A Day in the Life of a Model….#6: Modeltypeface, the next Pop Idol?
Yes I know, Pop Idol was ages ago, but so was this Day in the Life of a Model. Events proceeded as such…
Aged 17, I walked into my then agency with my Mum, who still came around with me on castings. I was wearing my favourite yellow kid’s Adidas jumper that came to just below my rib cage and a pair of enormous hipster flares (in the days when ‘hipster’ denoted not bearded men but trousers that came down to just above your vagina – see Britney Spears 2001 onwards).
If Igor had been my booker in those days, he would have been sent into paroxysms of despair and anger at my outfit.
“Ooooh you’re here!” said one of my bookers with a purr. She arose and linked arms with me. “I’ve got an exciting plan for you.”
My head raced with what those plans could be. Italian Vogue? Paris? Campaigns worth lots of money?
Big smile. “I’m going to make you the next Alanis Morisette.”
“…..Uhhhh,” I managed.
She took me downstairs to the office, where a rather short man in a suit with a Terry Wogan haircut sat.
“So! This is Rebecca, our star. And her Mum.” The Terry Wogan-alike lept up and shook our hands, enthusiastically.
“Hi! So! We want to make you a pop star. Do you want to be a pop star?!”
“Not really. I can’t sing.”
“Cool! I think you’ve definitely got the look – have you heard about the project?”
“No – but I really feel you should know – I can’t sing.”
“It’s really exciting. You’d be the front of the band, lead singer.”
“I can’t sing. Can I Mum?”
“She really can’t.”
“It’s Gabba house. Do you know Gabba house?”
Losing the will to live. “No.”
“It’s like….techno, but sped up. You in?”
“No! Sorry, I can’t sing.”
“Oh that doesn’t matter, we can auto tune you. In?”
*Dawning on him that I might not want to front a Gabba House band. “You don’t want to do it?”
“…No thank you.”
“Please? I think you’d be great.”
“Here’s my card. Call me if you change your mind.”
I never changed my mind.