The cattle call for Toronto Fashion Week has begun.
Each day I wake up at 11 am (no one in fashion works before noon), to join the herd of 6 foot tall bone racks that is currently running around the city desperately vying for spots in any of the shows in March.
Castings are... interesting. There is really something to be said for all of the girls that put themselves through this season after season. For a bunch of illiterate teenaged anorexics, they really do have thick skins and a drive that I just cannot match. After being told over and over that we are too old, too short, too fat, too tall, too thin, too pale, too cross-eyed, these girls keep at it with a smile on their face and a strut in their step. Barring the fact that we are all pretty much in some stage of hypoglycemic shock, it's an experience that I am tackling one non-fat latte at a time.... and am managing to have at least a little bit of fun.
And finally, in keeping with the self-deprecating spirit of this blog: Self esteem crushing highlight of the week involves being told by a casting director with a disgusted sneer on his face that I am "much prettier in my pictures than in real life".
