Take 1: Surf's Up Dude
The first time was way back in 2002, when I was an intern at IBM. My coworker (and friend) and I were fond of taking long stupid lunches where we'd go spending the money we were supposed to be earning. Naturally, we ended up at the mall a lot.
In those days, my wardrobe consisted of 80 percent Pac Sun, 15 percent Fruit of the Loom (socks, underwears, undershirts), and 5 percent thrift store. For some reason, I was absolutely addicted to that stuff. I think it was a combination of the functional yet stylish-enough shorts (cargo shorts which didn't scream douchebag), flip-flops, and polo shirts that didn't look like polo shirts (no church, no business casual). So was my friend's. So we were a couple of 20 year-old skater kids wandering around who couldn't skate very well. Not relevant.
So on one of these lunches, we're wandering around most likely debating whether or not to buy the 8 foot tall mummy from Spencer's gifts, when I notice a lady staring at us from across the way. I pay her no attention. Until I notice a bit later that she has been following us.
She notices that I notice, but doesn't seem to care. She follows along. I mention to friend. We keep walking. Finally, I think she catches on that I'm a bit creeped out, so she catches up with us and stops us.
From memory, the conversation started like this:
Lady: "Hi guys! Sorry for following you, but I just LOVE your look and your style!"
Me: "Thanks"
Lady: "I mean, it's not just the clothes, it's how you guys carry yourselves, you look like you're having so much fun!"
Us: "Yes, we do have fun"
Lady: "I think you two would be GREAT for this new campaign we have going ..."
And the rest is about scheduling an appointment to get some photos taken (which we don't go to) and more shameless complimenting of us.
To be honest, it was kinda flattering, albeit quite odd. Thinking that this lady is stalking shopping malls for essentially kids.
Take 2: Dirty Rocker
The second time was by far the oddest and most terribly awkward. It happened on an airplane, on my way to Raleigh from NYC.
Fast forward about 5 years, add some more tattoos and some shaggy hair, and you have me (at that point).
I always take those small commuter jets, the ones that have a single seat on the left, and two to the right. I also always try to sit in the 2nd seat on the left, which happens to be right next to the flight attendant hangout.
So we depart, and immediately, the flight attendant (I think his name was Jim) starts taking a liking to me and is chatting me up. Nice fellow is all I think. Comments
Drinks come, and he's wayyyy too nice about serving me. He doesn't charge me for my beer. I'm suspicious, but that suspicion is overridden by the free booze. But, he asks me if he could show me something when he was done with drink service. Hmmm.
He motions me to get up and stand with him in that little flight attendant cubbyhole. He pulls out this large book of photos of dudes and chicks. Professional quality. I am very confused as he shows me these photos, asking me "What do you think?" He finally lets the cat out of the bag, and mentions to me that he runs his own modeling agency when he's grounded in NYC. There you go.
He proceeds to tell me how he loves my look. He referred to me as a "dirty", with the hair and tattoos. Said he could get me some good work, because dirty was very in right now, and there was a lack of "talent" to provide all the demand for dirty. Apparently tattooists were overworked.
Anyways, he is out of business cards, so he no lie, tears a sheet of paper off of the flight report and writes down 3 phone numbers, 2 addresses, 2 emails, and probably a smiley face. Tells me I've gotta come down and get started!
I never called him. Thought about it. I think I still have that note buried somewhere.
Take 3: Emaciated Pale Stick Model
Move forward another year and a half or so. In a time of my life I'm not so proud of, I dropped down to about 140 pounds when I was running 10+ miles every morning. Stupid stupid stupid, but whatever. Maybe content for another post.
So me, very skinny, very pale, is shopping one afternoon in Whole Foods, looking very New York with my skinny jeans, sneakers, and long black peacoat. Buying something organic. Probably ended up buying beef jerky that day. I always do.
I'm in the produce, looking at veggies. A guy next to me is also shopping for veggies. And looking at me a lot. Not an uncommon occurrence to have guys looking at you in the Chelsea neighborhood. But he's really looking. And also following me down the aisle as I move from cabbage to cauliflower.
Finally I stare back, obviously annoyed with the situation. He asks me if I'm a model or not. I tell him no. He gives me his card, and says he thinks I could really get some good work. Tells me to set up a shoot a.s.a.p.
I actually followed up on this one. This guy actually persistently bugged me for a week until one day during my lunch break I figured "What the Hell, nothing to lose", and I headed to his studio in Midtown. He took some pictures of me, and told me he'd be in touch.
The funniest part of it all is that he's called me several times since then for work, but they were all after I had given up the running and moved back into lifting weights, so obviously I had put some weight on. He always asked if I looked the same, and my response was always "well yeah I look the same, except now I have like 40 more pounds of weight on" and of course, I couldn't do the part.
The End
What's the point of all this? I guess there are several. Being noticed, even if it's for someone else's gain, is good. Remembering that there are other people who notice you is just a reminder that you're human.
Another is how everything is in the eye of the beholder. And how you can paint a picture with appearance that may or may not have anything to do with who you are, but might in fact be a very poignant statement. I was lazy and chill 7 years ago, hence a surferish look. When I was skinny, I didn't have a lot in life. You can reflect what's going on, while not even intending to. It's just interesting stuff is all.
