“So what’s the name for your style?”
“Yeah, you know, your MO. Your aesthetic.”
“Mine’s rock and roll cowboy, I mean. What’s yours?”
“I guess mine is something gritty, like cities, and poetic… intellectual, but also glittery.”
Nerd, stereotyped: someone who spends too much time knowing things. Usually wears glasses, doesn’t bathe, and lives in a basement, only venturing outside to go to comic book conventions.
Model, stereotyped: someone who starves herself and obsesses over beauty products for the purpose of appearing perfect. Tall, thin, airheaded, and concerned with shallow pursuits such as popularity.
I’ve been told, in the past, to put modeling in a separate category, professionally, from my writing.
I chose, instead, to create a collaged portfolio of photos and text, featuring excerpts from my own stories.
However, it is a sad truth that if my face ended up on a magazine cover before I had the chance to publish a book, all of my literary ‘street cred’ would vanish.
Because models can’t write. And writers are plain.
Where did we learn this? When did intellect become a social handicap?
How can fashion be considered flighty?
Only if we are one-note, one-focused, one-determined and closed off.
Photographs and poetry are so elemental, it’s a wonder more people don’t see them as conglomerates.
As for me, I have to lose myself in story to take a good picture.
There is a very simple reason I feel compatible with both modeling/glamour and intellect/nerddom:
Stories are the essential link.
Fashion tells a story. Anime tells a story.
Photographs tell stories, and so does philosophy.
Modelling is an illustration of my poetic ambition.
Fiction is the essence of beauty made explicit through language.
All stories run together.
I put math and physics in my poetry:
Such silent thuds resent all company, rehearsed and pleasant,
And even your angles seem invasive, incongruent,
But like your smile that siren comes wailing back
Along one constant note, no heed to a doppler effect
I write about being glamourous, with a twist:
You paint your lips the colour of bruises and laugh outside classrooms (scheduled).
Lingering long, glances thrown back.
I know a man who plays World of Warcraft AND goes to the gym, intent on beauty.
I know a girl who paints her nails in themes – plaid and green for Toy Story and blue with stars for Doctor Who.
Doctor Who fingernails. A science fiction manicure.
This is what I mean.
If people were less concerned with ‘fitting in’ and more concerned with the narrative of their lives, I suspect that the population of glam-nerds would increase exponentially.
There is heart in glamour, in idolatry. The characters write themselves. So close, and yet so completely removed from the world.
When I shoot, I aim for that dreamy look… the same one I aim to capture with words, formulas, poetic pursuits…
the one that says, yes, I am taken – not by a person,
but by stories,
by the weight of the world.