The Model Diaries: The Batshit Crazy.

Welcome to The Model Diaries, a 3-Part feature exploring and exposing The Good, The Bad and The Bat Shit Crazy events and experiences of my life as a glamour model. Parental Warning: Expect nudity, alcohol, guns and lots of WTF moments.

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The Batshit Crazy. The moments in life when you’ve just had to fucking laugh or else you’d cry. The exact moment in time when your reality meets your subconscious and the What the bloody hell am I doing‘s start spinning through your mind. The times when you can’t quite fathom how and why your journey in life has got you to this exact place today. How you’re sat in a squalid room with your boobs out, surrounded by a group of strangers staring at you deciding if the position of your left tit fits their creative vision whilst you pull out a pair of crusty boxer shorts from under the pillow of the young teen boys’ bed you’re so desperately trying to look sexy draped upon (Yes FRONT mag, that really did happen. You have to admire their commitment to their aesthetic). But whilst you sit in another odd location, inhaling the weird fuckery that unfolds around you, you realise you’re actually actually quite….. enjoying it? *Exasperated sigh* Does that make me crazy? Probably.

You never know what (or when) your next job is going to be, so when I got a call to say I’d been booked for my first FHM gig I was pretty ecstatic to say the least. “I’ll do it” Whatever ‘it’ is. The call sheet was sent through, with all the details of the shoot included. The theme? 50 Shades Of Grey. I dragged my excited (and innocent) Welsh arse down to the Big City, not knowing quite what to expect. To paint the scene of how incredibly awkward I felt (and probably made everyone else feel), this was still quite early days in my career and I hadn’t quite broken out of that uncomfortable, socially awkward, self-doubt teen phase yet (I now appreciate how fucking cool being confident in your own skin feels). The props were all lined up on the shabby wooden floor of the typical London looking townhouse- a wooden spanking thing here, a leather crop there, Do people actually use these? I was shooting alongside another model who was well-established and oozed confidence. Effortlessly sexy and undeniably gorgeous, I couldn’t help but feel consumed with imposter syndrome as I watched her do her thing from the make-up chair. In the early years I had a funny relationship with the other models. I lived and breathed the idea of being a ‘model’ yet I was desperately awkward and sheepish around those who were living out my fantasy. I would freeze-up as I frantically rattled my brain in the dressing-area for something, anything to say to them, whilst inside, my pores were combusting with adulation for these women. It was almost as if I was too scared to draw attention to myself incase someone would call me out for because I wasn’t supposed to be there. I never really felt like I fit the mould, I never really felt like I belonged there. I still feel like this to this day, but instead of allowing it to continue to ‘dull my sparkle’ as many a’ Pinterest post has pointed it, I now see my differences as my ‘magic’ (thank you to Fearne Cotton’s podcast for that uplifting message). As the shoot got underway and the prop banana’s were pulled out of the bag, I tried mightily to embody the sexed-up character which was expected of me. Being sexy on cue is a talent I have had to learn through a lot of practice. The peak of the shoot came when I had to fake spank the other model who was draped over my knee, all whilst holding a ‘dominant’ look on my face. I shouldv’e gone to acting school hun. Once the day was wrapped, I rode the tube to Paddington station, full face of slap’ still intact, and gazed thoughtfully at all the frantic Londoner’s going about their commute around me whilst thinking ‘ If only you knew what I’d been up to today.‘ Once back at my student digs in Cardiff I filed the spanking experience under the ‘just another day in this weird and wonderful office of boobs and beautiful women’ folder which was filling out rather nicely and packed my bag for Uni the next day, as if this was now just totally normal behaviour in this new found World of mine. – Ok, that last bit might be a slight exaggeration, I was never that prepared for a lecture, but the contrast between the two lives I was flittering between was nothing short of bat-shit crazy in itself. From pasta’ n’ sauce packets and £1 jäger bomb parties one day, to eating catered meals and downing free champagne on the table next to Danny Dyer and Keith Lemon at Loaded mags’ Christmas party the next. Each day was a new experience and the crazy and unexpected times were what kept it exciting.

Glamour modelling is not a job you get into if you’re not ready and willing to make a tit of yourself (excuse the pun). Gone are your inhibitions- as well as your clothes, as you find yourself stripping off in the storage cupboard for a casting at a magazines headquarters- with the filing cabinet and office mop making sure they get a starring role in your Polaroid’s. The funny thing about the glamour modelling industry is that when it’s stripped (THE PUNS JUST KEEP ON COMING) down to it’s core, it’s ironically rather, well… unsexy. I imagine much like the way actors compare the unfathomable un-sexiness of shooting a sex-scene to a choreographed dance; Having to take your bra off at a pain-stakingly slow pace whilst having to exhume an expression so enthusiastic that it’s like you have never seen your nipples before is enough to make the horniest of individuals want to throw on their oversized hoody and get the next train home before someone can shout “PUT THIS COLD COKE CAN ON YOUR NIPPLES, THEY’RE A LITTLE BIT INVERTED”. Sorry to burst your bubble, boys.

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I hope you enjoyed this mini-series “The Model Diaries”, you can read the first and second instalments by following the links, and look out for more features on my blog jabberwithjess.com coming soon!