I’M A MODEL

Everybody knows you come to New York to be “discovered,” yet it was the last thing I expected to happen when this big black guy came came striding out of a boutique toward where I was causing a racket skateboarding. I expected the boot but I ended up in sweaters. “They’re very punkish,” he assured me after asking to take my picture in them. I agreed to pose for $5 so I could get a burrito only to puke it up afterwards. Michael introduced himself as such and  lead me into the boutique where he has stuff on consignment. There he cycled me in and out of the fitting room as I tried on implausible sweaters.

Beyond the few work friends who caught me on the street getting model-y and the impossible incrimination that was hurled into the world-wide-web-o-sphere, I didn’t think much about this stuff until Michael caught me skateboarding again. He was having a show and would I like to skateboard in it? Uugh. Michael was all, uh-uh. Whatever, about my reluctance. Obviously these shows are very big deals and I’m a fool to turn him down. I say yes, and, two weeks later, I’m cutting a session at 12&a ridiculously short and pushing to Chelsea.

There I encounter:

Michael and and a famous actress; (She didn’t mention it but she played some character called Elaine Levinson in the Royal Tenenbaums when she must have been ten–look, resumes don’t lie.)

Another totally over-it model;

And an annoying insistance my feet be painted gold. My feet smelled like chickenshit so I washed them in the sink for everyone’s benefit.

As models are wont to do, I sat around in my underwear in a room full of people while somebody tried to figure out why Michael forgot to make pants with ankles wider than cucumbers. But soon, my negative, shitty attitude got flipped upside down when this squat, beaming ray of fashion! came waltzing in…

Koos! Motherfucking Koos, the creator of the motherfucking Cosby sweater was there! Michael was all, well, what the hell did you expect–he’s my mentor! In addition to three hurriedly downed cups of white wine, this revelation changed everything. Before I knew it  an oversized tote bag was thrust into my hand and I was shoved out before the show.

I figured the tic-taccing would be the easiest way to go about things, but right out the gate a wheel caught on some confetti and I went careening. What’s a model to do but pick himself up and carry on?

During the second go-around I admit I felt pretty naked without my skateboard. After the show, Becky and I hurried back to Brooklyn where I barged about Bushwick on my skateboard, got hit by a car, remprimanded the haulted driver for breaking three laws, snuck tall-cans into the Wavves show at the Market Hotel, moshed, and attempted to ollie off the stage until the booker came up and told me to quit it. It was  a fun night.

Thanks, Becky, for this here clip:

FIRST PHOTO BY MICHAEL; ALL OTHERS BY BECKY MCNEEL