The day before my birthday (not saying how old I was turning), I was discovered. I was at a swanky bar, enjoying a martini larger than my bathtub. After a few dirty martinis I am grossly over-confident. It is charming. Really.
I flitted about the bar, smalltalking with the patrons. I must have tossed my hair a lot that night, because when I went to the restroom, DeeDee approached me and asked me if I had ever modeled. I had lots of practice posing in the mirror, so I said that yes, yes I had.
She handed me her card and told me that she would love to represent me and told me to call her Monday morning.
I called. Within 24 hours, I found myself walking a runway wearing a see-through shirt with Band-Aids over my nipples. I wore a skirt inside out. I was told that it was to express the concept of the skirt. I nodded in deep, profound agreement. My hair was tiger striped and teased to all new heights.
Thus began my not-so-glamourous hair modeling career.
My parents were thrilled. "We sent you to college to get brains, Mist. Brains, not braids," Dad yelled over the phone one night. Ignorance. I never had braids.
I sent my parents a photo of myself clipped from Modern Salon magazine. The caption described my hair as "a whimsical approach to texture." They were so right. I am totally whimsical.
I decided to take modeling seriously because I had no other prospects (read: no sugar daddy/liberal arts degree). I lost weight. I dropped a few pounds and achieved the waif look. I got more work. I dropped a few more pounds and achieved the heroin chic look. I was sent to Japan to work. I was the only person in Japan with ridiculously curly hair. I was an instant hit.
When I came back to the States and looked for work, I was unable to find anyone willing to hire a 80 pound anorexic (Note: Am not androgynous enough to work for Calvin Klein, nor am I that cute). I went without work for months. Until, I got a call from Guns & Ammo asking if I was available.
They needed a corpse.