People often assume modeling is nonstop champagne, jet-setting, and designer gowns. And yes, those moments exist. But the truth? Most of the time, it’s standing in six-inch heels on a cold concrete floor while someone adjusts a light, your stomach grumbling because you haven’t eaten since dawn, and your back screaming from holding a pose that looks effortless but is anything but.
What they don’t see are the early call times, the frantic changes in public restrooms, or the way your skin feels after 10 straight hours of heavy makeup under hot lights. They don’t see the rejection—quiet, constant, impersonal. Or how you learn to detach from it all just to survive with your sense of self intact.
But then… there are those moments. Moments when you’re wearing a gown that drips diamonds and you’re walking down a marble staircase, the click of your heels echoing like a soundtrack to your own movie. Moments when you’re on set in the Maldives, and someone hands you a mimosa just because you looked like you needed one. Moments when a photo comes out, and you don’t even recognize yourself, but in the best way.
I remember one show in Milan. I had just finished a 12-hour day with four changes and two castings left to go. My feet were raw, and my hair was a tangled disaster. But then the stylist handed me a vintage Valentino coat, and I stepped out onto a cobbled runway under moonlight. Cameras flashed. Someone gasped. In that instant, I wasn’t tired—I was immortal.
Those are the moments you live for. Not because they validate you, but because they awaken something in you: a reminder that you can be art. That your body, your face, your gaze—they tell a story. And if you’re lucky, that story will move someone.
But here’s the real truth: the glamor doesn’t come from the gown or the city or even the attention. It comes from what happens inside you when you step into the light and own the moment. When you take everything you’ve endured—every sleepless night, every audition where you didn’t book the job, every time someone told you no—and you still show up, camera-ready.
I’ve modeled for money, for exposure, and sometimes just for the sake of saying yes to life. And even in the grimiest conditions, I’ve found something beautiful to hold onto. Because when it clicks—when the light is just right and your body moves in sync with the music and the camera—it is glamorous. Transcendent, even.
So no, modeling isn’t always glamorous. It’s work. Hard, soul-stretching work. But when it is glamorous? It’s magic. And I’ve learned to find little pieces of that magic, even in the mess.
Because the secret is: you don’t wait for the glamor. You bring it with you.