I'm a model, if you know what I mean

by Jordan Barnes

Photo by Louis Boroff

Being five-foot-five at age 20 is almost a sure sign that you’ll never be a model. Especially if you’re a guy. Especially if you’re me. 

However, the intense fashion hub that is East Lansing isn’t quite as particular about their models’ heights – or waist sizes – as someplace like New York or Paris. MSU’s Student Apparel Design Association puts on a big fashion show every year and the models are every different size – as long as the designers can do it, they do. This year there was a girl who looked about six and a woman who was probably close to 40. 

My friend Emma is an apparel and textile design student and member of SADA. Last year, I think I made it clear to her, when I was giving her models tips on their walks, that I too could walk it out. So when it came time to for her to design and create her looks for this year’s show, she added her first menswear design to her list of creations.

Being a model is kind of great. You get measured. And although it can be rough to get your waist measured, your inseam can be a little more fun – not that I swing that way. The whole process takes about six months – six months of constructing, measuring, reconstructing, trying on clothes and practicing walking after you’re a few glasses of wine deep.  

Emma first bought the fabric to start constructing in November. Two months passed while she made patterns and then prototypes. I tried on her first prototype (which Emma’s classmates assumed were capris because of my 27-inch inseam). They were tight on my butt, a gift I got from my mother instead of my assless father.  

About a month after my last fitting, my outfit was done and most of Emma’s stress was relieved. The pants fit, thank god.

Being a model for SADA’s show is a three step process. The first day is a model workshop in early April. There, the models—around 100 total—lined up in order. A few veteran models threw on some music and walked down the middle of the room showing us how it was done. Then a few of the girls sat at the end of our pretend runway like Tyra Banks on “America’s Next Top Model.” They watched and critiqued as all the models walked our walks on the catwalk—yeah, on the catwalk. And we did our little turn on the catwalk. It was intense with a whole room of people staring us down. The Tyra girls would give us advice, like “move your hands” or “pick up your feet.” I, of course, needed no feedback at all. 

The next part of being a model for SADA is the judging day. This whole process actually only takes about 20 minutes. First we put on our outfits. Emma fixed us up, tugging and scrunching our outfits wherever necessary, making sure the fit was just right. They put on the music for the show—for Emma, a song called “Come on Closer” by Jem—and we walked runway-style through an almost empty room. We posed in front of a table of judges who are distinguished faculty in the design program.  

Once our walk was over, we lined up in order and the judges basically stared at us coldly and made comments on a sheet of paper until we were told to turn around. We turned. It took about four or five more minutes for them to write comments on their papers and then it was all over. We just said goodbye and walked out. 

Two weeks later, the big day was upon us—the day of the show. The girls got up early to make it to their hair appointments on time. Unfortunately, Emma looked up the wrong directions to the salon and they ended up being late. Once we were late for one thing, we were late for everything. Since I was the only male model and the only person without class that day, I spent the day being a model and a chauffer, dropping people off at class and picking them up later. I took the models to and from hair and makeup as well. My makeup and hair would have to wait until we were backstage.

All four girls, including Emma, got their makeup done. We finally arrived back stage at the fashion show and then the mayhem began. We squished into a small dressing room with two other designers and all their models, got dressed, fixed the hair and did the makeup. 

I got makeup put on me for the first time since I was in a play in middle school. And I secretly liked it. Emma asked how I knew exactly what to do with my eyes when she was putting eyeliner and mascara on me. “I’m gay, duh,” I replied. I couldn’t help but stare at my Pete Wentzified face in the dressing room’s Hollywood-style mirrors. We rushed downstairs where we had a photo shoot, all of us together and then individually. 

We ate some finger sandwiches quickly and headed out, fully suited for the runway, to receive instructions from the people running the show. Because hair and makeup had taken longer than expected, the run-through got canceled. We watched as a few of the models showed us how it was done and then went back to the dressing rooms to wait. 

We lined up around 6:00 for the 7:00 start time. Everywhere I looked, big hair, dark eyes and great original handmade garments surrounded me. Emma was the 19th designer and so we waited as we heard the songs change and change and change. Then finally we were on the stage. The group before us was done. It was our time to shine. It was my modeling debut—and I knew what to do.  

I was third of the three models so I struck my pose behind a giant curtain as the model in front of me walked down the runway. When she was on her way back, I made my way out in front of the crowd, bulbs flashing everywhere. The lights were so bright, I couldn’t see a single face. And so I just walked, channeling John Travolta in “Saturday Night Fever.” I stopped at the end of the runway, did my poses and turned around. It was time for Emma’s and my big secret to be revealed. We had planned this for six months and so I broke it down: my signature shoulder dance.

The crowd cheered. 

And I strutted my stuff backstage.