In Search of You: A Model Mixer
Sophie Lorraine Smith
The runway, a strait of black carpet marked out in hot pink duct tape, takes up a wide swath of the center of Kaiser Borsari 122. The room contains an intimidating surplus of beauty and the pounding beats of some very loud music. Due to the dress code for the models (and for Rage members like me, though we’re differentiated with official-looking lanyards), the room is a sea of every kind of black shirt and every cut and color of jeans. At the ends of the lines that press against the walls, people are photographed, people are measured, and people walk down the runway, two at a time, one following each strip of pink tape. There’s not much room to move around, so I skirt and weave around the models with blue-and-white nametags stuck to their shirts in order to get across the room, pick out a friendly face among the strangers, and pull out my notebook to ask if they’d like to be interviewed.
It’s the Rage’s Model Mixer. Since the Rage is a student-run magazine, the models are also students, which means the base for the publication to pull from is made up almost entirely of people who’ve never modeled before. The mixer is an opportunity for any interested student to formally put themself in the running for modeling opportunities, get a headshot from the photography team, have their measurements taken down, and give their best attempts at walking down the runway.
In life, some problems can be described as “good problems to have,” and this is demonstrated once more at the Model Mixer. The Rage’s leadership, in promoting this event, disseminated the invitation out into the void of social media, so there was no way of knowing exactly how many people would come. In the end, the attendance was somewhere north of 100, resulting in an absurdly long line outside, winding past the room’s floor-to-ceiling windows and, I hear, quite a ways beyond that. The members of the team I talk to are surprised at the turnout, but also proud. After all, there are worse positions to be in than being swarmed with interested models.
Said models are let in slowly, so as not to overwhelm the photography team, the first to receive them, and sent through their succession of lines. Along the way, they chat with their friends, snag a Redbull or a water from the table (the cans and bottles spelled out RAGE at the beginning of the night), and look over as their peers stride across the runway. A pair of photographers hold up a camera and a flashbulb, snapping photos of the strutting models in quick succession. The sound of the camera lends the even an air of importance, like it’s being held on a red carpet instead of on Western’s campus.
I’ve been enlisted to talk to the models about what brought them here, and I approach them while they’re in line to be photographed, measured, or beckoned across the runway to show off their stride. I crowd in, trying not to interfere with the people moving past me, speaking as clearly as I can to make my questions audible in the crush of noise, and ask them about why they want to be here.
An event like this is fertile ground for comparison, which some models express to me. Despite being present in a writing and not a modeling capacity, I can’t deny feeling it a little myself. For any human being, but especially those of us who have spent any time occupying the “girl,” or “woman,” slots of society, beauty has been presented as a virtue, one that’s hierarchical and difficult to attain; some people are beautiful and others aren’t. Even knowing, intellectually, that ideals of beauty are subjective and artificially constructed, years of living in the world and being saturated by its images has given me a subconscious definition of what it means to be beautiful, and I tend not to put too much stock into my appearance because I know I don’t fit that definition. That’s a reality that I’ve accepted, but not everybody does. Some of the models I spoke to are partially motivated by an interest in representation; the opportunity to expand what beauty looks like.
People want to be instruments of change, and to uplift people like them. Those I talk to want to create images of beauty that include South Asian models, mid-sized women of color, different body types in general, gender non-conforming models, and many of the other things that are common in real life but frequently missing from the mainstream fashion world. These are people that know firsthand that exclusion can create shame, and so have come to the inverse conclusion as well: inclusion can create celebration. As Justin tells me, he wants to use modeling as a way to comfortably embrace natural parts of himself.
Not everyone who came to the mixer already has a strong investment in modeling. One of the most common words I hear through the whole night is “curiosity.” For example, Desdemona tells me she just wanted to see what it’s like. When I ask her about her highest hopes, she says that, while she’d quite like for everyone to be awed by her transcendent beauty, she’ll be satisfied if she makes it through her walk without stumbling or falling. (Later in the night, she walks the runway twice and succeeds in her goal.) A couple people I talk to tell me that people have frequently told them they should try modeling due to their tall frames and confident walks, and figured they should give it a shot. Jessica reports that it seemed like a natural thing to try given her experience with other forms of performance like burlesque. Kate wants to get out of her comfort zone. Someone tells me they always wanted to try modeling. Someone else says they’re doing it “for funsies.”
For others, modeling seems like a deeply personal and fulfilling pursuit. Another oft-repeated word is “confidence,” which many feel modeling could help them build. Jenna emphasizes this aspect of it and adds that it’s a means to strive to be the best version of herself, to do exciting things despite fear, especially when surrounded by friendly people. Jasper tells me that modeling was like “exposure therapy for being perceived,” and that anxiety comes from shame, whereas modeling is the antithesis of shame.
I also hear a lot of people say that what appeals to them is the creative opportunities afforded to them by modeling. Alex, who modeled in a previous issue, says that he loved getting to see and participate in a creative process that was shaped by so many talented people. Alyza comments on her lifelong love and admiration for physical media like fashion magazines. Iliana and Justin say similar things about the appeal of being an art piece or prop for the vision of a designer. I talked to one photographer who was intrigued at being on the other side of the camera. Emmalee loves the Rage as a reader and wants to be a part of it.
Of course, there’s also the idea of being a part of a supportive community that uplifts people while they learn new skills, which is another reoccurring refrain from the people I talk to. I haven’t been at the Rage for long, but I have a feeling that they might’ve come to the right place to find that. At the end of the runway walk, there are two people, “model mentors,” who greet the models with bright smiles and give them thoughtful advice in case they want to try again. One model starts her walk with a serious, focused face, but can’t help breaking into a smile when she hears the crowd cheering for her.
The model mentors aren’t focused on the attendees’ appearance, or at least not on the appearance that has to do with the shapes of their faces or their height or eyes or hair. When it comes to the walk, only one thing matters: how they inhabit their bodies, the way their attitudes manifest in straight postures and squared shoulders. The keyword seems to be, at least to my untrained eye, confidence. Modeling requires people to act comfortable with themselves, and while many struggle to truly feel that comfort when they’re off the runway, having a chance to practice it can be invaluable.
I feel that there are a lot of people who apply harsh, rigid beauty standards to themselves, but not to others. My roommate tells me I have a smile that lights up a room, but, looking at photos, all I see is the way my eyes squint. Conversely, I’m shocked when she describes herself as the least appealing person in the room, but to her, it seems obvious. There are people out there who profit from making both of us see ourselves with a sense of shame we don’t apply to one another. One way to escape from this is to move away from the idea that our beauty is such an important part of us, and another is to expand what beauty looks like (and I think these can go hand in hand). To believe in and celebrate one’s own beauty can come across as arrogant or vain to some, but it serves a purpose in countering shame. It’s important to not just say but show that there is no one “ideal” way to look, because we’re all people, and people aren’t supposed to all look the same.
There are lots of different kinds of beauty. For example, many of the trappings of femininity I find uncomfortable, unfulfilling, or just too intensive to bother with, so, with my bare face and tennis shoes, I feel a little out of place in a room so populated by glamor, but it doesn’t have to be this way. There could be some time in the future when I feel comfortable with myself this way, and maybe people like the ones here tonight are on their ways to create a world like that.
At 8, I take off my lanyard, stow my notebook in my backpack, and leave the building, glad I came and also relieved to be out of the warm room and its blasting music and step into the fresh air of a cool fall night. On the way across campus and down the hill towards my apartment, I talk with a fellow member of the writing team. I’m excited to work with her, and with the models I met tonight. It’s a good feeling to be around people who are enthusiastic about what they’re doing.
When I get back to my apartment and finally sit down, I marvel at the fact that many of the models who came were wearing heels, some of them very steep. That is, I believe, a heroic feat that requires heroic feet; it’s been about a decade since I’ve so much as breathed on the concept of the high heel, and even my feet are killing me after spending two hours standing.
Even more heroic, though, was that they came to the event. I greatly admire everyone who put themselves out there and gave modeling a try. I hope they had fun, and that I will be seeing them soon!
The runway, a strait of black carpet marked out in hot pink duct tape, takes up a wide swath of the center of Kaiser Borsari 122. The room contains an intimidating surplus of beauty and the pounding beats of some very loud music. Due to the dress code for the models (and for Rage members like me, though we’re differentiated with official-looking lanyards), the room is a sea of every kind of black shirt and every cut and color of jeans. At the ends of the lines that press against the walls, people are photographed, people are measured, and people walk down the runway, two at a time, one following each strip of pink tape. There’s not much room to move around, so I skirt and weave around the models with blue-and-white nametags stuck to their shirts in order to get across the room, pick out a friendly face among the strangers, and pull out my notebook to ask if they’d like to be interviewed.
It’s the Rage’s Model Mixer. Since the Rage is a student-run magazine, the models are also students, which means the base for the publication to pull from is made up almost entirely of people who’ve never modeled before. The mixer is an opportunity for any interested student to formally put themself in the running for modeling opportunities, get a headshot from the photography team, have their measurements taken down, and give their best attempts at walking down the runway.
In life, some problems can be described as “good problems to have,” and this is demonstrated once more at the Model Mixer. The Rage’s leadership, in promoting this event, disseminated the invitation out into the void of social media, so there was no way of knowing exactly how many people would come. In the end, the attendance was somewhere north of 100, resulting in an absurdly long line outside, winding past the room’s floor-to-ceiling windows and, I hear, quite a ways beyond that. The members of the team I talk to are surprised at the turnout, but also proud. After all, there are worse positions to be in than being swarmed with interested models.
Said models are let in slowly, so as not to overwhelm the photography team, the first to receive them, and sent through their succession of lines. Along the way, they chat with their friends, snag a Redbull or a water from the table (the cans and bottles spelled out RAGE at the beginning of the night), and look over as their peers stride across the runway. A pair of photographers hold up a camera and a flashbulb, snapping photos of the strutting models in quick succession. The sound of the camera lends the even an air of importance, like it’s being held on a red carpet instead of on Western’s campus.
I’ve been enlisted to talk to the models about what brought them here, and I approach them while they’re in line to be photographed, measured, or beckoned across the runway to show off their stride. I crowd in, trying not to interfere with the people moving past me, speaking as clearly as I can to make my questions audible in the crush of noise, and ask them about why they want to be here.
An event like this is fertile ground for comparison, which some models express to me. Despite being present in a writing and not a modeling capacity, I can’t deny feeling it a little myself. For any human being, but especially those of us who have spent any time occupying the “girl,” or “woman,” slots of society, beauty has been presented as a virtue, one that’s hierarchical and difficult to attain; some people are beautiful and others aren’t. Even knowing, intellectually, that ideals of beauty are subjective and artificially constructed, years of living in the world and being saturated by its images has given me a subconscious definition of what it means to be beautiful, and I tend not to put too much stock into my appearance because I know I don’t fit that definition. That’s a reality that I’ve accepted, but not everybody does. Some of the models I spoke to are partially motivated by an interest in representation; the opportunity to expand what beauty looks like.
People want to be instruments of change, and to uplift people like them. Those I talk to want to create images of beauty that include South Asian models, mid-sized women of color, different body types in general, gender non-conforming models, and many of the other things that are common in real life but frequently missing from the mainstream fashion world. These are people that know firsthand that exclusion can create shame, and so have come to the inverse conclusion as well: inclusion can create celebration. As Justin tells me, he wants to use modeling as a way to comfortably embrace natural parts of himself.
Not everyone who came to the mixer already has a strong investment in modeling. One of the most common words I hear through the whole night is “curiosity.” For example, Desdemona tells me she just wanted to see what it’s like. When I ask her about her highest hopes, she says that, while she’d quite like for everyone to be awed by her transcendent beauty, she’ll be satisfied if she makes it through her walk without stumbling or falling. (Later in the night, she walks the runway twice and succeeds in her goal.) A couple people I talk to tell me that people have frequently told them they should try modeling due to their tall frames and confident walks, and figured they should give it a shot. Jessica reports that it seemed like a natural thing to try given her experience with other forms of performance like burlesque. Kate wants to get out of her comfort zone. Someone tells me they always wanted to try modeling. Someone else says they’re doing it “for funsies.”
For others, modeling seems like a deeply personal and fulfilling pursuit. Another oft-repeated word is “confidence,” which many feel modeling could help them build. Jenna emphasizes this aspect of it and adds that it’s a means to strive to be the best version of herself, to do exciting things despite fear, especially when surrounded by friendly people. Jasper tells me that modeling was like “exposure therapy for being perceived,” and that anxiety comes from shame, whereas modeling is the antithesis of shame.
I also hear a lot of people say that what appeals to them is the creative opportunities afforded to them by modeling. Alex, who modeled in a previous issue, says that he loved getting to see and participate in a creative process that was shaped by so many talented people. Alyza comments on her lifelong love and admiration for physical media like fashion magazines. Iliana and Justin say similar things about the appeal of being an art piece or prop for the vision of a designer. I talked to one photographer who was intrigued at being on the other side of the camera. Emmalee loves the Rage as a reader and wants to be a part of it.
Of course, there’s also the idea of being a part of a supportive community that uplifts people while they learn new skills, which is another reoccurring refrain from the people I talk to. I haven’t been at the Rage for long, but I have a feeling that they might’ve come to the right place to find that. At the end of the runway walk, there are two people, “model mentors,” who greet the models with bright smiles and give them thoughtful advice in case they want to try again. One model starts her walk with a serious, focused face, but can’t help breaking into a smile when she hears the crowd cheering for her.
The model mentors aren’t focused on the attendees’ appearance, or at least not on the appearance that has to do with the shapes of their faces or their height or eyes or hair. When it comes to the walk, only one thing matters: how they inhabit their bodies, the way their attitudes manifest in straight postures and squared shoulders. The keyword seems to be, at least to my untrained eye, confidence. Modeling requires people to act comfortable with themselves, and while many struggle to truly feel that comfort when they’re off the runway, having a chance to practice it can be invaluable.
I feel that there are a lot of people who apply harsh, rigid beauty standards to themselves, but not to others. My roommate tells me I have a smile that lights up a room, but, looking at photos, all I see is the way my eyes squint. Conversely, I’m shocked when she describes herself as the least appealing person in the room, but to her, it seems obvious. There are people out there who profit from making both of us see ourselves with a sense of shame we don’t apply to one another. One way to escape from this is to move away from the idea that our beauty is such an important part of us, and another is to expand what beauty looks like (and I think these can go hand in hand). To believe in and celebrate one’s own beauty can come across as arrogant or vain to some, but it serves a purpose in countering shame. It’s important to not just say but show that there is no one “ideal” way to look, because we’re all people, and people aren’t supposed to all look the same.
There are lots of different kinds of beauty. For example, many of the trappings of femininity I find uncomfortable, unfulfilling, or just too intensive to bother with, so, with my bare face and tennis shoes, I feel a little out of place in a room so populated by glamor, but it doesn’t have to be this way. There could be some time in the future when I feel comfortable with myself this way, and maybe people like the ones here tonight are on their ways to create a world like that.
At 8, I take off my lanyard, stow my notebook in my backpack, and leave the building, glad I came and also relieved to be out of the warm room and its blasting music and step into the fresh air of a cool fall night. On the way across campus and down the hill towards my apartment, I talk with a fellow member of the writing team. I’m excited to work with her, and with the models I met tonight. It’s a good feeling to be around people who are enthusiastic about what they’re doing.
When I get back to my apartment and finally sit down, I marvel at the fact that many of the models who came were wearing heels, some of them very steep. That is, I believe, a heroic feat that requires heroic feet; it’s been about a decade since I’ve so much as breathed on the concept of the high heel, and even my feet are killing me after spending two hours standing.
Even more heroic, though, was that they came to the event. I greatly admire everyone who put themselves out there and gave modeling a try. I hope they had fun, and that I will be seeing them soon!