Elyse Sewell (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} elysesewell) wrote,@ 2008-04-04 00:55:00 |
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this entry sux
Ew, I haven't felt writey in several days. Been grinding (you know what I keep in the lining). Models who say, "It's just a job"? Yeah, some weeks, it is. I get to the salt mines in the morning, regard the number of outfits I will have to wear that day, then become a transparent eyeball as I endure hair/makeup and wait for time to pass until the job is over. Still taking great pleasure in sullying sample designer clothes though:
I got horseshit on the Ferragamo.
And this shit:
On the Louis Vuitton.
Whoops! Guess those garments won't be on the rack at the next sample sale.
Notice those hands holding up the light fixture that would ordinarily be sitting on the ground? That photographer had a new (to me) technique whereby his two minions would hold up the lights and run around pointing them at my ever-motile ladypose instead of me having to aim my ladypose at a stationary lighting apparatus. Ah, freedom! I could turn right or left as I wished! Chin up or down according to my capricious pleasure! Two hapless photo assistants doing all the work as I simply turned my fat head hither and thither. Luxury.
[Beloved manager Sin obediently dug my camera out of my handbag and took both of the above pictures of me on set. Thank you, Sin.]
Ugh, my roommate The Canuck, who had been sitting with me at the kitchen table, typing away, has just sloped off to bed with her eyelashes still crusted with white mascara. Now my L'Oreal Ellnett-lacquered hair and I are slumped over alone, feeling guilty that we're not in bed ourselves. Tired! I'll leave you with a tidbit from my visa run to Japan earlier this week.
Ew, I haven't felt writey in several days. Been grinding (you know what I keep in the lining). Models who say, "It's just a job"? Yeah, some weeks, it is. I get to the salt mines in the morning, regard the number of outfits I will have to wear that day, then become a transparent eyeball as I endure hair/makeup and wait for time to pass until the job is over. Still taking great pleasure in sullying sample designer clothes though:
I got horseshit on the Ferragamo.
And this shit:
On the Louis Vuitton.
Whoops! Guess those garments won't be on the rack at the next sample sale.
Notice those hands holding up the light fixture that would ordinarily be sitting on the ground? That photographer had a new (to me) technique whereby his two minions would hold up the lights and run around pointing them at my ever-motile ladypose instead of me having to aim my ladypose at a stationary lighting apparatus. Ah, freedom! I could turn right or left as I wished! Chin up or down according to my capricious pleasure! Two hapless photo assistants doing all the work as I simply turned my fat head hither and thither. Luxury.
[Beloved manager Sin obediently dug my camera out of my handbag and took both of the above pictures of me on set. Thank you, Sin.]
Ugh, my roommate The Canuck, who had been sitting with me at the kitchen table, typing away, has just sloped off to bed with her eyelashes still crusted with white mascara. Now my L'Oreal Ellnett-lacquered hair and I are slumped over alone, feeling guilty that we're not in bed ourselves. Tired! I'll leave you with a tidbit from my visa run to Japan earlier this week.
