My biggest problem in life is that I’m a writer so I think about what I put on paper, but I don’t seem to do the same when I speak. ‘I’d soooo pose for your life drawing class!’ was one of those passing comments I made when I was feeling particularly sassy, young and free.
But when my friend texted me saying, ‘Remember how you mentioned wanting to pose, can you do this Thursday because my model just dropped out?’, I suddenly realised I’d have to deliver on said comment. So I said yes because I’m poor and trying to get some serious side hustle on and also because I figured it’d make pretty good dinner party fodder one day.
I made sure to clear my diary the night before the class. I exfoliated, moisturised, sorted out my bikini line and shaved my legs and armpits. In hindsight, I should have eschewed my DIY Brazilian for a bush: way more artful, waaaay less naked.
Upon arrival, I set up my screen and get out of my clothes. ‘Fuck, it’s cold,’ was my first thought. I then get into my own robe and saunter around the room, which was getting progressively busier. ‘A roomful of yummy mummies’ is what I was promised and there’s nothing threatening about them. But, what I’m met with are twentysomething hipster girls (terrifying), a handful of old men (one of which chooses to sit closest to where I’ll be posing) and some middle-aged women whom I just assume are judging me.
As I’m introduced, I peek my head from the dressing screen, careful to keep my birthday suit behind it and say, ‘Hi everyone!’ which I follow with ‘I’m not quite sure why I’m hiding because you’re going to see all of me in a second, anyway!’ Everyone laughs, but I’m still shitting it inside.
I also didn’t practice any poses beforehand because apparently, I’m an idiot. The version of myself that I aspire to be would have been all over that shit, figuring out poses that were modest and more importantly, comfortable. As the teacher shouts out, ‘OK, first pose, two minutes!’ I put both hands on my hips. This says, ‘I’m strong’, ‘I’m confident!’
Then I remember I have the stupidest tan lines from my last holiday, so I’m feeling more self-conscious and silly. Surely, people don’t shade around pale bottoms and bandeau boobs?
Next one, a five-minute pose, I turn my back towards everyone and look back at them all (very Rihanna on a red carpet.) These poses go by fast and there’s no time to think. The next one is 15 minutes and this time I get a stool so I cross one leg over and put an arm across my boob. I’ve got no bits on show. I’ve totally beaten the system but oh god, now my boobs and my thighs start to sweat from me hiding them away so cleverly.
I go for a neutral facial expression the whole time but staring at the same spot on the wall keeps making my eyes zone out. Luckily, I’m shortsighted so I can’t see much. (This helps, a lot.) Next is the 30-minute pose. I’m getting more into it now so I hunch my back into a position I can only describe as ‘high fashion’ because it was the least natural and comfortable pose ever, but all those years of America’s Next Top Model had rubbed off on me.
As the clock starts, I realise I’ve never experienced shoulder blade ache before.
And then comes the break. Everyone steps out of the room to claim their tea and biscuits and I’m throwing my robe on as quickly as possible to have time to mosey around people’s drawings before they return. (And yes, some people have shaded around my embarrassing tan lines.)
I immediately regret the slouched-over pose because my stomach does not look good – or maybe rolls are just easier to draw, I tell myself. Some of the sketches are genuinely beautiful though, even if it’s hard to recognise my own body through other people’s eyes.
I sneak in some snaps with my iPhone before going off to have a biscuit myself. By this point, I need the sugar. The next and final pose is the long one: 40 minutes. The teacher lays down the yoga mat and my towel and tells me to lie down in whatever position is most comfortable. I’m naked; nothing is comfortable. I put my hair up into a high pony and lean back on my arms with my legs outstretched. A symmetrical pose means your body hurts equally on both sides, so it’s a safer bet.
I stare at the wall and start having a mini-existential crisis in my head but after I power through it, I start feeling happy. I forget I’m naked, I forget all the strangers in the room and it’s refreshing to have 40 minutes to do nothing but think. My head feels 100% clear even if my hands are on fire from holding up my upper body.
And although there are moments when ‘Five minutes left!’ feels like forever, once you’re told you’re done, you have this serious sense of achievement. I spring up, put my dress back on in record speed and go around to have a look at the last few sketches before everyone packs up. ‘Good boobs,’ I think to myself, feeling smug for having survived the experience.
I take my envelope, which says my name, the word ‘model’ and the date. I get the bus home feeling empowered, tough-as-shit and super sleepy and open the envelope to find £25 inside. I laugh because that was pretty petty side hustle, but was it worth it? Absolutely.
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Follow Delphine on Twitter @DelphineChui
This article originally appeared on The Debrief.