foot model
There have been many things I've wanted to be while growing up. I've wanted to be a flight attendant, marine biologist, copywriter, chef, orthodontist. I've wanted to play in an orchestra. Some of those things, I actually have a knowledge to build more on. At the turn of January instead of adding to the list of maybes, I resolved to not resolve. All I could concentrate on was being sick just like I had the year before. A person starts to wonder if it's really true what they say about how you bring in the new year will set the tone for exactly how the other 365 days will follow. It was a surprise to know one day that third week of 2005 might call for a new career consideration. That of a foot model. Well actually, it was my shoes.
It all started with a look. She had noticed my shoes. How could anyone not? These were 4 inch heeled Steve Maddens with a platform sole. For future reference, I am gradually graduating the cement block look. Keyword: gradual. It's not cute anymore; it's hardly feminine. I will miss being five foot three. Everyday I am that tall seemed to be a good day. I refer to those shoes as well as my other height enhancements as high heels when really they were the standard short woman platforms. The girl and I exchanged emails over the course of several days. She wanted me to take digital photos of the shoes and myself. She was a film student needing still shots of feet and gas pedals. Sometimes it is my detriment in aiming to please and why swim against the current? So I agreed. That was until her second email.
"Thank you so MUCH for replying!". That was how her email started. She gave suggestions of wearing dark pants, dark hose, a skirt. Something really nice. There were directions on angle shots, resolutions. Take 20 shots or more! I could picture her voice going Indy500 fast with a bulleted list in a conversation bubble above her head. The ideas came out faster than spoken. However, I was caught up on 2 things: the amount of pictures and having to show my legs. My legs have never complained about hiding out in pants. There was no way I was taking pictures for strangers with me in a skirt for her class to see. I'm overcome with blushing cheeks and the occasional giggle just standing around in my cotton unmentionables. So with that said and the overwhelming guidelines of the email, I bailed. It required more work than anticipated and more detail than I imagined. The thought of why I should help someone out with their school assignment and the imposition the person was presenting did cross my mind several times. I had taken five pictures of shoes (without me in them) pressing on the brake pedal before learning what the girl wanted. She left contact saying she'd take whatever I had, promising she could work wonders.
After a few other words exchanged, I decided to take a few pictures and try again. The initial shots taken weren't exactly what was needed. The focus was more of gas pedal than brake. Day two I had on better dress pants. I changed pants for the photo session twice. One was black with white pinstripes. The other was brown. My shoes fell into character. I foot acted. It was crucial to have several poses of a curving ankle pressing the gas pedal deeply into the car floor. This was a momentous day; this was the day my feet became super models.
These stills were for film about a college girl. I was suppose to capture her aggression while driving. I was instructed to really floor the gas pedal while the car engine was off. I zoomed and angled. Snapped, snapped, snapped. My dogs kept barking the whole time and would stick their noses into the car while I was bending around in the driver's seat. Who'd figure I was so flexible. 35 pictures total. Time was even spent adjusting the pictures in Photoshop. This was much more than I had planned. It became more exciting after a while, but then as time pressed on, it felt like too much time. I considered this my good deed of the day to help out a stranger asking for help.
I needed a little something different to my day. Someone random came along and threw out the opportunity. To think I almost kept on walking, still feeding quarters into ponies and hoping to be a cowgirl. I feed lots of quarters into maybes. When all the career hats are tried on and the day is done, I can always put on platforms knowing I was once a foot model. I'll stand tall and really work it. I know the path of the car mat catwalk.
