Olinala's next top model II

I am waking up this morning with stiff curls still in my hair from the all the hairspray, black outlined eyes from the eyeliner that I couldn’t rub off, and a pile of bracelets, earrings and fake nails on the kitchen bar; the remains of my stunning beauty from my day as a model.

My modeling career started yesterday at 2 in the afternoon and ended at midnight. It included lots of aerosol hairspray, several hours without electricity, a ladder and thoughts of, “Is this really my life?”

Liz told me to be at the beauty school, a block from my apartment, by 2 so that she would have enough time for everything. With the sun ablaze outside, I entered into a hive of energy and activity with models in various stages of make up and hairstyles. There were easily 30 women and girls buzzing around the small room. The director, Norma, sat behind a desk finalizing the evening’s program and calling out how much time the stylists had to finish their work. The teacher, Lizbeth, monitored the ten or so work stations offering advice and answering questions. The stylists arranged hair and applied makeup in a manner that would never look natural. The models either sat patiently during their transformation or hovered around the others, eating the taquitos provided for everyone, comparing styles and offering commentary.

I sat in a chair near the door that gave me a good vantage point to survey all of the activity as I waited my turn. As I sweated profusely in the heat and inhaled more aerosol then is healthy in a lifetime, I murmured appreciatively at the intricate pedicures and manicures. I assured the girl next to me that indeed adding a puff of fake hair on top of her head and long extensions in the back was a great idea. I described my outfit and listened to the descriptions of the others.

As I was waiting for almost two hours, several of the girls began to take interest in me as to who am I and what I am doing in Olinalá. I fielded all sorts of questions and shocked them with the fact that yes, I am 30 (so nice of them to think that I’m younger!); no, I don’t have any children; and no, I don’t have a boyfriend or husband here or in the States. Of the three, it’s hard to say what they found most surprising.

When Liz finished the makeup and hair of her first model, I left the sweaty chair for my new station in the back corner of the room feeling nothing like a model. The first thing she asked was, “Can I cut a few bangs?” I asked a few questions, and then remembered that this was her graduation and her final project. Snip. Snip. Out came the rollers for curls, more hairspray, a few well placed braids so that extensions could be added. That’s right, in a mix of Goldilocks and Rapunzel, I had long, curly hair attached in a shade of blonde not even close to mine.

As we waited for my curls to set, all of the makeup supplies appeared. While I can count on one hand the number of times that I’ve worn makeup in my life, I thought I handled the painting pretty well, except for the eyes. The eyeliner didn’t cause too many tears nor the eyelash curler. It was the long fake eyelashes that did me in as the application glue burned. The price of beauty I suppose.

By 6, the stylists were furiously applying the finishing touches as they had to prepare themselves to go to mass at 7 before the fashion show. About now is also when the electricity went, though only the lightening and threat of rain give any clue as to a reason for se fue la luz. With the hair and makeup finished and the stylists gone, all of the models were left in the dark to chatter nervously about the show and comment on the different styles. I should add that the last part of my preparation was that Liz glued glittering blue nails on my short fingernails. I can handle long nails, but not inch long additions. I was left useless, even to the simplest task of going to the bathroom, which took me 15 minutes because I couldn’t figure out how to unbutton my shorts without ripping off a nail.

Around 8, we the models, with dresses and accessories in tow, walked a block to the town auditorium, which is really a large covered cement area beside the zócalo, the town square. Sharing six hours together of primping and preening created a bond between all of us. So the nervous chatter and laugher heightened as we saw the assembled catwalk and waited for the stylists still at mass. And all this was in the dark as the electricity was still out.

Only when people began to gather and the stylists arrived did the electricity return, as if it knew that the show would provide enough drama. Time to put on my costume, which is really the best way to describe it. Liz named the design I modeled Diosa de la anochecer, goddess of the dusk. As my nails left me useless, Liz had to undress and dress me, put on my shoes and put on my huge earrings and bracelets. Liz’s other model, who was wearing a design that represents Olinalá, thought it would be a good idea to spray our arms and legs (and my stomach as I am wearing next to nothing) with some more aerosol hairspray – so we will shine on the catwalk. She told me not to tell the other models.

As all of the models and the designs are coming together, I finally witness the reality of all of the descriptions that I was given throughout the day of the different dresses. We were all admiring each other, and I complemented each one on the creativity of the outfits. I thought the design using recycled paper was especially progressive. My outfit and hair received plenty of commentary, including the huge headgear, as if I wasn’t tall enough already.

With the dance music blaring and most of the town in the seats surrounding the raised runway, the show began. As we lined up, I realized that I was to be the last model of the first round. Earlier, I wrote that the day included a ladder, and here is why. The runway was a basic T shape, but raised off the ground at least 5 feet. What better way to get the platform then use a ladder?! It’s tough, but try to picture this: me, in heels, long useless fingernails, sequined bra and underwear, large head gear, don’t forget the long train of material, climbing a ladder. Makes me laugh every time.

When it was my turn, I struggled up the ladder, sashayed my way down the runway, turned, tried to maneuver the unwieldy long train and attempted to remember to stick out my chest and smile. My walk was slightly thrown off by a low hanging chain that I didn’t see and caught my headgear ever so slightly, but I recovered. Like all of the models, there were plenty of catcalls, applause and whistles. I’d say it was a valiant first attempt at modeling, though I don’t see it as a future career path.

After the first round of models, there was an interlude that included a dance and lip sync performance from one of the graduating stylist to a song about people looking at me because they are jealous – very appropriate for the occasion of a fashion show. I enjoyed the second half of the show much more as I watched the remaining 14 models strut their stuff.

At the end, a lá Miss America pageant, we paraded around the room as video and pictures were taken. I definitely had pictures taken with randoms, though thankfully no creepy old men, as well as some of the other models. After spending time in preparation for the event with Liz and hearing about her family, I was glad to meet all of them in celebration of her graduation. Then, continuing in the spirit of fantasy, with the strike of midnight, I was finally able to change out of my costume and feel normal again as I walked home.

It was an interesting experience; one that I never thought I would be a part of in my life. I am happy for Liz and the other women who graduated as they are creative and talented individuals. I am happy to be a part of an experience with the women of the town. I am very happy that my modeling career is over.