The zenith of being a ramp model, according to Tyra Banks, is when you can walk down the runway with "wind in your hair". She was referring to a built-in wind machine that you create while sashaying. Watch any Victoria Secret fashion show with Ms. Tyra on it and you'd understand what she's saying.
Only a few select models can successfully create the effect. These are models who can bring magic on the runway with their long tresses looking like wings flapping gently. I know Carmen Kass can do that wind-in-the-hair thing perfectly; so can Maria Carla Boscono.
As a frustrated runway model (choz!) I have been working on that wind-in-the-hair effect for some time now. Every chance I get I try to come up with a particular walk that would somehow toss my hair like crazy. The only thing that has come out of those efforts though are several instances of me almost falling flat on my face right on the pavement. It's hard. But I will not stop trying because clearly I was born to be a ramp model.
When I was a young gay bastard my first foray into walking down the ramp was in the aisle of the cathedral in bumfuck Surigao. For some reason, relatives and friends of my parents often tap me to be the ring-bearer in their bloody weddings. Of course I was always ready to walk any given aisle. Who can resist the idea of walking down a carpet decked with flowers left and right? Who can resist the idea being drowned in camera flashes from all directions? Isn't that the best practice for the life of a runway model?
I swearI had a signature walk. It's all in the stride. They should be long but slow. My mantra was GLIDE. And of course there's the requisite half smile.
But the harsh part of being a fucking ring-bearer is wearing the stiff barong and carrying the boring pillow. I always envied the flower girls who wore long skirts with ribbons galore. I yearned for those baskets of overflowing flowers that they carried! I even envied the fact that those little cunts are wearing make-up.
When I reached about seven years old, my ring-bearer days were over as apparently I was not cute anymore. But at least during my "retirement", I was Surigao's top ring-bearer ha.
3 comments:
Funny story. I love the stories about the youthful exploits of queerlings.
I was a ring-bearer twice, although I don't remember the actual acts. I'm told that the first time I did it, I marched up to the spot marked by a taped X, and then sat down on it.
hey, i never thought that I would meet the surigao's top ring-bearer.hahaha...i enjoyed reading this blog..i suddenly missed your "rampa" moments here in the office..:-)
kyle: talk about taking things literaly in your ring-bearer days.
ela: god, i miss those rampa days! i do it for rosie coz she's my only fan. diri walay rampa teh.
Post a Comment