There's a Lot More to Life Than Being Really, Really, Ridiculously Good Looking - Part 1
Outside the BMW dealership, 200-300 girls waited in line anxiously repeating to themselves why they wanted to become America's Next Top Model. Sun beating down on us, my friend and I were a part of this line. We were a part of this handful of girls who had already waited in a line the week before, and were picked, much to our surprise and wonder, to wait in this new line. The next round of cuts. One step closer to the fame and fortune that deep down, when stripped of our good intentions, we all truly desired. We were the chosen few, and our reward was to wait for another few hours outside a BMW dealership in the unforgiving July heat. Standing in line, waiting to be filmed. Waiting to tell a camera that we were pretty, but we also have brains, talents, attitude, kind hearts, whatever. Telling the faceless camera something, anything, to set us apart. Something to make us unique in a sea of similarity. In the sweltering humidity we couldn't help but ask ourselves why we wanted to be America's Next Top Model. Tottering above one another in our highest heels, in what we perceived to be our most fashionable attire, waiting to compete if only for a few seconds with the other hundred girls in line. Make-up smearing from the heat. Hair once perfectly arranged strand by strand, now matted, wet with sweat. Bangs sticking to our melting faces, we all wanted to be validated again. Tell me I'm good. Tell me I'm pretty. I kept thinking, this all started out as a joke.