How do we define “supermodel” these days? My personal theory is that it’s a relative term, a function of out-of-your-leagueness. On that scale, the bottle-blonde who does the local ads for Sunglass Hut is a level-one supermodel. If she were slightly drunk, or I had good season tickets to a major sports franchise, I’d have a pretty decent shot.
Most of the girls from the Victoria’s Secret catalogue are level-four supermodels. If we were stranded together on a desert island for twenty years, maybe around year fourteen she might decide that I’m not such a bad guy to be around, and besides, it’s better than sleeping alone.
Marisa Miller is a level-five supermodel. You have to be able to manufacture kittens and puppies out of thin air, or be the majority stakeholder in a Fortune 50 corporation to get her attention.
Elyse Sewell is a solid level four, knocked up to four-and-a-half by the fact that she’s got brains as well as sufficient physical attributes to make a decent living by being pretty. I started reading her blog before I found out about the model thing, having stumbled across it while — as usual — doing vanity searches for myself on Google. Today’s entry is a really good example of why I’m still reading it.
In Paris this summer, I went to a Jean Paul Gaultier sample sale and bought a dress for 10Euro. It was outrageously slutty: skintight crimson nylon microfiber with a huge fluttering fishtail trailing off the back like a flaccid dimetrodon fin. Underwear not even a remote possibility. … The second time I wore it was to Christmas brunch with my family. As my great grandmother bent her head to say grace over her eggs Benedict, I began to regret the incredibly vain decision to break out the Gaultier and get all sexy on Christmas, of all days. Not only that, but the voice of God kept booming, “The baby Jesus can tell thou art commando under there.”
A girl who can use the phrase “flaccid dimetrodon fin” in conversation, can write the words “thou art commando” and make ‘em work for her, and who also by the way gets paid a lot of money to sit around and look good all day? Folks, if you ever wondered what the far end of the bell curve looks like, take a solid gander. You’re staring at it.
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