At an open call in Tartu a month before, she’d overheard a model say that fidgeting sped up the metabolism and helped her stay trim. But now Mari wasn’t sure if she had always had this habit, or if she’d subconsciously picked it up upon learning of its effects. She picked at the edge of her desk. The laminate was peeling away from the wood. The curl of plastic seemed to mock her, as though it was corroding from disuse. When was the last time she’d sat here, other than to pore over proofs from a shoot? When had she last read a book, or anything of substance? During her first few calls she had brought along a battered paperback to pass the time, but after she realized that the models only toted glossies, she ditched the book and made it a point to pick up a few magazines before each call. She silenced her leg by settling her free hand on top of it. Her skin was mottled and rough; there were stubbly patches she’d missed with the razor and her calves badly needed moisturizing.
What do You think about The Faces Of Strangers (2016)?
