Spier Advertorial Winter 1998

Once again it was purely the power of Storm agency's recommendation that secured me a shoot. Men's Health magazine was shooting an advertorial for Spier wine estate in Stellenbosch, my university town. Advertorials are promotions or reviews presented in an editorial style, paid for by the client. Advertisers pay a lot less than they would for a normal ad and still have content approval. The magazine passes it off as editorial content and the consumer puts more faith in the "objective" article than they would in a normal advertisement.

The point is, while doing a full-on advertising campaign for a wine farm might earn a model a nice, fat paycheck, an advertorial would not. So when Storm was asked to put forward models available for the shoot, Debbie suggested me, the local, as a girl who would've had to drive all the way from Cape Town and back would hardly earn enough to cover her petrol expense.

When I arrived at Spier, I discovered that this was to be my first shoot working with a male model. His name was Rory, he was a surfer and he'd been modelling for years already, an old hand. I never really had an eye for blondes, was very caught up in my relationship with my boyfriend at the time and still felt a bit uncomfortable in front of the camera, so I found the whole exercise rather unsettling.

We had to look really intimate and comfortable and I'm grateful that Rory's experience meant he launched straight into puppy dog eyes as soon as the camera started clicking. This man could turn it on and off like a tap. I secretly wondered how any girlfriend of his could ever be sure whether he meant it not? For my purposes it was perfect though, he'd turn on the charm and the starry eyes while we were shooting and the rest of the time we were perfectly civil, Rory doing his best to make me feel more comfortable by chatting to me about modeling, my studies and my boyfriend.

I can tell by my posture how uncomfortable I am in these pictures, can you? Just a little bit too much space between Rory and I, a slight leaning away from him, avoiding actually looking into his eyes. By the time we took the final shot (the top one on the second page, standing at the bar) I think it looks a lot more casual and believable.

Another shoot under my belt, watching a pro turn the love-looks on and off, it had been a most productive day!

Edgars Swimwear Catalogue Mid 1998

Somewhere in the middle of 1998, I booked my first professional photo shoot. There hadn't even been a casting, the department store client (Edgars) had chosen from our Z-cards and on the strength of agency recommendations. So it happened that I was one of a bunch of models, a photographer, stylist and a hair and make-up artist who set off for the coastal town of Langebaan on a cold, rainy day in the middle of winter.

We were off to shoot the Edgars summer catalogue, swimwear edition. I remember being shy and quiet on the trip out there, even though I was very pleased to meet an acquaintance, Chia, there too. I was excited to be working on something that was going to be seen by thousands of people, physical proof that I was finally getting closer to being a real working model. I was also quite scared. What if they weren't happy with my posing? What if the bikini's didn't fit? What if they thought I was too skinny or that my breasts were too small? I tried to blink away my fears and keep smiling, trying to appear confident and nonchalant.

We were shooting on a houseboat in Langebaan, and although it was not as wet as it had been in Cape Town when we left, the day was still cool and cloudy. We all cramped into the small space, trying to stay out of the way while it was someone else's turn in the make-up chair. Eventually we were all ready and the shoot got under way.

My first shot was me on my own, and the photographer (the brilliant Gerda Genis) told me to just relax against the rails, looking comfortable and dreamy. This seemed impossible to me, as I was shivering with goosebumps from the cold, the rails were too far apart to lie against and covered in splinters. I could feel the team's frustration rise as we struggled to get the shot, wind blowing hair all over my face and my pose just not relaxed and dreamy-looking enough. Eventually Gerda called it quits, moving on to the next shot. Urgh, I could only hope the next shot would be easier.

The rest of my shots were all in groups and as Gerda wanted us to be really natural and unposed, it was much easier to just hang out, chat and smile. The clothes all fit and I felt much better, confidence growing as the day wore on.

Just when I thought I had it all under control, Gerda told us to jump in. We stared at her in disbelief. At the best of times, in the middle of the long hot summer, the temperature of Langebaan's Atlantic water doesn't get anywhere near a pleasant swimming degree. Now it was cool, mostly overcast, the middle of winter and the water was freezing. While we remained shocked into silence, the rest of the behind-the-scenes team started yelling "Go on, jump, for goodness sakes, just do it already! You won't melt!" And so we jumped, into the icy cold, coming up gasping for breath, teeth chattering.

None of the jumping or swimming shots made it into the catalogue - we were probably looking far too blue and outraged! But as the sun was setting, peeking out from behind the clouds for a minute or two every now and then, Gerda captured some sun-soaked images.

I can hardly explain to you just how cold we were in the picture above, but with a bit of photographic magic and some seriously strained smiling skills, you'd never guess!

A few days after the shoot, my agency called me to say they'd missed one crucial shot and that I'd been booked to re-do it. I made my way into the city to meet the team at Gerda's studio. They'd been shooting all morning and were just ordering lunch as I got there, so they offered some to me. I was given a menu from a place I'd never heard of, Kauai. I ordered the first sandwich on the menu, the Healer. This is significant because twelve years later it's still my favourite take-out in the whole wide world. Healthy and tasty and filling and scrumptious, yum. After lunch, hair and make-up we drove out to the nearest beach and spent about twenty minutes taking this picture:

Not really mind-blowing or obviously important, and who could tell that I'm even on a beach? It's a strange industry for sure, I got paid half as much for this one easy shot as for the whole trip to Langebaan and the icy experience that proved to be!

Storm

Life at Uni carried on in a blur of rehearsals, theatre productions, some class attendance and plenty of socials. Every night was spent with friends, whether it was just my roommate and I chilling at home, listening to Smashing Pumpkins while we avoided doing our homework or big nights out in one of the many bars and clubs catering specifically for the student population of our University town.

After escaping from the now ex-Bad Boyfriend’s prescriptive clutches, I’d acquired a wardrobe consisting overwhelmingly of mini skirts and mini dresses, with my dark Gothic vibe reserved for evenings out when I’d boast black minis with sky high black rubber platform boots and my Dad's leather jacket. What I wouldn't give for some pics of this time?

One Saturday my two best friends and I escaped our small town to go mall trawling in the city. I can’t remember if we were even there for a specific purpose, but amongst other things, we used a photo booth to capture this tiny image.

Jewel, Modelmental, Nightingale. Little did I know what a meaningful day we’d captured.
And I do realise I look more like a shiny happy little raver than a deep and disturbed Goth, but somehow I managed to be both, depending on the time of day and type of activity!

As we were about to leave, I noticed a pretty, petite lady a few steps ahead, who kept looking back at us, then walking on again. I wondered if she knew me, or if we’d been loud or obnoxious, since she kept looking back. Eventually she stopped and waited for us to catch up to her. “Would you be interested in modeling?” she asked me, studying my face as I considered my answer. I stammered something affirmative and she gave me her card, all the while assessing me, checking out my height and build. Eventually she seemed to nod at herself and told me to come see her in the week. The card simply said Metka, Scout Models Cape Town.

I’d been down this road before so I wasn’t exactly overjoyed at the opportunity. I also hadn’t heard of Scout Models so I wasn’t impressed as I’d been with Mulligans before. I’d just had a really good day hanging with my girlfriends and this compliment was a nice little cherry on top.

During the next week I called Metka and borrowed Nightingale’s car to drive into the city to meet with her. I’d gone to some trouble doing nice hair and make-up, borrowed a dress and put on high heels. Scout was a small office on a main road, nothing too impressive, but not too shabby either. I started off by telling Metka about my earlier attempts at modeling and how I really didn’t want to waste her time or my own. I was very busy at Uni sixty kilometers away and had to beg and borrow cars for transport. She said it’s fine; it would take time to get me started anyway, why don’t we just start putting a portfolio together and see what happens.

Before we ever got round to organizing a test shoot, Metka called me with some big news. Her agency was being bought out by Storm, a major London agency owned by Richard Branson. They were opening a branch in Cape Town, Kate Moss was flying in with Mr. Branson for the launch and the whole industry was excited about what this meant for Cape Town’s relatively small, fledgling modeling scene. I had to go for an interview with Storm, as they were only taking on a selection of Metka’s models, mostly children.

I knew this was big, but as I’d had such a hit and miss history in this crazy business, I tried not to raise my expectations. I borrowed Nightingale’s trusty old Honda and drove into the city once more. The Storm offices consisted of one big open plan space with six bookers on computers with headsets. Behind the bookers the wall was covered in their models’ composite cards. I teetered into the open in a high-waist pencil skirt and heels, hair slicked back into a ponytail in an attempt to look nonchalant.



Debbie was in charge of the New Faces division and called me over. As I had no pictures yet, I could only present myself, and shyly explained that Metka had sent me.
Debbie removed her headset and stared me down with narrowed eyes. She asked me to take a step back and do a 360 degree turn. I did this, shaking with the effort of trying to look elegant. She folded her arms and gave me another look up and down.
“I like this girl. Hey, Michelle?”
Michelle (I’d later figure out that she was the big boss) glanced over at me and carried on working. So Debbie just continued talking to herself.
“Yes, I think I like you. Have a seat.”
I sat back down and Debbie took my details and my measurements while one thought and one thought only raced through my mind: I was joining the same agency as Kate Moss!

Discovered

During my first year at Uni, I found myself. I found myself being confident and brave and flirty and it was so much fun. I was up for anything, joined committees and groups, auditioned for and participated in everything I could.
I was a cheerleader, the one dream I’d had for high school but which the Bad Boyfriend had shattered with crude remarks on “slutty girls who jump around in skimpy outfits”.
So when a friend suggested I enter an Intervarsity Carnival beauty pageant, I did it without thinking twice.

When I was chosen as a finalist, I was pleasantly surprised and keen to see where this would take me, or more succinctly, what free goodies I could score from this!
A drinks company sponsored the pageant and they took us on boat trips and cellar tours and organized lunches with wine tastings and nights out on the town: it was fabulous. After a month of wining and dining we had the crowning event at a 007 themed poker night where the contestants also took part in a fashion show.

A prestigious local boutique sponsored the show and allocated outfits to each girl. For the finale, they dressed me in a black velvet bustier with black mesh sleeves and a hip hugging slim black velvet skirt with slits up both legs... A much sexier yet still slightly gothic replica of my dress at the school pageant! I loved it, I felt so much sexier, more mature and comfortable in my own skin than ever before.

Being back on the catwalk was a breeze. Most of the girls had been in some sort of fashion show before, and we weren’t serious about the competitive aspect of the night at all. We were drinking champagne backstage, helping each other with hair and make-up and generally having a girly good time!

Soon the show was over and they were about to announce the winners, but most of us were just eager to get out there and join the party. The first award was for Miss Legs, and everyone looked to Lara as they began reading the list of prizes. All the girls were whispering “Lara, Lara, there you go Lara”, so when my name was called instead, it took a moment for me to realize that I actually had to go on stage now! I’m sure I blushed a scarlet red as I made my way to the front, especially as I now felt that I’d ‘stolen’ the prize from Lara? I honestly can’t remember much of Lara or her legs, but I know that I was all set for pantyhose for the next five years!

During the confusion of hugs and congratulations after the show, a very elegantly dressed lady, distinctive by being a bit older than all the students milling about, cornered Nicola and I, asking to have a word. She’d come to the show to scout for models and would love it if we’d have some pictures taken and bring them in to her agency. I took her card with pleasure, it’s always nice to be noticed, and made my way into the throng of partiers. It was only the next day, when I fished the card out of my handbag that I paid attention to the name. Sharon Mulligan, Mulligan’s Models. This wasn’t some unknown scout from a shabby little second-rate agency in the burbs, I’d read the name countless times in all the local fashion magazines I frequently devoured!

Hey baby, we’ve hit the big time.


For the record:
So I’m afraid ALL you voters fell for my double bluff. I was in fact ‘discovered’ at a beauty pageant and no one guessed correctly. So lame and predictable, I know, but sometimes life is like that.

Q: Where was MM ‘discovered’ the second time around?
35% said In a shopping mall. (May turn out to be true yet…)
33% said At a Metallica concert. (Metallica never performed live in South Africa until 2006(!))
30% said Outside a public toilet. (Nice.)

A false start

When the modelling course was over, I took my A graded certificate and life went back to bored teenager in the suburbs normality. I didn't know what I could do next to seriously try my hand at the modelling business and was quite underwhelmed with my little portfolio of photos. Even I could tell that I was no natural at this. It seemed my dream was just that, a mirage, a fun little interlude but just not meant to be.

The agency who had presented the course was a small, amateurish operation and I suppose it wasn't in their interest to recommend that I try and find real, professional representation. So while I scoured the small print in the spine of every magazine editorial and read the sexy names of agencies like Boss, Storm and Outlaws, I had no idea that you could just call them up for an interview. I was sure you had to be discovered eating an ice cream (Naomi Campbell) or catching a flight out of JFK (Kate Moss). Imagine this world before the internet explosion, before entire channels on TV were dedicated to fashion, models and celebrities, before Tyra! All a girl could do was read her mom's fashion magazines and dream.

Then one day, out of the blue, the agency called and told me that if I could get to Cape Town within the hour, a photographer would shoot me for a newspaper. Excitedly I promised to get there in time and slammed down the phone to get going. Only then did I consider the facts:

I was 16 with no means of transport, both my parents were at work, my brother didn't have a license yet, and we lived 35 kilometers from the city. I decided I'd walk into our town centre and take a train. This could be my big break, I had to do this!

Luckily my brother sensibly interceded. It would take me thirty minutes to walk to the station, another fifteen to figure out which train to take. Then who knew when the train would depart, how long the journey would be and once all that was done I'd only be stuck at Cape Town station with no knowledge of the city or where I was meant to be. Never mind the fact that our public transport in SA is unreliable at best, dangerous at worst, and especially back in 1994 a young girl alone on a commuter train was probably not the best idea. He made me call the agency and tell them it couldn't be done. I hated him for it, while at the same time realising that he was absolutely right. Having my picture in the local newspaper, was just not worth putting my safety at risk.

Everyone has to start somewhere...

Promise you won't laugh?

In the interest of relating my journey through the world on the wings of a madcap modelling career with complete truth and honesty (my self-sworn commandment for this blog) I will post my very first model pictures here, right now...

...Well, maybe in a little while, when I've worked up the courage and gotten to know you a little better!

I went to a tiny, amateur little modelling school in my mid-teens with big dreams and high hopes. I'd been devouring fashion magazines for a couple of years and stared in wonder at the gorgeous, glamorous girls smiling, sulking and pouting their way from cover to cover.

I was naturally thin and had suddenly grown to a respectable 1.75m (5'9") which was (and still remains) a good model height. At school I was shy and bookish, not athletic in the least, certainly not the popular cheerleader type. But my slight build, clear skin and wild imagination gave me the courage to ask my parents if I could go on the course. They spoke to the agency and thought it would be good for my self-esteem regardless, deciding to send my two younger sisters along!

The course took place over three days, covering such topics as skincare, make-up application, dressing correctly for your body-type, healthy eating, exercise and then finally posing, walking on a ramp and different types of modelling. At the end of the course we had to apply our own make-up, dress up in two different styles, walk the ramp and pose for photographs.

Which resulted in these, my very first model photographs!

 

The make-up, wardrobe and poses might go a long way towards giving away my current age! 

I'd love for you to guess which year these photos were taken? Vote in the right hand sidebar!

Okay, now that you've had a good chuckle, can you believe that from THAT I went on to become a supermodel? Okay, so maybe not a supermodel at all, but at least a professional, full-time, international model with agencies, bookers, shoots, shows, travel and a nice bit of income to boot.

How I managed that, stayed sane, healthy, friendly, drug free, down-to-earth and true to myself, is the story that will unfold on Model Mentality.