When he dropped out of college to become a model, this was not what Fabian had in mind. Elena, the recruiter, had made it sound so easy. “A handsome man like you? With a nose that straight? You’ll be booking gigs in no time. You look like you were born to model. I mean, just look at your jaw!” Fabian had always felt that his jaw was quite stunning, and since his chemistry courses weren’t going so well, he decided to sign her contract.
But the gigs didn’t roll in as Elena had promised. Or at least, not the types of gigs Fabian was imagining. He thought it’d be all photo shoots in glamorous studios, runway shows in New York, or even in Europe. So far, however, he hadn’t so much as seen a runway (“your walk isn’t ready,” Elena explained), and the only photo shoot he had done was for a Sexy Santa Christmas card series.
Thus, Fabian found himself here, in an air-conditioned tent thumping with shitty dance music, greeting people for H&M. “It’s a big deal for you!” insisted Elena. “If someone from the company sees you and likes you, they might want you to represent their brand in a more conventional way.” He hadn’t seen anyone from H&M Corporate, though. Just other poorly-paid, good-looking people like himself. All day long drunk, sweaty high school girls smiled and pressed themselves against him. He shrugged away from them, and, with what most people assumed was nothing more than a fashionable pout, he thanked them for stopping by.
Sorry about the lack of post on Friday. As you can tell, I was at Pitchfork Music Festival, in my ongoing quest to do every awesome summer thing in Chicago once more before I leave. I had a lot of fun, saw tons of great bands. I didn't even get sunburned. Good times.