Tales of daily life from a 20-something Student from London.

Sunday, 10 April 2011

The perils of male modelling...

We've all done it. "Yeah, go on, sign me up". As if I have any intention of actually following through with it. Don't deny it. Be it passing a charity worker in the street, or a night out you just knew you weren't going to fancy come the date, two weeks down the line. When my girlfriend asked if I could 'model some t-shirts for my magazine', I had no qualms with agreeing. Hell, by the time the date comes along, her and the team will have found ample better candidates for the job. Only, that didn't happen. I casually dropped hints throughout the day of my reluctance. At one point, I was going to 'pull a sickie' but I thought that was a bit immoral. She was after all my girlfriend. So there I was. In a photography studio. With some photographers, designers, and other 'male models' (who were far better equipped for this position). They were nice guy, but this was really not my thing. I'm not up for posing in front of a camera, except when I'm particularly under the influence and the tubby Oriental man comes round with his Nikon in Edge nightclub.
I was introduced to the photographers, hoping this indicated I was soon ready to be 'shot' and sent away. My reluctance to be there meant I wasn't paying attention to their names. It didn't matter. I'd have some pictures taken, grab a coffee, and dart back home in time for Glory Daze. I'd had some shots taken outside. Some as a group. Some as a pair. Many variations on the classic 'photo' formula. What was there left to do but grab that Starbucks? But then disaster struck. At the end through the shoot, I was told to go over to Fahsee in another room, one of the two Asian photographers, for some inside, and individual, photos. I quickly regretted not listening to their names. I pondered which guy he was? Would it appear racist if I asked? I'd had a conversation about cameras with the pair of them only half an hour before, and used their names then (I mean, what could have gone wrong, they were both there). Worse over, they were too far apart for my shout to be heard by both of them, so shouting 'Fahsee!' was off the cards. I frantically looked for someone else to ask, but I was lost and alone. I had to think of a way to test the water.

"Is it going ok mate?" I said to one of them as I walked over.
"Erm..yeah, I guess".
"So Fah-See good then?" I thought this was perfect. Lighten the mood, crack out a joke, and probably get a laugh from the Fahsee I wanted. Only, he obviously didn't see it that way. The room was silent. Hot under the collar, I realised there was only one explanation. The door opened. In walked Fahsee.
"I hear I'm supposed to be taking photos of you?"
"Yes Fahsee. Yes you are"
And out we went. Me feeling a little bit racist. Fahsee none the wiser.

Over and out.