My buddy, Aaron, always had an uncanny knack for blurting out what everyone else was thinking.
So when we were bar-hopping in Georgetown (Washington) in the late 1990s, and a woman who claimed to be a talent scout asked me if I had ever modeled professionally before, his question made a lot of sense:
“BWAHAHAHA!! Lady, are you frickin’ blind?!”
Because in my 20s, I certainly wasn’t the hideous, bald-headed troll-creature I am today. Back then, I still sported my Travolta-inspired dark brown hair and 90210-inspired sideburns. But even in my absolute peak of physical attraction (such as it was), there’s absolutely no way anyone would confuse me with a professional model.
Like, maybe Nike would pay me to wear Reebok, but that’s about as close as I could get.
But the lady insisted that she was on the level: Her agency, she told us, scouted undiscovered “talent” to appear on HBO shows. They weren’t looking for runway models, but young, hip 20-somethings who had a cool look.
That’s when Aaron asked his second question: “But aren’t models supposed to be good-looking?”
She handed me her card and invited me to a casting call. I said I’d go, but only if Aaron could come with me.
She agreed.
And then Aaron and I spent the rest of the evening imagining all the hot babes that we’d meet at the audition: What an opportunity!
Neither of us took it too seriously because, well, we owned mirrors. (Besides, I was in my second year of law school and had zero interest in modeling.)
But we were curious.
So about a week later, we went to the casting call. There were about 100 other people waiting; maybe 80% were female.
And the women were super-sexy and very beautiful — until they moved.
That’s when you realized they weren’t adult women, but little girls in high heels, tons of makeup, and inappropriately revealing clothes. Most were there with their moms (who fussed after them endlessly).
If you looked quickly, they really appeared to be sexy, beautiful women in their 20s! It was a helluva illusion!
But once you saw their mannerisms and body language — i.e., kicking their feet in their chairs, smacking bubble gum, twirling their hair, and complaining to their mothers — you realized they were babies: I’m not sure if they were even old enough to drive!
So no, we weren’t gonna date anyone here. But still, we were wondering what would happen next.
Aaron and I were separated, and I was thrown in with a group with five girls. The photographer took a bunch of photos of me, and then had us act in a scene together. I forget what it was, but it involved a lot of ad-libbing. (Which was fine: I’m good at babbling.)
That was pretty much it.
On the way out, two of the modeling scouts pulled me aside: They told me I tested off the charts — the camera loved me — and they asked if I could come back in a week for a one-on-one meeting.
(They told Aaron, “Nah, no thanks.”)
So a week later, I returned. They took my measurements, snapped a bunch of new photos, and then sat me down for a tough, unflinching conversation:
“Scott,” they said (and I’m paraphrasing here), “you have amazing potential and a ton of charisma, but we need you to commit to two things: Are you willing to drop 10 pounds and have your teeth whitened?”
I said, “Sure.”
They grinned like they had just won the lottery. One of ‘em started comparing me to some other actor (I forget who) whose career they claimed to have launched. They were so excited — which started to make me excited, too!
That’s when they dropped the bad news:
“Scott,” (and I’m still paraphrasing), “you have all the natural talent in the world, but when we give someone our seal of approval, they’re representing our agency to the entire world. That requires us to only pick the best of the best — and it’s very clear that you don’t have any formal modeling or acting training, do you?”
I admitted that I hadn’t.
Fortunately, they just so happened to have a wonderful, win-win solution: This modeling agency offered an eight-week training course! All I had to do was sign up and take their classes! (Which, of course, cost several thousands of dollars. And no, they didn’t offer scholarships.)
That’s when everything suddenly made sense: This whole thing was a scam!
I thanked them and asked to see the modeling contract. They handed it to me, and I read it over.
“I’ll need time to think about this,” I told them. “Can I get back to you in a week? I’d like to have a lawyer review it.”
They told me that’s not how they operate: “You’re not allowed to leave with the contract. It’s against our rules. Look, Scott, either sign it or don’t, because we only want to work with people who are serious about their careers.”
But like I said, I was in my second year of law school — and I was pretty sure it was illegal to prevent someone from having a lawyer review a contract. Besides, I didn’t really want to be a model anyway.
Either way, it seemed shady as hell.
So I stood up with the contract in my hand, told them that I respect their policy, but I’m not going to sign a contract without having a lawyer reviewing it, and if that means we can’t work together, so be it.
And then I left with the contract. They didn’t try to stop me.
Interestingly, they called me back about a week later, asking if my lawyer had reviewed it. I politely told them that their program wasn’t for me, and that was that.
Then, about a year later, this “modeling agency” was on the local news: They were busted for scamming aspiring models out of an awful lot of money.
I’m guessing their scam had a fairly high success rate, because they were very adept at telling young men and women what they yearned to hear: You have what it takes! You’re special! You’re unique! You could be a superstar!
And I’ll betcha that those same moms who were pushing their teenage daughters into modeling auditions would’ve moved heaven and earth to give their darling little girls a chance at stardom. (Especially since many of those moms, I strongly suspect, were using their daughters to fulfill their own modeling fantasies.)
The easiest scams to pull off are the ones where the target is desperate to believe you’re telling the truth.
It taught me an important lesson about hubris, predatory business practices, and human nature: If my lifelong dream was to become a model, I probably would’ve fallen for it, too.
It’s hard to walk away from someone who’s promising to make all your dreams come true.
Then, a couple of years later, my hair began falling out. My eyes got baggy. And I got progressively uglier.
And not even the scammers have asked me to model ever since.
