The fashion models mocked me, not knowing I was the one hiring them.
The Insulting Audition
The fashion models I was interviewing tried to publicly humiliate me. They didn’t know I was the one hiring them.
I walked onto my brand’s casting set pretending to be a hopeful model because I wanted to see what these girls were like to each other. Instantly, the models looked me up and down with contempt.
A girl named Anna immediately announced: “I must be confused because this wasn’t an open call for cheap catalog work.”
Before I could respond, her friend Christa laughed and said: “Did you seriously show up to cast for Eden Lauron without even getting your roots done?” “Because that grow out is giving single mom who gave up.”
I touched my deliberately unstyled hair and mumbled something about not having time, already shocked at how quickly they’d gone for the jugular. Anna grabbed my portfolio and flipped through the test shots I’d taken with bad lighting on purpose. She held each one up while providing commentary about how my poses looked awful and my angles made my face look like a potato.
She asked if I’d learned to model from America’s Next Top Model reruns. Christa snorted, saying: “This is the casting that makes careers.” “Every girl who’s booked Eden Lauron has gone straight to Chanel and Dior.” “And you thought you could just show up looking like that?”
I mentally crossed Anna off my list right then, knowing I’d never let someone this cruel represent my brand. They made me walk for them, and Anna filmed it while narrating like a nature documentary about a baby giraffe learning to use its legs.
Christa stepped on the backs of my heels so I’d stumble, then told everyone I couldn’t even walk in flats. Another model named Louise joined them, saying: “Eden Laura is launching in every major department store next month with a Times Square billboard.” “Whoever books this is set for life and you’re here wasting everyone’s time.”
Anna noticed my dress and announced I was wearing Target to an Eden Lauron casting, which was like wearing a garbage bag to the Met Gala. Christa added that Eden had turned down actual supermodels for not being right for her vision. I had to bite my cheek because I’d never turned down Cara and these girls were just making stuff up.
Then they got physical with Anna grabbing my waist and pinching hard while explaining I’d need to lose 15 pounds for runway. Christa lifted my arm and jiggled it, announcing my arm fat would destroy their aesthetic.
Louise pushed my shoulders back so hard I almost fell, saying: “This campaign is shooting with Mario Testino in Paris for every fashion magazine in existence, and you can’t even stand up straight.”
The second Christa touched me without permission, she was off my list, too. Christa was gesturing wildly when she accidentally spilled her green juice all over my dress. She gasped that she was so sorry, but honestly, she’d done me a favor because now I had an excuse to leave.
Anna offered clothes from her bag, pulling out a dress three sizes too small, and insisting I try squeezing into it. Louise started listing all the major models who’d worked with Eden before, asking if I really thought I belonged with Gigi and Bella and Kendall when I looked like I should be modeling for grocery store circulars.
Anna pulled up Eden’s Instagram with its two million followers showing the last campaign, saying: “Eden handpicks every single face and she turned down Cara Devingi last season, but you somehow think you’re going to make the cut.”
I stared at my own Instagram page on her phone, fighting the urge to tell them right then. They formed a circle and took turns destroying every part of my appearance, from my uneven eyebrows to my chipped nail polish to my legs being too short for editorial.
Anna said I had the kind of face that would tank Eden’s IPO. And Christa added that putting me in an Eden Lauron dress would be like letting a toddler paint over the Mona Lisa.
Then Louise delivered the line that made me bite my lip until it bled. She said: “You don’t understand that booking Eden Laurent means never having to work again.” “It’s the golden ticket to everything in fashion, and you’re here thinking you deserve it when you look like you buy your makeup at CVS.”
The casting director walked in, and the models immediately transformed into perfect professionals. But she looked past them directly at me, and her face went white as she stammered: “Miss Lauron, I didn’t know you were coming in person today.”
I stood up from where they’d cornered me, green juice still dripping from my ruined dress, and said loud enough for everyone to hear: “Actually, I’ve been here for an hour learning exactly what kind of people we don’t want representing our brand.”
Anna’s phone slipped from her frozen fingers and shattered on the floor while Christa’s mouth hung open mid-breath. Louisa’s face drained of all color as they stared at me, finally understanding that they’d just destroyed their only chance at the career they’d been dreaming about.
