In the wringer: portrait of the artist as a young model
(The delicate creature known as “the model.” Illustration by Carolita Johnson.)
(This is what models do a lot. Sit around and wait. Get paranoid. Begin having (mostly justified) feelings of inadequacy. Begin thinking that listening to Aerosmith’s “Dream on” should be limited to the minimum. No need to learn all the words. Same goes for Twisted Sister’s “We’re not gonna take it,” particularly in the morning before work. Take it easy, girl. Stick with lighter fare, like Peggy Lee, Hank Williams, and Nat King Cole.
Maybe get a real job, throw away all those flesh-colored thongs, get some respect. Yeah.
(The flesh-colored thong would become a symbol of oppression.)
The above illustrations are from a chapter of “I’m Thursday” (working title, remember) to be called, “The delicate creature,” and it’s about being a model. That, up there, would be me, about twenty years ago. I’m afraid I may have made myself look better than I did, but I can’t really remember what I looked like anymore! Anyone who knew me is free to point out where I went wrong. One friend said I look rather “empty” in this illo, which means I probably got pretty close. Being empty was my job!
