My Problem

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The Fashion of Being Human

I'm not going to start by telling you about myself. Who needs to read another fashion model story, and who wants to when you can watch it on TV. Don't get me wrong, I'm not slamming models or the career of being a model. Only hypocrites will tell you models don't deserve all the money raining down on them. Is walking for half an hour back and forth the catwalk really worth ten thousand dollars? Well, if you're a fashion model you betcha.

But I'm not here to defend my career. I'm actually very realistic about modeling and the modeling career as a whole. Models suffer a lot due to all the impersonal attention they're getting, and this “impersonal attention” doesn't stop. It just goes on and on until the models is too old to be useful in the fashion industry.

Human beings – all human beings – are still like little children deep inside. Kids don't appreciate things in the objective sense that adults do. Especially when it comes to themselves and other people, little children don't have much understanding for physical beauty. They want to be loved whether they are good-looking or ugly. Even models want that, but they don't get it. In fact, they are the only people in the world that does not get loved for the sake of getting loved. You see all these fat people walking along Central Park with their fat partners and you tell yourself, This is the normal thing. Falling in love with a slim, tall beautiful creature from the fashion industry is the abnormal one.

Fashion didn't exist during the time of cavemen. Fashion and fashion modeling are very recent phenomena. Even Louis XIII was never as sprightly as Kate Moss or some of the younger and shorter models that are the “hot” thing right now here in the New York Fashion world. Paris, London and the rest of Europe are all going for taller models, but New York is going short and petite. I don't mean short like under 5'4” but short like Kate Moss.

But I'm digressing... that's one more thing, btw, that models are famous for. Models love to digress. Don't be surprise if I'd just follow up this paragraph with a long description of my beautiful baby. Oh, yeah, she's female, a gorgeous female creature as Tom Ford like to call her. I love her so so so so much and so much more. She actually looks like her father but I pray to god she'll be as tall as I am. Her father is a gorgeous midget. All of five foot eight inches, he makes love like the craziest of Casanovas, but love doesn't last long for Casanovas. Oh he lasted for hours, making love to me over and over but the feeling in his heart doesn't last a fortnight as the Brits call it.

His name is Flannery, my daughter's father, and of all places I met him on a dating site. Don't laugh. Of course I avoid sites like Plentyoffish and Adultfinder. I'm not that kind of girl. This site where I met the little big man is called Fling. Flinging was all the rage last year and I just had to check out the site. I Googled it and there it was. Little did I know that by logging in, I'd be writing my own future in stone, and in that stone tablet I unconsciously wrote the sweetest two names in history: Anne Marie. Yes my baby girl. Who knew a dating site called Fling would get a New York model and a cement Tycoon from Asia together and make up a little bundle of love that her mother is sure to cherish forever.