May 22, 2021
Why is there a tube stop called "Seven Sisters?" Maybe there's a story behind it. Who would want to buy David Beckham's new fragrance? I know I wouldn't want to smell like grass, sweat, and madam Poshy Spice's deodorant. And how do you get to four castings all at 2 p.m.? Buy a time machine? Maybe off the Internet? Something that actually works...not like the one in Napoleon Dynamite.
It can get really draining, even emotionally, to be running around a big new city trying to get from one point to another all day. You really struggle to make it to a casting on time and look as good as possible. Once you get there the clients seem very vaguely interested in you.
By the end of the day I start to think like Zoolander. I should retire. Help people! Start the "Lydia School for Kids who can't Read Good!" No running around all day trying to impress seemingly random people!!!
I go to sleep. ZZZZ. I wake up. Yesterday was but a dream. It's a new day!! I have a test shoot!
The taxi is outside at 5:15 a.m. It is a mysterious vehicle with a big mafia-type driver in a black suit. The taxi has no taxi sign anywhere. I get nervous. I ask: "Eeeehhm...ummm...?" and the mysterious driver interrupts: "You Lydia?"
He takes me to Kentish Town. That is where the client lives. A freshly graduated designer from Central St. Martins! Anyone who graduated from that school should be placed in a museum for me to stare at in awe and drool. John Galliano went there. He's my fashion hero.
SO. 5:30 a.m. Sitting on a couch with a young lady who's been sewing all night, and is still doing that while we're chatting. Five minutes later in comes the makeup artist. Friendly, quiet lady. Then comes the hair stylist, the clothing stylist, and the assistants. They introduce themselves to everyone but me.
The hair stylist pulls out a chair, I sit down, and he starts backcombing with much vigour. I almost yelped a few times, but I sucked it in.
Everybody in this small living room is shuffling around me, doing their introductions as if I literally don't exist. I was so insulted that I felt a huge lump in my throat well up. While I'm in the hair chair, they make breakfast. Croissants, bread rolls, jam, honey, tea, juice, coffee... Nobody offers me anything at all. I've been having my hair pulled for at least an hour. My bum is numb.
I swallow the possibly noticeable effects of my hurt feelings. "Excuse me? Could I have breakfast too?"
The model wants food? AND drink??
I could go on and on venting about this first shoot of mine in London! First of all, they kept me working (for free) for almost 12 hours. In a park. On a rainy day.
Guess what I do the minute I wake up the next day?
I trudge along through the rest of the week going to millions of castings, continuing to wish for a time machine to make it to my castings on time.
Friday. I go agency. No jobs. No options. What did I do wrong? My ego is the size of a fake eyelash. I sleep. With all my clothes on. One a.m., my roommate wakes me up. Take clothes off. Sleep loads more.
Saturday, I recover from my week, and my roommates and I ask our chaperone/booker (who also lives with us), to hook us up with a club where we can get free drinks.
Guess where we end up! A fancy club beside the Ritz Hotel where a table for the night costs £1,000, and a bottle of champagne? between £800.00 and £2,500!!
I must say, I had an amazing time that night with amazing people, amazing music, did I say AMAZING enough yet?? My miserly, homesick week just disappeared into happiness.
I'm so grateful to be a model. Even if I'm dirt broke with negative experiences under my belt, I can travel the world, drink £2,000 champagne, wear beautiful clothes, and meet a vast array of talented, interesting people!
More to follow
Lydia Nyilasi is a Next Model, with Models 1 in London