This is what has been occupying every inch of my mind this entire week: I got an e-mail from the lovely people at the Heartbreak/Pholk modelling agency asking me if I wanted to come to the casting for this years fashion week. I sat in an awe shaped bliss for about ten minutes until I finally wrapped my head around the request and immediately answered YES, OH SWEET ALEXANSER MCQUEEN YES!
The casting was today at 1800 in the Heartbreak/Pholk studio. Needless to say I have been walking on high heels al day practising and scrutinizing every blemish on my face, secretly try to will them away with some intense meditation. (It didn't work) I put on the tightest jeans in my closet and the tightest top H&M could muster up.
As I (cat)walked the streets of Oslo on my way to Karl Johans gate 8 where the casting was held I cranked my Flight of the Conchords on my mp3-player to the max to pscyce myself up. It really worked. As I walked up the stairs to the studio I felt like a supermodel, on top of the world and my self-confidence was embarrassingly high... until I got to the right floor and saw a seemingly endless queue of tall, beautiful, Victoria Secret princesses. My jaw dropped and instantly I felt completely out of place. It was a remarkable sight, somewhat like what one would think a Hot Girls Club would look like. Honestly, I'm kicking myself for not bringing my camera with me to truly show you the extent of GORGEOUS in that room.
As I had changed into my high heels and taken place in the queue of immaculate ladies, I suddenly started hearing the things they where talking about. How they had loved last Fashion Week and the phootoshoots they had been to lately. They all seemed to know each other... It was unsettling! Especially a deuchy Agyness Deyn looking short haired girl retrieve a pile of magazines and started showing some of the other girls all the editorials she'd been featured in; Costume and a few magazines I had never heard of.
And if that wasn't enough, a girl came out of the casting quite distraught saying that she had walked to fast, told the panel of designers that she was really nervous (Which apparently was severely frowned upon, YIKES!), made her walk over and oooover again and they had started asking her what experience she had in modelling. I though: I'm fucked... No experience at all and at least six years older than the other new models...
When I and six other beauties had been led into the room of designers I though, as my heart was trying to bump my chest open, that if theatre school had ever tought me anything it is: pretend you know everything, that you have been doing this your entire life! That's what I did.
"Hi, my name is Siren Løkaas, I'm 177cm tall, my dress size is 34/36 and I wear a size 38 in shoes" As I said this my arms were flailing about as per usual and my voice was oddly loud, but I still think it seemed confident. Then they told me to walk, I did. They told me to walk again, I did...
That was it, they didn't ask me anything... What does it mean?! I truly have no idea if it was good or bad and I have to wait up till three weeks before I know if any of the designers would like to use me! IT'S HELL I TELL YOU!
Look who was in the front row at last years Fashion Week! I would like to walk for her..
Keep your fingers crossed for me!
Hare Krishna
Innlegg
Crossing my fingers for you, sweetie!
SvarSlett