Fashioning Fat: Inside Plus-Size Modeling (11 page)

I arrived at the photographer’s New Jersey studio for my test shoot promptly at ten in the morning. I lugged bags filled with what I had deemed to be the most flattering and fashionable clothes from my closet and newly purchased shoes with “sexy, thin heels,” all hopeful contenders for the four outfits to be captured on film. The photographer, who also served as stylist and hairstylist, and her assistant greeted me with a smile and a hot beverage.

While we waited for the makeup artist to arrive, I hung my clothes on a rack, carefully arranged into proposed outfits as I would normally wear them. No sooner had I finished than the photographer re-sorted everything and instructed me to try on various combinations of dress. While I had proposed my purple shirt with a dark blue skirt, she paired it with blue jeans instead. My ivory sweater and brown jersey dress were separated and the sweater was joined with a pinstriped fluted skirt and knee-high boots. I walked into the studio wearing an old, very pink overcoat, not expecting to use it during the photo shoot, to find that it would be the statement piece in one of my looks. The photographer’s reorganization of my wardrobe made me question my sense of style.
Am I not fashionable enough? Does my lack of aesthetic knowledge affect my ability to book work?
By the time my outfits had been planned, the makeup artist sauntered in with her suitcase stuffed with professional-grade makeup.

I sat in the makeup chair as the professionals worked their magic on me. They were the aesthetic mad scientists and I was their experiment.
As their blank canvas, I had no idea what was to become of me, nor did they ask me for my input. I sat quietly in the chair, anxiously waiting to see the results of their labor. The makeup artist brushed pink, yellow, and gold eye shadow across my eyelids and a bold red stain upon my lips. The photographer gathered my hair, teased it toward the heavens, and guided it across my forehead. When they were pleased with their work, I was ready for the camera.

Flash.

“Chin up and out.”

Flash.

“Tilt your head a bit to your left . . . and hold it right [pause] there.”

Flash.

I received a flurry of instructions from the photographer to shift my pose in some seemingly indiscriminate way. I felt stiff and awkward as I simultaneously jutted my neck up and angled my chin down. The photographer assured me that these standard modeling positions flattered the body. Each flash represented another frame of film. Within less than five minutes, the photographer shot a whole roll of film. Each minute the photographer peered through her camera lens translated to at least an hour of preparation in hair and makeup. But in that immortalized moment, I realized the extent to which a model needs to know her body to be able to command and control each minute muscle, as she contorts herself into positions directed by a photographer. A fashion model needs to know how her body moves, how to camouflage unsightly bits, and which camera angles best highlight the female form in order to capture a desired look. I gained an awareness of previously hidden neck and back muscles and that the camera requires subtle movements.

I spent most of the day in a director’s chair being painted and styled, so much that I developed back muscle spasms the next day. By day’s end, I had become four different characters—the sophisticated Parisian, glamorous beauty queen, schoolgirl with a twist, and fierce biker chick. Pleased with my performance in front of the camera, the photographer assured me that the pictures were “strong,” that I conveyed confidence to
the camera. It was night as I left the studio. I was exhausted and could not wait to wash off the multiple layers of caked, pore-clogging foundation and powders from my face.

The recurring themes of the impersonal nature of the work, insecurity, and bodily awareness that began to emerge during that first open call at the modeling agency were present here at the photo shoot, as well. When I first gazed upon my made-up self, I could not have imagined the transformation that had occurred—the striking eyes, pursed crimson lips, and hair pulled, twisted, and draped around my head.
Who is this person? What image is being projected? Does the photo shoot capture my true self?

Looking in the mirror, I no longer saw myself. I saw a reflection of the photographer and makeup artist’s image of beauty. While these were my clothes, I did not choose which items would be selected, nor had I decided on how to arrange them into outfits to produce the final looks. The photographer styled the entire shoot from my clothes, makeup, and hair to the location and my poses. I simply needed to maintain several contorted positions while appearing comfortable and relaxed and gaze into the camera lens. The photographer directed me not to smile. There were no lines to memorize, no lines to deliver to the camera. I spoke, but not with words. Again, I was just a body.

From that photo shoot, I understood that modeling work is not only that which takes place in front of the camera but also what happens leading up to those staged moments. In order to model, I had to become the embodiment of style, live and breathe fashion, and make this lifestyle the focus of my everyday. Yet, modeling involved much more than my looks. I needed to learn the who’s who of fashion, acquire a new vocabulary of clothing design jargon, and keep abreast of the latest styles and products. Unfortunately, my fashion ignorance was gravely apparent that day when I could not name which makeup brands I regularly used, nor could I contribute to the discussion on the merits of strong pigmentation in one brand of cosmetics over others. Like the models I encountered, I engaged in an extensive aesthetic labor process that involved harnessing
interpersonal energy, reining in my emotions, and sculpting my body. This was the real work of modeling.

Given the autonomous, creative, and independent nature of working within a cultural industry, plus-size models engage in aesthetic labor that impacts their work and social identities. As sociologists Joanne Entwistle and Elizabeth Wissinger argue in their case study of fashion modeling in New York City and London, aesthetic labor is more than just a display and performance at work but is “part of the reproduction of the worker for employment . . . and involves longer-term commitments to bodily projects.”
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The fashion industry commodifies the bodies of models as goods for market exchange. Through their physical appearance and mannerisms, models work to embody a brand aesthetic. The aesthetic labor process, which includes a combination of affective, emotional, and physical labor, contributes to an ongoing production of self that extends beyond the confines of modeling work into everyday lived experience.

Agents rely on a split-second visceral reaction to determine the presence of what is commonly called the “x” or “it” factor. This “x” factor is the result of affective labor, which involves the “flow of energy between bodies that stimulates reactions in those bodies.”
²
This differs from emotional labor, defined by sociologist Arlie Russell Hochschild in her seminal study on flight attendants, as “the management of feeling to create a publicly observable facial and bodily display.” Beyond the emotional labor of trying to charm agents and clients, models engage in affective labor by which they develop “a presence that demands attention, is hard to ignore, or stands out.”
³

Bobby, a director of an agency with more than a decade of experience, alluded to this phenomenon as he tried to explain his selection process. According to him, “When I look at the pictures I am looking for that magical quality. That ‘it’ factor. . . . There’s something about it that captures your attention. That’s how I look at it.” Another veteran agent
with more than twenty years of experience offered her own definition, equating affective labor with a special spark, “a quality that makes her a star.” A model engaged in affective labor captures an audience’s attention and firmly holds it in her grasp.

Many of the models that I met during the course of my research spoke of this flow of energy. They depended on it to convincingly sell a product and connect with clients. For example, size sixteen/eighteen commercial print and fit model Joelle described how she engaged in affective labor at a commercial photo shoot:

It was [a] give and take. I was low [in energy], so I fed on the vibe from the room. I channeled it into my posing . . . With the right energy, I don’t have to think. The camera tells me what to do.

After three years working as a model, Joelle learned how to tap into the energy present in a creative environment and use it to her advantage, such as when she was tired from caring for her young child at home or when she was posing in full winter gear—down coat, hat, scarves, and mittens—during a heat wave. When Joelle did not arrive on the set with high energy or enthusiasm for the booking, she required the use of another’s.

As one agent described, a model becomes an emotional vampire, i.e., one who feeds on the energy of others, for there are times when she has to conjure up enthusiasm for an unglamorous job:

You’re going to wear a lot of clothes that are not you. It might be gross, but, like, hey, it is money. You know what I mean. You’re going to try on a lot. You’re going to work for Wal-Mart. That doesn’t mean that you wear their clothes, but, like, Wal-Mart pays your bills.

It is unnecessary for a model to genuinely like her employers or the work that she is paid to do. A model is hired to sell a product, whether she believes in it or not. Ultimately, she only needs to look like she is enjoying
the experience and, as an agent warned, “get the shot in the first fifteen frames.” As size fourteen/sixteen commercial print and runway model Stephanie admitted:

Everyone thinks it’s [modeling] so glamorous. It’s not. I’ve worn granny panties, leotards, maternity wear. I wasn’t pregnant! I shot an ad for Slim-Fast, and I was the “before” image!

Modeling jobs that perpetuate common controlling images of fatness, such as Stephanie’s Slim-Fast booking, can test a plus-size model’s ability to go beyond the use of emotional labor and into active engagement of affective labor if she becomes preoccupied with what she is wearing or the product she is selling. “Yeah, I could see it as insulting,” she rationalized, “but it’s a job. They [the client] paid me good money, so I rocked that padded belly [in the maternity shoot].” Models, like Joelle and Stephanie, fulfill their employers’ expectations by capturing the energy in the room and channeling it into their performance for the camera in order to get the shot that will entice an audience.

Joelle also referred to the dependent nature of the creative process between a performer and an audience. “When the crew’s on fire, I can work it,” she explained. “When they [the photographer and technical crew] are there to get the shot, I can work. When they’re just phonin’ it in, my job is harder.” Performers who act, sing, or dance across a theatrical stage are familiar with affective labor. Once they step foot upon the stage, performers actively engage in affective labor with the audience and their fellow cast members.

When I performed in musicals, the cast always knew, after the opening musical number, if the audience was a good one or not. A “good” audience supported the cast by laughing at funny moments, cheering at the end of a musical number, and paying full attention to what was unfolding before them. A “bad” audience, in contrast, failed to react at these expected moments, leaving the cast in a state of confusion and self-doubt over their performance skills. The cast gathered the energy to reinvent
each performance night after night from the audience, itself. Each night the show was different because the audience was different.

Models, too, engage in this kind of energetic relationship between performer and audience. This is more apparent during fashion shows where there is a live audience, but it also occurs during photo shoots where the audience is simply a camera and technical crew. When my first photo shoot required that I pose on a rooftop during twilight on a bitter cold evening in a sheer short-sleeved silk top, the photographer and makeup artist cheered me on with warm thoughts: “Think summer on the beach. The sun is shining. It’s so hot.” They were well intentioned in their offered motivation, but it was still cold and I desperately tried not to shiver. Whenever I look at the photos from that shoot, I see a hint of a grimace on my face. I had yet to be effective at my affective labor.

A traditional proverb states, “The eyes are the window of the soul.” For a model, the eyes are the window to affective labor. Affective labor involves the model’s ability to emote well in pictures, to work with the camera, and convey emotion using her eyes. Supermodel and creator and host of the reality television program
America’s Next Top Model
Tyra Banks offered an apt description of this when she coined the term “smize”—to smile with your eyes and not your mouth. A model does not speak; she uses her body to convey emotion. A veteran modeling agent who deals exclusively in plus size looks for women who “have something inside of them” and “the gift of sharing [that] special quality,” citing the example of Twiggy, who was “more than her false eyelashes” and could “communicate the feeling of the period” with her body. A flirtatious glance, a turn of the neck, a soft bend of her arm—these looks and postures are the physical embodiment of what a model is thinking and feeling.

All models, whether straight – or plus-size, rely on their bodies as their sole mode of communication. This requires great levels of bodily awareness; however, given the heightened state of disembodiment among
fat women, this may be more challenging to achieve among plus-size models. Joelle, for example, disconnected with her stigmatized, fat body when she was a teenager. “I hated looking at myself in the mirror,” she recalled, “so I got rid of ’em. If I couldn’t see myself, there wasn’t a problem, you know.” Joelle’s solution to her bodily insecurity was to avoid it. When she began modeling, after a friend of hers who worked as a plus-size model brought her along to an open casting call, Joelle needed to literally face her reflection in the mirror: