It’s a Model Affair.
Staring lustfully through ‘Ooh La La’ lashes, across a foaming flute of Dom Perignon straight at the new piece of beefcake in my path. Gazing at the countenance of Bruce Webber’s latest protégé, he’s so good to look at. Pleasing to the eye, so firm. Is he looking at me? My heart beats as I fall forward in wanton lust, then suddenly the spell is broken and I come to my senses.
I could go there (I think), why not? “Why not indeed?”, I hear red-blooded women and some men the world over scream. Pause here for effect three, two, and one; and I’m back in the room.
To be honest, I’m about to be naked with him on a photo shoot we are doing together. I have never seen a more physically perfect man in my life. Kate Moss, Johnny Depp, black and white, naked together, raunchy kind of scene, where it is hot, steamy and it looks like the ultimate love affair. Actually, everything was perfect, the hair, the makeup, the sun loitering on the horizon, as if to peer at the idyllic bodies lying together for the camera.
Would any woman dare fall for these men with external flawless perfection? Without even having to spray the Lynx effect on their bare bodies, us women flock to them in hypnotic abandonment.
But I was also a young gorgeous model too, and I knew I had the same powers of seduction- once upon a time. Just because someone looks perfect on the outside doesn’t mean our eyes should seduce us, by beauty’s external allure.
He can have anyone he wants, male or female. I’am ten years his elder, but still holding onto my looks just enough to do photo-shoots with gods like him… but lets face it… people weren’t looking at me on that shoot, they were looking at him…. As was I.
So why not go there? Because I know the truth about models because I am one.
Models, see one in a room? We don’t say much. Sadly we are just eye candy. The belles of life’s ball that is full of smarter and richer people. Eye-catching in a superficial fashion, dripping with sexuality but neither nutritious nor substantial.
Getting bored regarding art in a room? Just stare at a model and you will get that same effect as we stare blankly back at you. Blink. We know you’re only looking at us…. and we have nothing to say except for “feed me” (apparently)… As scholars we make little impact on the grand scheme of things, unless we are married to it, aka Carla Bruni.
Models are the dispensable objects of desire in the sex game, just like what we are wearing. We can be here today and gone tomorrow. Playthings for people who would otherwise be way out of our league if not for winning the genetic lottery at birth.
“Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months”
I wonder to myself if Mr. Wilde ever chose a partner for their exterior perfection only to quickly change them just like the furniture of his life. Velour one day and mink the next, enthralled at the choice. He did indeed enjoy the tastes of many.
Model love is like a hot passionate romance, looks fantastic on the surface, but once the camera stops rolling, the love seems to vanish like vapor in the winds of desire.
Real love is what lies within us, and love is much more than an external glaze on the surface. It is hard to find and even more difficult to hold, but it is what we all live for.
“My love has vanished in the wind”