I read an essay today written by model Emily Ratajkowski about her personal battles with the modeling industry and how it can take away pieces of who you are as a human because people think they own parts of you. Those parts being pictures of you, your image, or your body. You agree to a photoshoot; the photographer or client now owns you in a way.
This is something I struggled with when I was an agent. I tried my hardest to always read the fine print in contracts, to know exactly who my girls (or boys) were going to be shooting with and what the nature of the shoots entailed. I didn’t want any surprises, ever. I wanted to protect the models first and foremost. The clients would always be there, but making sure my talent felt safe and secure was one of the most important parts of my job.
I never put much thought into making sure that I felt safe and secure in the same industry. I was the agent. I was the middleman. I was not the talent, nor the person whose picture was being taken. I just had to do my job well so that my models and our company made money. My body or personal life choices were never a factor in how well I did my job. So why did it become the breaking point for me choosing to leave?
I have been lucky enough to not struggle too much with my body. I obviously have my little issues here and there but nothing too detrimental or serious in any way. I never really thought about my body in a negative way growing up. I developed late, dealt with some related insecurities that I’ll go into one day, but overall, I think I had a healthy relationship with my body. When I got hired as an agent I was thrilled because I could work in the entertainment industry without ever having to be in front of the camera. That was always something I was afraid of. Not just because of how I thought I’d look, but in general it’s just too much attention on me at one time and that’s not something I enjoy. I liked being the person behind the scenes, the person who helped other people get those roles and the iconic shots that I later could go into a store and see or open a magazine and know the faces I saw on the page. I was extremely content with my role in the modeling world.
There was one night however, after a networking event, that I went to a late-night dinner with my boss and 2 other agents in the industry. We went to an Italian restaurant in Los Angeles and to be honest, I was so excited because I was starving. Eating out is never the easiest thing for me because I have a lot of food restrictions. I have issues with digestion and I’m lactose intolerant, so all the good foods are usually not an option for me. Finding dishes that work with my body and don’t leave me feeling immediately sick and awful is something I have to work at. One mistake and it’s a rough night for me. That night I looked at the menu and my heart sank. There were not a ton of options that worked for me. Every dish seemed to be covered in cheese or a cream sauce, (I mean, it was Italian food so it made sense), every salad was even coated in shredded cheese or had red meat incorporated in some way. I know I could have asked for my dish to be modified, but after working in a kitchen for years, that’s something I try my hardest not to do. If I have no other options, then yes, I will ask for something to be changed, but if I can find one good thing on a menu- I’ll stick to that. And I did. I found classic spaghetti and meat sauce. I was so excited. I ordered my food last out of the group and realized I wasn’t even paying attention to what everyone else got. When our meals came out, I glanced around to see that everyone had ordered a salad. It was 9pm on a Friday night and none of us had eaten for hours, and every person but me had gotten a salad. I cared for about 2 seconds before diving into my absolutely delicious meal.
The next day I had a call with my boss to talk about some projects we were working on, we go through the call as normal and before hanging up he asked me if I had a good time the night before. I said it was great and thanked him for inviting me to go to the event with everyone. We chatted about the event a bit more before he cut me off laughing, “Oh I forgot I had to tell you something!” I was curious what it could be. “Next time we go to an event or anything with people in the industry…order the salad. It was fucking hilarious watching you order and finish an entire plate of spaghetti. None of us could believe it and it was all we talked about this morning. Just wanted to give you a heads up for next time, no carbs!” and that was it. The call ended and I was left to deal with those words.
“Order the salad next time.” I think that was the first time in my life someone (other than my parents) had dictated what I was supposed to eat. Even to this day it strikes anger in me. No, I didn’t sit at the table and explain to everyone all my dietary restrictions. I didn’t go over the fact that dairy and red meat leave me keeled over in the fetal position on bathroom floors in tears, I didn’t explain that I hadn’t eaten much that day and if I only got a salad, I’d feel too exhausted for my hour-long drive home. I shouldn’t have to tell anyone these details because all I did was order the food I wanted off a menu. I felt a strange sense of violation that I had never felt before. I told a few people about it, some thought it was odd, others just told me it must have been a joke. I knew it wasn’t, but I let it go.
Over the years that I worked at the agency, the comments didn’t stop. If we were to line up the 3 girls who worked in the office every day…I would have been the biggest. I mean, I have curves. I have boobs, a butt and I don’t have a flat stomach. I’m also short so that just accentuates my curviness. The other girls I worked with were tall and super thin. It never bothered me because like I said, I was fairly comfortable with my body and had never been told I was fat before. No, I was never called “fat” to my face, but when a model brought in donuts or any treat as a gift for us agents, and they are told to place them in front of me because I’ll be the one to dive into them first, it gets the point across. I would always take a few bites and then take the box home because it was less work than explaining that I don’t actually like donuts. My brothers and dad always appreciated those days. I did not. I learned how to eat properly in the industry after a few embarrassing incidents and my go-to orders became, you guessed it, salads. I figured I could eat the salads when I was at work, then go home and eat whatever I wanted, so it was almost like a forced diet.
I will say this wasn’t an everyday thing. It was mostly when my boss was in the office or we were out at an industry event. When it was just my coworker Ginny and I, we ate whatever we wanted and it was always so much fun and I felt free. I hated feeling scared of certain foods; of carbs, of sweets, or just anything deemed unhealthy in general. I realized that when this was going on, (along with all the issues with Louise from my previous post) I was gaining weight. My mental state was suffering and the comments about wearing leggings all the time, wondering if I’d fit into a wedding dress one day, (that was a fun one) or the bread basket at any restaurant we went to being pushed in my direction as soon as we sat down were all wearing on me.
My relationship with food has gotten better in the last few months. The relationship with my body has been a roller coaster. I’m working on myself every day and I make sure to try and be as healthy as I possibly can. Some days I don’t eat carbs and thats ok, other days, I eat a giant plate of noodles and thats also ok. Making sure I am not punishing myself for doing what makes me happy and feel good is the most important thing I’ve learned so far.
