I entered the modeling world at the overripe age of 19, far beyond the typical expiry date. I was scouted at a mall and thought,”Why not?” I entered into it with eyes wide open and zero expectations. I was not a minor, nor was I pushed into it by a parent, I was just killing time until I figured out what I wanted to do with my life (for that momentous occasion I would have to wait about 7 more years). Having spent the previous 5 years working mostly in restaurants and nursing homes, I figured that modelling would be a pretty easy gig, and depending on the shoot, one that wouldn’t end with me being screamed at by a senile octogenarian or smelling of club sandwich. With those not-so-lofty ambitions, for about six months I was a model.

I had been surrounded by males all my life. My brothers and their friends saw me as another boy but with less hair (I didn’t even have enough for an anemic ponytail until I was 6). I was an outdoorsy girl, ‘au naturel’ according to Linda, my agent, with absolutely no idea how to apply makeup or walk a runway. When I met the other girls in the agency I was more than a little taken aback by how young they were despite the layers of makeup and teased  ‘freshly-fucked’ hair. Most were in their early teens yet looked older than me. They sat in the makeup chairs chain-smoking and drinking coffee, perfunctorily tended to by their mothers. This is what creeped me out the most. Today we have shows like ‘ Toddlers & Tiaras’ to act as a cautionary tale. Back in ’92 I was unaware that such a casual evil existed and was secretly thankful that my mother loved me enough to say no when I had expressed an interest in modeling as a pre-teen. Read more