. Very syncopated, with sometimes brittle, sometimes soaring alto melodies. Ward's soloing was definitely modern. I was mostly impressed with his over-the-bar phrasing and fast lines. His time feel is waaaaaay laid back, giving the music a certain fluidity I found challenging. Joe Sanders' bass improvisations were really impressive. His interaction with the drums was also interesting; playing off each other's rhythms to build little themes throughout the solo. All the while singing/humming his lines. Damion Reid was "leaving it all on the paint". He's very talented at implying alternative time signatures. Busy, but totally supportive of the soloist.
The music was form based, but difficult for me to keep track of. Lots of funny time signatures and harmonies that weren't clearly outlines (again, to my little ears) during solos. During the single extended set I ate a delicious thai bouillabaisse ($10 minimum food charge). I bought a CD, and talked with the musicians for a while afterwards. Joe and I had met back in June at Port Townsend, a jazz camp where I was a counselor. We were happy to reconnect again. The CD I purchased is "Greg Ward's Fitted Shards: South Side Story". It isn't the Juggernaut group, but a larger ensemble featuring Rob Clearfield on keys, Jeff Greene on bass, and Quin Kirchner on drums. Listening to it now - funky bass lines with Elektrik Band synth sounds, and clean alto melodies. Perhaps I'll play it on Wayne's Word when I get back. Greg Ward has a strong youtube presence. Check him out!
I went back home, in bed by 1 (early for this city), and slept like a champ.
A successful first day in the big apple.
Friday morning I met with a Designer, GUNS GERMS $TEAL. Two girls, Phillipa and Smiley (fake names are SO in!), from LA that are finally getting a big break at NY Fashion Week. I got to the general location after some finagling with Google Maps (luckily I left early). The girls were nice, and talked like my people.. you know.. pacific ocean folk. It was a nice break from the fast paced mayhem the day before.
I get to the location, and take an elevator down to a dark hallway. Standing there are the aforementioned Pacific ocean folk with a duffel bag and a camera. The designers had been locked out of their room, so they had to shoot in the hallway. It was by far the easiest casting I have had - a simple "stand here", click, and "goodbye" after some small talk. The best part about the casting was that I GOT THE JOB. The show is today (Sunday). It pays $100, and I get to keep the clothes. Not the kind of money I was hoping for, but no complaints here.
Next stop was Brooklyn, so I boarded the L train (under the riverbed!). The designer was Sir New York. A group of nice guys sharing a warehouse with japanese toy/electronics importers. The theme was surf-wear and I really liked the prints. Colorful and edgy, with depth. After a short wait, I was asked to try on a couple things and was photographed. This wasn't for the runway, but an editorial. I didn't get the job, but had a great time trying out some amazing new technologies in swimwear. I ended up meeting Auston, the designer of Sir, at the GG$ show. He remembered me from the casting, and invited me to his show. He's an interesting guy. Check out this interview he did for OAK.
On the way back to the train station, I ran into a crazy networking phenomenon that continues to occur. I see a beautiful coffee shop with high ceilings, a waterfall, and pearly white everything. The name is AP Cafe. I walk in, order my Thai iced tea, and start chatting with a guy sitting down next to the counter. I soon figure out he's the owner. I tell him I'm here for NYFW, and he tells me he was in fashion. I find out later that he was the managing director for Victoria's Secret, BET Rip the Runway, and the Mercedes Benz Fashion Week. After talking to him for a while about the industry, I looked him up and found out about all the stuff he's done. He gave me some tips, and told me he'd take a look at my stuff. What's in it for him? He told me he'd "hit me over the head" with a percentage of any profits I get through him. Being in an exclusive contract, I would have to cut my agency in as well. But I'm convinced that networking opportunities are priceless. Whatever, I'll take it!
Overhearing our conversation, a young lady sitting next to us introduces herself, and says she's from West Linn, Oregon. Crazy! We chat about Portland, our rival high schools, and potentially an open couch for me to crash on. I invite her and a friend to a RED party that night.
Then one of the barista's hears about the party, asks about my modeling, and offers to forward my information to her room mate that is a fashion photographer. Like I said.. Crazy networking phenomena happening out here.
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| AP Cafe |
After the show, I made my way over to the RED party in the SOHO Trump Tower. There were free drinks between 10 and 12, so I knew it was going to be happening. The place was super swanky with the most gaudy hotel lobby I've ever seen. Recessed lighting and a maze-like pathway to the party. The largest guy in NYC was at the rope with a RSVP list. I felt so darned special getting past it. I felt less special when I went inside. The place was jam packed with models and "friends of". There was zero room to dance, and it was hot. You know.. temperature wise. I stood in line for 45 minutes and networked with the promoter/organizer of the party. I got my weak drink and left early to catch up on much needed sleep.
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| oh my gaudy |
Saturday was just as busy as the rest. But I finally got to sleep in without worrying about being somewhere at a certain time. I had couple hours in the afternoon to myself, so I walked down fashion ave. After purchasing a $5 pair of glasses, I checked my schedule. My heart sank when I realized the casting that I thought was from 4-7 was actually a PHOTO SHOOT that I was expected to attend from 4-7. I had to do another casting that I could show up at from 10-4, and intended on hitting them both sequentially. I ended up missing my casting to make it out to the shoot. Ah well.
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| male model or subway serial killer? |
The shoot was with a photographer named Jason Mikle. We met at a place he was house-sitting (and clothes-raiding) in Hoboken NJ. He taught me a lot about the industry, and specifically how to work with photographers. He was a great teacher, and I was excited and eager to learn. He had the entire shoot planned out. Locations and outfits, everything. We began by shooting outside of a school. With a london punk schoolboy theme, I wore a white shirt with a studded leather tie and pompadour hair. After some mean looking shots, we walked across the street to a pub for the next shoot.
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math sucksszxxzzz
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I quickly changed in an alley (an obligatory ooh la la from an unknown window). We had just finished testing light when a man walks by with a teenage female pit bull. With a studded collar like my tee shirt, and a massively gauged chain leash, it was a dream come true. The owner was kind enough to let us shoot her and I. She was friendly, but energetic. Didn't bite, but liked to "hold" my arms/hands. We could only get a few shots because she was so hyped, but luckily they were good. That was such a perfect moment; we decided to call it and move onto the next location.
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| meet diamond |
The next shoot was back on the Jersey Shore. The Italy festival was reaching it's peak, and Jason wanted to get some shots of me playing the carnival games. We got there, and went straight to the skeet shooting game. I held a mean looking machine gun, and mugged the camera. The gun reminded me of the Mafia, so I asked Jason if they were still an active part of the culture in NYC and Jersey. I was quickly hushed by Jason't shaking head and looks from passersby. I guess the ITALY festival isn't a good time to discuss that matter.
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| you talkin'a me?! |
Determined to get as many looks in as we could, I changed behind the shooting range. Wearing an assortment of purples, and holding a ball of cotton candy I had shaped into a heart, I stood out like a sore thumb. Normally I don't eat cotton candy. But I guess success is about sacrifices..
I quickly changed and we took some pictures of me standing on the shore with NYC in the background. Gold chain and an open leopard print shirt made me look like a grunt for the queer mafia. I fake smoked a rollie and gave some very bored looks. The view behind me is incredible. Sailboats and the big apple at sunset. We barely missed what would have been some fantastic firework shots. Oh well.
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| james whitey tighties |
My Sunday began with what would end up being an unnerving series of events. I had a casting at ten am for Emerge!. It's a big show that features up and coming designers. I could tell from the start that things weren't the same as my other castings. First of all, they asked me for the name of my instagram account (cough…itsadamwayne..cough cough ;-]). So what were these people doing? Sitting there trolling pictures of my private life? Do they want to know how well connected I am? Is it better to hire a model with thousands of followers, or a new face? Instagram is admittedly my new favorite addiction. It has largely replaced Facebook and Twitter; keeping up with friends, and connecting with people of similar interests is more fun with pictures. Who actually reads a post longer than a few sentences anyway? I probably don't care about your experience with Red Robin customer service, or want to know what you think about flouride. And no freaking event invites to ignore!
So these Emerge! folks want me to write down all of my contact information, even though it's clearly printed on my comp card (that I have so kindly procured for their visual eccentricities). At this point I'm wondering how they possibly managed to contact me in the first place (that's why I have an agent). I get all that business done, and they have me come into another room where I see three people sitting at the end of a long narrow room. The room is white, and lit brighter than Jesus. They have clipboards and are acting like it's American fraking Idol. Would Jesus judge American Idol? Cue the Joan Osborne: "What if God's an Idol judge? Just a snob like one of us..".
I walk for the holy men and women, and they seem impressed. They ask me where I'm from, how long I've been in modeling, and what I where I want to go with it. I leave there feeling pretty good about the experience. It was short. I found that my favorite everything in this business is short. Short meetings, castings, shows, all of it. The worst thing is sitting around for two hours doing nothing and being ignored, wondering why they needed you there that early. WHICH brings me to my next point. A particularly pointy sort of point.
On my way out the door I get a last minute phone call from my agent telling me that I've been casted in a show for designer Telfar. Wahoo! my first runway show in New York! It doesn't pay, but I was highly encouraged to make it. It's at The Standard hotel somewhere in southern Manhattan (I have a poor sense of where things were early on in the trip). I do remember that the hotel straddled Highline Park. A friend told me the park was a must-see, and I was glad to finally see it at least. The Standard is suuuuuper shmancy with a fitting upside down sign. Luckily I can read upside down. Hold your applause. I knew it was a high dollar show when I see a hundred models wearing (what looked like) the exact same tee shirt, blue jeans and white high top Chucks. The banana yellow turnstile doors were a hit.
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| international man of mystery hq |
It turns out I am not actually a model. More of a prop. I get to wear a shirt with a picture of another model wearing a particular Telfar outfit. For the finale, us minions were to march out there with our respective partners in a long line. I really liked the concept. And the fact that I could keep the clothes (I let the my new model friend Mas have the shirt with his face on it). What I didn't like (and here's the particularly pointy point) was the excruciating wait time. I get to casting on time like a good naive model. And my reward is waiting FO fraggin EVER. One of the most important things I've learned about this industry is to be incredibly late to everything. Most the castings, shows, shoots, and parties (I know, I should have learned that one by now) actually required my presence one to two hours later than I arrived. It's so counter intuitive to my way of doing things. It will take some getting used to. The worst is when I am early enough to get dressed and make'd up. Then I can't even go to the convenience store either because the designer doesn't want the clothes to be seen early, or because I look like Tim Curry from Rocky Horror. When I start getting paid, I'll show up on time. But if it's a free show.. god I'll probably still show up on time.. =p
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| so young. so sweet. so sweaty. |
Luckily the show was a hit. Plus I ended up making a very important connection by being there. His name is John Tan. He runs a very successful blog, with an up-and-coming online magazine. I learn later that his specialty is men's fashion, and he has garnered attention by writing about the "new faces" of the modeling world. We met up at a hotel, and he had me fill out a lengthy (but thoughtful) interview sheet. In addition to having plenty of material to write about, he also likes to take pictures of the model that (sometimes abstractly) relate to the interview. I don't want to write too much about it, because I've decided to post this online and don't want to blow his article. The point is that we liked each other enough to invest time into each other's mutual artistic exploits. Hopefully I do well, and he can say he helped me get there.. He's a great guy, and you can check out his blog at johntancasting.blogspot.net. My story was just posted!
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| my thoughts exactly |
John graciously took me under his wing and afforded me probably one of my favorite experiences the whole trip: seeing very high budget presentations. We first went to the Y-3 show. Yohji Yamamoto is a designer that collaborated with Adidas to put together a fantastic show. The place was a complete fire hazard. But like most fire hazards (this will become incredibly relevant later), it was Baaaaaad Ass. A warehouse with hundreds of people packed into the stands (including the megafabulous Justin Bieber). I immediately noticed that four drum sets had been placed throughout the set. I knew we were in for a treat.
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| stand out loud in a crowded crowd |
The show started with the lights dimming and bass heavy music. The drummers, all models, one by one began playing along with the drums and bass over the PA. The models started emerging as the drummers were getting started. Futuristic (it's all futuristic to me, I guess) outfits, and one girl with boxy heels that reminded me of a megaman game I played as a kid. One girl had thick heels with the text "y me?" on the side. Why her? I never did figure it out. Y-3 showed the lines one at a time, but blended them so that I, exclusively I bet, barely noticed when one ended and the other began. At the peak of the drumming, the models were walking in straight lines; lacing and weaving across the broad stage. The show ended with a black out, and the crowd went wild. We stampeded out of the place and onto the next show.
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| heeeeeeeels! |
The next show was even more amazing than the last. Opening Ceremony was the brand. This confused me for the entire night. I thought we were going to some kind of "opening ceremony" for fashion week, and didn't realize that it's actually a very well known brand. We had a "who's on first" moment in the cab:
Dumbass: Who's the brand we're seeing?
John: Opening Ceremony
Dumbass: Yeah I get that, but what's the brand?
John: I just told you. Opening Ceremony.
Dumbass: YEAH I GET IT. IT'S THE OPENING CEREMONY; BUT FOR WHOOOOOO?!!!?!21
John: THE BRAND'S NAME IS OPENING CEREMONY!!11!!@
Dumbass: Oh I get it. Sorry for shaking you like a baby…
Anyway. Opening Ceremony knows how to party. The place was on lock down, but John got me in. It was my first legit red carpet moment with celebrities like Bieber (dude was seriously following me - wtf), Rhianna, and most importantly, Jason Schwartzman. And here I'm dressed in a sweaty tank top with a backpack. Super duper..
We make our way through the crowd to a gigantic warehouse. There are bleachers lining the sides, with probably a thousand seats. The show began exactly as the other.. and really most shows now that I think of it. Lights dim, music starts, blah blah. But that's where the similarities end. As it turns out, the "blah blah" was the coolest gaddamn thing I've ever seen. The doors open on the far end and rolls in a yellow Lamborghini. And then another. And then a Mercedes. And a Bentley. And holy shift this place was packed over the top with the nicest cars in New York City. The lights go out, and all that we can see are the headlights.
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| you get a car! and you get a car! everybody gets a car! |
The rest is pretty simple. The models got out and walked around. Then the boys came out (poor guys didn't get to ride in the fancy cars) in a marching troupe with dirt bike visor inspired hats. They looked like the visors off a motorcycle helmet. SWAG. After the show the models were left standing in place for people and press.
The next morning I got called back by the deities at Emerge! to, what was described as, a fitting. A "fitting" usually means I got the job, and I need to be fitted into the clothes. I was horribly wrong. What could have been a wondrous day of rollerskating through Central Park and throwing pennies off of tall buildings, turned into the worst experience of my modeling career so far. The call time is 10-4. A six hour fitting should have been a clue. Perhaps just a lot of buttons? I'm horrible with buttons. And they hurt my nimble saxophone fingers… but I digress!
I get there, and it's packed! Over a hundred beautiful young men and women crammed in a waiting room (perhaps I should get tested). Apparently they thought it would be best to have everybody show up at the same time, and then they tell us the guys and girls had different, staggered call times, and the rest of us could leave but we had to be back by 12. I didn't have anything else going on, so I found an AC outlet to charge my electron-starved cell phone and parked my bum. I thought it would be a good time to catch up on my "daily" email updates (that idea has since morphed into a journal that I will end up publishing on my now-non-existent blog). CHECK IT.
When it's my time to shine, I get in line with the rest of them and wait in the hallway. As the line inches near the door, I realize what's going on in there. Each model in line gets a shot at walking down the holy fluorescent hallway, holding up a number, and walking back. We then filed militant choir boy style in on the side. At the end, and this is the best part, the priests deliberated. I kid you not. Head turns, giggles, lots of pointing, and pens flying across their little clipboards. Then one of them steps up and reads off a list of numbers (sans MINE >8-[ ), and says if our number was not called, we were free to go back down the hallway to the sexually transmitted waiting room.
The girls got their turn, we repeated the same thing once more, aaaand I didn't get picked. It was like elementary PE class all over again. Bubbling floods of low self esteem started to tighten my stomach and.. Sorry.. But seriously; this chapter would probably have a whole different tone to it if I did get picked. I really wasn't that inconvenienced by the whole thing anyway. Roller skates and pennies are uber fun, but if given another opportunity, I would probably sit through it again. I forgot to hold up my number on the second walk, and kind of stuttered at the end of the runway, probably devastating my chances at the somewhat big time. But we live and learn. I heard the show was killing, and the models that got picked had a good time. I'm happy for them. Another notable, and less pointy, point about this show: it paid $100. Not a lot of money, but better than nothing. More than I've made at the Portland shows (not by much though). And they got to pick out goodies at the end. My final thought about the whole thing is that they did everything right except give us an accurate call time. It really should have been listed as two separate castings. But whatev's. I'm sure I'll run into more "pointy points" in the course of my travels. Everything in stride. I still can't get Joan Osborne out of my head.. "tryna make his waaaaay hooooome". Oh so good.
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| occupy fashion week! |
That evening I had another opportunity to exercise my supermodel power of getting to things way too early. Why couldn't I have a cool power? Perhaps the amazing force of having the collective scenes of Zoolander memorized?! The presentation was for GUNS GERMS $TEAL, a brand I now like quite a lot. GG$ is exclusively menswear, online only, and based out of LA. As I mentioned earlier, the GG$ casting was a breeze. The show was also pretty laid back. I was the first one makeup'd (it's a verb now), and got to frighten SOHO with a line up and across my face paired with a double septum piercing. Double! It was my first experience using fake piercings, and I have to admit it's preeee-teh awesome. I will also admit that I carried them around and stuck 'em on in various social contexts. Probably a habit I'll bring back to Portland. Probably wearing one right now as I type in the Seattle airport..
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| lulz |
The clothes were very very cool. Modern and geometric punk. Lots of white. My feet and I had the bloody delicious pleasure of breaking in a brand new pair of Doc Marten boots. I did a shoot back in April with Portland photographer Brendan Coughlin. I swear one day I'll buy a pair and break them in just to actually experience the "Air Waire" Doc fans rave about.
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"ow" waire
(photo by brendan coughlin) |
A presentation is different than runway. In my experience, runway is a relatively formal thing. It literally has a form, like a classical piece of music; models come out one by one, models come out in a final walk, model steps on her dress and exposes her size 0 derriere. That last part is key. Runways are for sitting down in nice little rows with a clear path to capture it all on the latest iThing. There's little creativity outside of the actual clothing. I don't think it's a bad thing. Having done a few runway shows in Portland, I've developed a fondness for poking fun at the whole thing. BUT it's something that might pay the bills. So I had better damned well get used to it. Perhaps, like classical music, I'll learn to appreciate the subtleties and form. It's probably great for the press; you know where the best seat is; and you usually don't get straight up pineapple-vodka puked on. Back to the GG$ show...
I had a blast before the show even started. The space was magnificent. It was held at an artist's gallery/house on Wooster. He had a ton of Neckface originals on the wall. Neckface is a graffiti artist from LA that has carved out a comfy niche in the world of humor/shock art. I first saw his work in a Juxtapoze article. Now that I think of it, his art pretty accurately sums up the space all together..
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yay art!
yes those are pulsing led lights |
We waited/hid upstairs while the place filled up, complaining about our feet and trying to figure out if we could sneak up onto the roof.
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| "no time for the old in-out.." |
When the time was right, we filed down the stairs and onto pedestals in a V shape surrounding a mosaic of broken and decrepit electronics (quite snazzy). We stood there for about 15 minutes letting the press gawk and snap pictures before everyone got bored and hit the open bar. Pineapple Stoli's for everyone. I jumped out of the Docs as fast as I could, sipped a couple of drinks while poorly flirting with the bar staff, and raced out of there.
Vice Magazine and the Creator's Project did a great job covering the design process and the show. Check out the video here.
The next morning I had a shoot with "the dangerous" Seth London. I was supposed to be there at 8am, and was totally not figuring out the subway in my AM rage. I was between places to stay at this point, so I had everything I brought on the plane with me. Superior drag. I finally make it to his place in sorta-far-out Brooklyn. I can tell it's his pad because there's a photography light stand with shade out front. I follow the cord down a dark hallway, and call his name. He opens the door at the end of the hall, stares at me, and slams the door. I had never met him before, and didn't know what to really make of it. I still don't really know what to make of it. The whole thing was like a strange dream. There were a bunch of other RED boys there. All of us were thoroughly confused. Swarm intelligence, or lack thereof. I remember stray cats and spiders. Lots of makeup. Wuhh.. it was a dream. May as well have been. But I.. I don't even.
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| "can a pale boy get a selfie?" |
Next on the to-do list was a casting for a place called Bess. I had never heard of them, but was happy to get back to Manhattan, SOHO specifically. Starving, I found a place to eat. This trip was an interesting experiment in balancing my diet and my budget. Eating out is expensive, but the real challenge was sticking to my self imposed restrictions. For the last few months I have been on a "little to no" gluten, dairy, eggs, and unnatural sugar diet. All of this on top of my usual vegetarianism. Or if we're gettin' rull specific; pescatarianism. I eat fish. Tons of it. I found a great little deli around the corner from Bess on Lafayette. I managed to get a salad with tuna fish, chips, a banana and a *gasp* vitamin water. I know I said no unnatural sugars. But I started to slowly relax my restrictions near the end of my trip. They're in place mostly to keep my complexion in check. As I write this I still have skin as nice as it's been in a while, despite the tarantin (eggs, yogurt/cheese, wheat bread) I treated myself to this morning. The little meal was under $7. Filling and (mostly) healthy.
When I got to Bess, there was a gentleman leaving the store. An older guy with long hair, tattoos on his sleeves, and a calm demeanor. I learned later that he's the owner (he didn't introduce himself as anything more than "Doug"). He was leaving on his bicycle, but said that the stylist would be along soon to coordinate the casting. From that short interaction, I could already tell I was going to like this place. I wait around for the stylist, and eat my cheap but tasty food. I finished eating as a new person rolled up the chain door to the shop. He introduced himself as Steve, the operator of the shop, and offered to show me around.
The store was one of the craziest places I had visited in all of NYC. Japanese horror films projected on the walls; old televisions strewn about; mannequins saran wrapped together in sexual positions. Lots of sexual positions, in fact. And penises. Bess is not for the penis-shy.
I had another breezy casting once the stylist arrived. He basically told me I'd get the spot if I fit in the pants. I had a Cinderella moment sliding perfectly into a pair of black jeans that I would, of course, not end up wearing for the presentation. Feeling good about the whole thing, I bid adieu to my new friends and left.
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| dress your bess |
A strange feeling swept over me as I left that place. Something was not right. After walking a few blocks, I realized what was up; I had absolutely nothing to do. I was finally free to do whatever I wanted. I could roller-skate and throw pennies at whatever I damned well pleased. So what did I do? I went back to my agency and slept on the couch for a couple of hours. My sleeping patterns had been poor the whole trip. On top of the jet lag, there was a host of things keeping me and the Sandman from kicking it. Loud cars, bright lights, a busy schedule, and an endless stream of unnerving thought. Even though the agency had all of that - plus loud people and music - my body didn't care. I drank a cup of tea, pulled my jacket over my face and, with Aphex Twin's Ambient Works drowning out the world, conked.
I woke up to a nice surprise. Tom the booking assistant told me I landed the Bess job. Woohoo!
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| nap time |
With the rest of the evening to kill, I called up John Tan and asked if he had time to shoot more stuff. He mentioned wanting to get more shots of me at night. I had nothing else planned, and figured I may as well work as much as I could while I was there. He told me he would be free soon, and we met up.
Finding him was tricky because my phone was almost dead. I didn't want to use the internet, so I was left to my own devices. Basically just a subway map and a poor idea of how to use it. This brings up a lesson I wish I had learned earlier; don't use my cell phone to navigate. It's a complete drain on the battery, and it prevents me (and you too, probably) from actually learning a new place. Maps require us to relate locations to other things we're more familiar with. Like, say, the Sun. Unfortunately the great ball of fire doesn't do a damn bit of good when I'm surrounded by hundreds of buildings with hundreds of stories of glass and concrete. Save for the occasional temporarily blinding light by one of said building's reflection, it's preeeeet-teh dark down there.
I soon learned that the best way to orient one's self is to simply ask someone. Not just anyone, though. A high percentage of the people were likely as lost as I was. I avoided asking anyone with their brows furled, turning around in circles with their forehead strapped to their iPhone. No asking directions from transients either. They hit me up for money first, and then gave shitty directions when I don't oblige. The most dependent directors ended up being street vendors. They're everywhere, and they know how to get anywhere. I got fast, quality directions from every single street vendor I asked. Plus they never bugged me to buy anything - not that I didn't ($5 sunglasses are my JAM)
Of course my phone dies when I get to the intersection John told me to meet him. I don't see him anywhere, but I luckily found a place to charge up. I saw an extension cord sticking out of the red carpet in front of a club. A bouncer was standing guard, but wasn't really paying attention because of the line out front. I weasel my way behind him, quickly plug in my phone, and then casually lean against the wall pretending to text on my deceased touch screen, making no sudden movements. I heard bouncers have poor eyesight, but expertly navigate by the smell of skinnywhiteboy fear. The whole thing is funnier if you imagine it like a Tom and Jerry scene. I promise.
John and I eventually met up, took some good pictures, ate really good sushi, and called it a night. I will politely remind you, dearest reader, that John's blog is fantastic. Not just because he featured me in it. Aheeeem. If you like it, and want more awesomeness, check out his magazine, Visual Tales. John told me he used to design album covers for a jazz label. I started looking at his magazine layouts in a different light. Simply addictive.
This is the first half of my story chronicling my trip to NYC. I will post the rest in the next day or so. Thanks for reading!
In classic "starving artist" fashion, odd jobs have taken up most of my time. In addition to being the door man at a clothing store on 5th avenue, I've been cater waiting during the evenings. Both of these jobs give me unique insight into two obsessions of consumers: eat food and buy clothes. Following closely behind: talk during speeches and incessantly post to [facebook/twitter/instagram/foursquare] during dinner. Where does one draw the line between indulgence and obsession? Perhaps a narcissistic longing to be heard?
The word consume is derived from the Latin word con, meaning "with" and sum or "total". How odd? This delineation inspires the opposite of what I usually associate with the word. "One in All, All in One. If only this is realized, no more worry about your not being perfect." is an often quoted Zen Buddhist idea. Perhaps a healthier relationship with consumption is in order. If the word means to be "with the sum total of", why not look inwards, and be one with the sum total of ourselves? "Consume yourself" is now a daily challenge of mine. I now try to notice when I feel compelled to indulge in unnecessary or unhealthy things. I wonder why the feeling exists and, like our trumpet friend, focus my intent accordingly. The ability to turn inward; manifesting light, beauty and knowledge to share with the world will be key to a bountiful existence. And the key to making true art.
