Working at a magazine, I know that the jobs that seem the most glamorous are, in fact, far from it.
Exhibit A: In my first year of work, I had to help out on a cover shoot with a well known DJ. I like to throw out the words 'cover shoot' because they make me sound important; admittedly, not in an I-fight-ebola kind of way, but you have to admit that "I am working on a shoot today" sounds way more exciting than "I have to get finished with the year-end financials" conjuring, as it does, images of slim and beautiful people dining on dainty canapés as they swan before a camera.
Sadly, I learned the hard way that this was not the truth. I spent five hours climbing the stairs of the Westcliff Hotel on a 32-degree day, dressed in synthetics, followed by a further two hours crouched awkwardly on the side of an infinity pool, balancing a light-deflecting device and sweating while said DJ sat in the water flicking her hair around and making a face like a surprised, lovelorn meerkat.
This experience really should have knocked the stars from my eyes. But it was only when chatting to the girls in the fashion department earlier this week that I realised how truly, truly unglamorous the world of beauty really is.
Now, I will admit to being hopelessly shallow. I might publicly voice the opinion that models are vapid and uninteresting, but only because I'm really jealous of them and would swap my double-bum for their intellect any day. And I know that what they do isn't important, and I know that there are greater talents in life than being able to smile or look whimsical or even change the way people think about eyebrows. But the reality is that I'm a sucker for fashion pages. Until I learnt these ugly truths:
1) Models smell. Yes. Apparently, they believe that their cheekbones double as anti-perspirant. Either that, or they think that, being so pretty, people will forgive them if a waft of fried onions enters the room at the same time as they do. Hygiene does not top their list of priorities, presumably because they're expecting the stylists to take care of all their nasties for them. Unfortunately this can result in some awkward situations - like the time a model, chosen for a shoot specifically for her long hair, had a bad case of lice.
PS apparently the men are the smelliest. And, while I always friend it hard to take a man seriously if he's fish-lipped and pouting, the idea that he's making the photographer gag while sending a smouldering stare is just laughable. Apparently, most stylists keep wipes on hand because carrying a portable shower isn't an option.
2) They have all kinds of horrid things happen to them because of clothes that aren't washed. Industry rumour has it that, one season, there was a dress that was in particularly high demand with stylists. Trouble was that the dress had a built in bodysuit, and because there was never time to wash it before it went on to the next assignment, all the girls that wore had to visit their gynaes shortly after. Eeew.
3) Stylists have myriad unconventional uses for panty-liners. Sweaty underarms? No prob. Simply pop a pantyliner underneath that pit and it will be dry in no time. No sweat = no underarm stains on borrowed garments. Ingenious, really.
Hmm. I'm no longer quite so in awe.
Exhibit A: In my first year of work, I had to help out on a cover shoot with a well known DJ. I like to throw out the words 'cover shoot' because they make me sound important; admittedly, not in an I-fight-ebola kind of way, but you have to admit that "I am working on a shoot today" sounds way more exciting than "I have to get finished with the year-end financials" conjuring, as it does, images of slim and beautiful people dining on dainty canapés as they swan before a camera.
Sadly, I learned the hard way that this was not the truth. I spent five hours climbing the stairs of the Westcliff Hotel on a 32-degree day, dressed in synthetics, followed by a further two hours crouched awkwardly on the side of an infinity pool, balancing a light-deflecting device and sweating while said DJ sat in the water flicking her hair around and making a face like a surprised, lovelorn meerkat.
This experience really should have knocked the stars from my eyes. But it was only when chatting to the girls in the fashion department earlier this week that I realised how truly, truly unglamorous the world of beauty really is.
Now, I will admit to being hopelessly shallow. I might publicly voice the opinion that models are vapid and uninteresting, but only because I'm really jealous of them and would swap my double-bum for their intellect any day. And I know that what they do isn't important, and I know that there are greater talents in life than being able to smile or look whimsical or even change the way people think about eyebrows. But the reality is that I'm a sucker for fashion pages. Until I learnt these ugly truths:
1) Models smell. Yes. Apparently, they believe that their cheekbones double as anti-perspirant. Either that, or they think that, being so pretty, people will forgive them if a waft of fried onions enters the room at the same time as they do. Hygiene does not top their list of priorities, presumably because they're expecting the stylists to take care of all their nasties for them. Unfortunately this can result in some awkward situations - like the time a model, chosen for a shoot specifically for her long hair, had a bad case of lice.
PS apparently the men are the smelliest. And, while I always friend it hard to take a man seriously if he's fish-lipped and pouting, the idea that he's making the photographer gag while sending a smouldering stare is just laughable. Apparently, most stylists keep wipes on hand because carrying a portable shower isn't an option.
2) They have all kinds of horrid things happen to them because of clothes that aren't washed. Industry rumour has it that, one season, there was a dress that was in particularly high demand with stylists. Trouble was that the dress had a built in bodysuit, and because there was never time to wash it before it went on to the next assignment, all the girls that wore had to visit their gynaes shortly after. Eeew.
3) Stylists have myriad unconventional uses for panty-liners. Sweaty underarms? No prob. Simply pop a pantyliner underneath that pit and it will be dry in no time. No sweat = no underarm stains on borrowed garments. Ingenious, really.
Hmm. I'm no longer quite so in awe.
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