Dunces With Wolves

Nothing triggers heartbreak and condolences easily than a gorgeous dunce.

Part of my work would have it that I have to deal with a lot of them on a regular basis. It’s fascinating. It’s quite moving. The fundamental dynamics of ambition, ravenousness, determination and steady resolve stand side by side with conceit, narcissism, egotistical tantrums and divaesque bearing among these folks. They all feed the cannibalistic frenzy grinding the incestuous business of selling a product, an emotion, an aspiration, a dream or simply the sexuality of a brand. They are aware and unmindful of this harsh reality and bless their overeager selves who consent for exploitation in the almighty name of fame, fortune and public lust.

My semi-warped friend once whined about gorgeous folks populating the tony nightspots and the probability of them treading the lowly loams of the earth seems nil. If it makes you feel any better, Ian, I have news for you: Having worked with these attractive aberrations it is unbelievably ironic to know that they are the most insecure folks around. Despite their anomalously gorgeous genes their anxiety meter is so high. And they have very low threshold for rejection. Turn them down for a plum project and their depression hits far lower than the Bermuda Triangle. Measly citizens should be comforted that, to a degree, these demigods/demigoddesses come with a stamp of relief: save for a handful, majority of them are not the sharpest tool in the shed. It’s enough to restore a regular Joe’s sense of self-worth.

Oftentimes I feel awful. I maybe detached when I toss a model’s set card off the shortlist bin but inside I feel terrible having to play god and decline anyone an opportunity. A huge part of me wants to help some of the lesser mortals but professionalism dictates I should stick to the ideals set by a creative brief. Having a conscience is a setback in this case.

This gets worse during casting calls. People will stand in the rain for two hours to get a stab at an assignment, and the sheer amount of determination would melt your glacial resolve. Then there’s an annoying cabal of opportunistic agents who would ply talents like slabs of meat. Lovely dunces dangled among a pack of exploitative wolves. Not a pretty business.

I am writing about this because in the past week my hypercalories got depleted from a casting frenzy that spanned a couple of days. My friend Nicodemus and his equally-gorgeous platoon of stylemeisters did the preliminary screenings. Hordes of beautiful potentials and countless delusionals streamed to the office for the go-see.

I actively participated in the first few batches of screenings but after a while everyone started to look the same. See, this is my problem: I easily knock the boredom ceiling. And when I’m bored I grab a magazine, a tabloid, a copious volume of say Marcel Proust’s Remembrance Of Things Past or Leo Tolstoy’s War And Peace, or anything to read and all the commotion will be shut out like unwanted blurs of voices and shadows.

“I’m sorry, I’m late. My photo shoot earlier got delayed.” came a crisp voice which registered like alchemy of semi-husky purr and the mineralized register of Russel Watson belting Neesun Dorma. I can’t be plied off an article in a magazine at hand.

“Are you of mixed race?” Nicodemus monotonously inquired.

“Half Brazilian, half Japanese.” came the nippy reply.

My head reflexively jerked up from being latched on the magazine. I swiveled my chair towards the breathy voice and got confronted by one of the most appealing manboys my cynical, jaded eyes have laid on. Taking cue from my sudden interest Nicodemus casually slid his folio towards the end of the conference desk where I am staring like a stunned tarsier. He’s not automatically androgynous but is surely possessed of a cherubic gaze of a polished European/Latin American and a glint of mischief of a Japanese rogue. He has just the right amount of edge in his features to keep him from looking like a generic attractive foreigner. He’s a bombshell yet exudes approachability. Though he comes off not very threatening to the egos of plain humans he’s several ladders above the caste of meager mortals.

Nicodemus and the ladies in the team continued the interview while I scanned his book for flaws to arrest my escalating inferiority. This guy can easily make anyone with shaky self-esteem feel like a rag. All his angles are photogenic and he has that noble air of a sophisticated Prada boy: slick, exquisite, expensive-looking. I slid back the book towards the beautiful assistants.

Empathy crept up my spine for the thirty more hopefuls who will no doubt get trumped by this very striking, racially blended demigod.

The wolves howled an unanimous cry of approval.

~ ~ ~

Being a dense technoretard I was wandering about blissfully unaware that my yahoo link in the sidebar isn’t working because of a fucked up code that escapes me. Much thanks to the wilted prune for her technological wizardry. Now people can leave me offline death threats, voodoo spells and proposals of the indecent kind.