Me? A model?

Apparently being tall with blond hair is a license to be a model in Turkey. Naturally, in the midst of being an aspiring Turkish soap opera star, one should make the most of such an opportunity. However, without knowing the first two things about being a model, i was slightly resisting this what seemed to be boring, superficial industry.

My first ever shooting two months ago was with a photographer who was kind enough to ease me into the pose process, he snapped away an unnatural set of photos of me trying to be sexy only resulting in stiff robotic images that looked more like 'rent a date' profile pictures. Finding this comic rather than embarrassing I recovered my ego with humility and took pride in my new vocab list of Turkish fashion verbs.
Aware that some serious professional observation was necessary for me to even try to be a model, Şenan, the photographer and now friend invited me to stay to watch a shoot for hideously ugly Russian exercise outfits. Eager to learn the pose practice i agreed and joined him for lunch consisting of carb free salads (his choice: was he trying to tell me something?).

Soon after, we rise to greet the in coming cattle of models dressed in hot little dresses with bright eyes ready for the selection process. Brazilian beastly beauties and Russian rookies clamber into the exercise outfits for the client's to get a good look at the fill out of these fresh sirloin's. Lined up next to each other like a 1960's beauty contest with expressions ranging from over observed embarrassment, severe self consciousness and detailed determination the girls dropped off one by one until there was one lucky winner, a determined Russian Rookie. Being able to understand the Turkish discussed around them, i started to question my intention to be a part of this rather brutal industry. It was only after remembering the few just as brutal acting auditions i have previously endured, i decided that being turned down based on your looks was much easier than being being turned down based on your talent...

So the chosen Russian Rookie and i had a girly chat about going out in Istanbul while i took the opportunity to quiz her on her extensive industry experience. I then looked on as she lowered her long locks and braced herself for work hour. Changing her poses for every snap she pouted, smirked and thoughtfully gazed off into the distance providing a full range of sexy sporty looks fresh and ready for the Moscow market. Her work manner was strong and controlled, powerful and poised, quite different to her off camera sweet and sensitive persona. Impressed and slightly more intrigued i lingered for a while and took in what i could.

After spending the whole day talking in Turkish about bits and bobs, impressing myself with the ease at which i was expressing, i was invited to another shoot on the roof top of a factory in ghetto Istanbul. Yeah, sounds totally credible right? So way out west in Istanbul, i found myself plonked down with make up and hair folk fussing, male models pruning and the photographer telling me i need 'erotic' photos for my folio....hmmmmm. Quick to explain that i am an actor and don't wish to have any sort of erotic photo protruding out of any sort of folio, he nodded in slight disappointment and directed me to the wardrobe.

Feeling less intimidated without sweet, beautiful composed Russian Rookies around i warmed up my most serious sexy face. 'You are a vamp' the photographer proclaimed in Turkish, 'Yes, Yes! Hold that', he continued to elude to my biker chick persona. Hours of shooting and a kebab later we moved to the roof where 40 degree heat pierced through our peanut butter pasted makeup that made way for sweat to surface.

A cat on a 'hot tin roof' was what i was. With my punk hair and black mini, the sun had warmed me to a tee. Minx was the theme of the afternoon, with the Istanbul skyline set against an empty blue sky, my legs in line with the mosques minarets i felt a million bucks.

Bring on the mini bottles of Moet and pass me a straw!