The following is an excerpt from a piece seen on Lady Clever:
Over the last six years, I’ve done my fair share of complaining about modeling. The weird bones that have presented themselves on my feet because of shoes three sizes too small, the pinching and poking and general forfeiting of my person, the girls with putty brains and mouths filled with nothing: It’s all been annoying, and I’ve been pretty vocal about it. Comments like, “But you could do this forever!” have been met with a lot of eye rolling and “Dear God, no thank you.” I carried around a chip on my shoulder because I wanted to come off as something better than a model, a person not just complacent with being nice to look at–maybe. It’s hard to say how much of my outward disdain for the business is about genuine irritation or obligation to play the straight and narrow, work hard for a good life instead of having it being handed to you. Because over the last ten years, I’ve been handed plenty.