I’ve been modelling for almost 2 years now, and I’ve learned some things about boozing, most of which I have pieced together from what sober people refer to as “memories.”
It’s very tempting and very easy to abuse alcohol in this industry from the jump off. There’s the pressure to be thinner, curvier, taller, SHORTER, have more personality, no personality, FIT IN, be more sexy, be more androgynous, be the bad ass, be the good girl, be the next Kate Moss, be the next Jessica Stam, make money, MAKE RENT, make a living, make it through the fucking DAY…it’s enough to drive anyone to drink.
And there’s the close proximity to JERKS (my personal trigger): modellizers (or “old dudes,” usually synonomous with “rich dudes”), flirty photographers, greasy public relations people, jealous boyfriends from back home, male models (let’s not go there … yet), crazy lesbian drug-abusing girlfriends; models seem to attract jerks the way Penn Station seems to attract “ladies of the night.” Modeling: at its worst, it’s a very physically and psychologically draining job. At its best, a ludicrous dream career which can have you rolling in dough, jetting around the world, collaborating with some of the most talented photographers and designers in the game and, oh yeah … did I mention the “VIP party treatment”? Imagine if every time you went out to a nightclub, every drink was free. Imagine never paying a cover charge, never waiting in line, and never even having to ORDER a drink — the drinks are just there. Champagne. Vodka. Cranberry, tonic water, orange juice. You want gin? Patron? Red wine? Some Red Bull for that? You can have whatever you like!
And it gets better, ‘cause you can go out every single night of the week. Especially weeknights! Weekends are for amateurs, for “regulars” with “real” jobs. Money people go out on weeknights. Models. Celebrities. People with so much fucking money you better believe they aren’t getting up early Wednesday morning so they can hit S-Bucks before the train to work. Party to 5am. After party. After-after party. Brunch. (Yeah, you drink at brunch in New York. A lot.) How much does this experience cost you? Zero dollars.??Now you’ve got it all! But something’s missing. It’s your memories of the past week. And your Blackberry Bold. Your iPhone. Your cashmere sweater. Your nude Calvin Klein thong. Your friends that you lost and you don’t remember why. Maybe it’s your self respect. But look at all your cute bruises! Pictures you don’t remember taking! Chicks you don’t remember kissing! Dudes you don’t really remember fucking! Isn’t alcohol fun?? But what are you supposed to do at the club if you don’t drink, you may ask. The club is so boring when you aren’t drinking, you may say. And I agree. It IS fucking boring, isn’t it? I guess the obvious solution is to find somewhere you want to be, where you can enjoy the company of peers who you don’t have to be drunk to tolerate. Please Google “friends” or “Brooklyn.”
Or you could just enjoy the music at the club, DANCE to it. If you had to be drunk in the past in order to dance (guilty), feel free to use the time you used to use to be hung over to take some lessons instead.
Teach yourself sign language and communicate with the deaf in the club, cause no one can fucking hear you talk. If they’re nodding at you, it’s because it’s a waste of their time to have you repeat yourself.
You could smoke a joint. Smoke a joint, and watch people fight and cry and make poor life decisions and not even remember why. They’re so drama. But you’re not drama. You’re on a different plane now, man. You’re at peace with your zero blood alcohol level. And think of the extra calories you can consume now that you’ve dropped that booze weight…
