I'm a Model, You Know What I Mean

What days I have. It seems every one of them is filled with something new, something to appreciate, something to give me pause before I shuffle off this mortal coil. Yesterday I woke at five in the morning, and quarter to six my father drove me to the hair salon on School Street, where I would come to spend the next few hours in a haze of hairspray. I introduced myself to the other models (they had all been too shy to do this before I came and had sat in silence, staring down at their hands) and very soon after this I was put into a chair, and a woman came along and coloured my hair a bright copper, whilst I read The Wednesday Wars and a bit of Nicholas Nickleby. After the colour had set and she had washed out the remains, Frederik the suspendered hairstylist dried my hair and brushed it out and crimped the roots of my hair for volume, before he pulled it all back with pins, curled my hair and teased it into oblivion, resulting in a wonderfully thick mass of hair ready for the catwalk. I could not get near an open flame. Not only did I look like a matchstick, but I was just as flammable.

 The choice of makeup was odd. I realize it served a specific purpose (to highlight the exotic nature of the green feathered monstrosity I would have to wear in my hair) but still, i found the savage, unibrowed look to be so 'where the wild things are.' After all the primming and primping, we--models, hair people alike--walked to Folkets Hus, where we would have to stand in front of a small group of hairstylists gathered from the city's salons, whilst Frederik and his friend demonstrated styles, tips, and elaborate headpieces on us.

In the end, I got a free hair colour and an expensive shampoo and conditioner set. I went to shake Frederik's hand in the end, as one should after a business transaction--I thanked him and wished him well, and he said, "I suppose I'll see you next time we're here?"
Apparently, it hadn't mattered that I wore a blue blouse instead of the required black.
"Sure," I shrugged. "Why not?"