How I Met Noel: Part One
August 28th, 2007
I never wanted to be famous. Though, I did have an opportunity to launch a prodigious and successful acting career when I was only five years old. Okay, maybe I am exaggerating a little. My mom and I were chosen to be extras in Trading Mom – a movie about three kids who wish their nagging mother would disappear. When they wake up the next morning and find their wish has come true, they go to the “Mommy Market” to buy a new mother. My mom was cast as the “piano playing mom” to be on display in the Mommy Market and I was cast as one of the satisfied kids leaving the Mommy Market with a new mother.
I remember being filmed skipping down an alley while holding hands with a boy cast as my brother and the woman cast as my new mom and I remember being extremely concerned that people watching the movie would know that the boy actor was not really my brother. I also remember it being unbearably hot outside and there was a lot of waiting around, which is difficult for a five year old.
So, my mom and I quit after only one day of filming. Being five years old and not having watched much television or any movies in my short life, I did not realize the opportunity I was sacrificing. Sometimes I wonder if I had known back then that actors and actresses were rich and famous if I would have continued to pursue a career in acting. Because come on, who doesn’t want to be rich and famous every now and then? Remarkably, I had another chance.
When I was fifteen years old, I was sophomore in high school. I played the flute in marching band and I hung out with the artsy crowd. I bought my clothes at Salvation Army, I dyed my hair black, and I refused to wear makeup or shave my legs. I was not popular. Regardless, I was often being told that I should pursue a career in modeling. So my mom thought it would be a good idea to take me to an open casting call she saw advertised on television. I agreed, though I don’t remember being particularly excited. I didn’t think I had a chance.
We arrived at the hotel where the event was being hosted and were ushered into a large meeting room with hundreds of other young girls and their aggressive mothers. Eyes were shifting in all directions, evaluating the competition. Some girls looked ready to compete in a beauty pageant with huge hairdos and layers of makeup, others looked prepared to sell their bodies on the street corner wearing hardly a scrap of clothing. Contrastingly, I wore a horrible green dress purchased from a clearance rack that concealed my entire chest and reached almost to my ankles. I applied lip gloss at my mother’s request, but I still felt out of place. I slouched in the back row, wearing an apprehensive expression that is typical of disagreeable teenagers.
After a brief introduction of the scouting agency, a couple of supposed ex-models were invited on stage to glorify describe what it was like work in the industry, emphasizing how much FUN it was and how many GREAT MEMORIES they shared and how much MONEY they earned and how much bleach leaked into their skulls and killed their BRAIN CELLS! I guess they were trying to appeal to the majority. They finally stopped talking and got to the part that everybody was waiting for. The part where five guys – who were all wearing coordinating black sweaters with jeans that were so tight you didn’t want to look at their crotch but you couldn’t help looking because you were only fifteen years old and you had never seen something that shape on that part of the body before – look at you for about half of a second, make some incomprehensible hand gestures to each other, maybe snap a few polaroids, and then say yes or no.
If they said no, you were finished. Get out of line and go home. If they said yes, you were directed to a table where a woman – who was wearing sunglasses inside the building and sipping something from a water bottle that was most likely a fermented beverage – recorded your measurements and your contact information. This meant that you were invited to Atlanta where you would have the opportunity to meet with over twenty modeling agencies, attend workshops to learn how to walk wearing high heels, and perform in a fashion show at the conclusion of the event.
I waited in line. I watched dozens of girls in front of me get turned away. I listened to their mothers desperately arguing with the scouts that their daughters deserved this opportunity. I felt sweat penetrate my arm pits as I approached the front of the line. I felt their fingers push the hair out of my face and lift my chin. I cringed when their eyes scanned my body. And then, I heard the word “Yes”.
Two weeks later, my mom and I were on a plane to Atlanta.
To be continued…
