This was also something I wanted to do for years but never imagined I could. Then, I met a few folks who did it–regular folks who just made online accounts on model networking sites and had local sort-of-almost-not-creepy gigs the next day. I even met a Bulgarian underwear model (who was a little chubby, but I digress……..)
Well, two can play that game. I signed up, and sure enough had a few offers within 24 hours. All I needed was a head shot, which turned out to be a poorly framed Canon digital camera product of me in a bee costume from Halloween and about 6 beers. Who knew it was that easy?
Turns out I was really great at it, too.
if your musical tastes pique at the screech-like whinnies of dying horses.
But it just so happens that if you have breasts and are not 300 lbs (but sometimes, even then), men don’t care. That’s fortunate, since amateur male photographers are what’s keeping female-packed “modeling social network sites” in business.
I met some of the most interesting people in my acquaintance while modeling. There was a disturbed, lonely young man in DC who wanted to watch me shave. There was the foot fetisher who advertised tiered ”packages”; for example, for $50 he could take your foot photos, for $75 he could take photos and touch, for $100 he could do all of the above plus kiss toes, etc. There was the pagan chain smoker who wanted to take me to a Beltane festival (he stressed that the orgy was optional). I learned of his escapades in Alaska being chased naked by a Kodiak bear. There was the George Takei-esque snoot who deigned to boast “he always must teach models how to pose”, and critiqued everything I did until it fell in line with his example of what I think must have been an open mouthed dying-of-stomach-worms expression, very similar to the sarcastic example above. There was the frightening cabin studio in the woods, and then the jolly but passive aggressive Santa Claus, full of bitter stories about his ex-model. I can safely say I met only 1 (male) photographer that I wouldn’t be shamed to admit I know in public and who is a sane, normal guy. It was definitely an experience, but not one I care to repeat. Let’s say my interests in people-watching have waned, and I don’t care enough to be in the trenches anymore.