Naked As The Day

I went to a big state college in a small country town, which meant jobs were sparse, applicants were plentiful, and getting a job was a pain in the ass.

Yet I still managed to get a few. I was a dishwasher for a few months, a donut store cashier for a few days (clock in at 5am? Seriously?), a library assistant for half a summer, and a countergirl for years.

Even my side hustles had side hustles: I cut hair (though not very well) and typed papers because I was the only one of us with a portable luggable computer back in 1989.

And then…

A time came when I wanted more cash but had maxed out the hours I could spend working. I was a full-time student and did need to sleep sometime.

My roommates reminded me the art department was hiring artists’ models. They said it was the perfect job: It wouldn’t tax my brain, had a flexible schedule, and paid twice what other jobs were paying: an unheard of $10 per hour. All I had to do was stand there.

Though there was the part about being naked.

But I didn’t know any art students, only architecture students like myself, so I figured I wouldn’t know anyone in the classes. I’d be, like, this anonymous enigmatic unknown.

Which, of course, meant my first nude modeling class was half-full of architecture classmates who waved Hello when I walked into the studio.

Of course.

This is that dream nightmare, right?

Doesn’t everyone have that nightmare about being naked on stage or in front of the classroom? And here I was, doing it wide awake in real life, and it was my job.

So I stood there in my robe, up to my afro in dismay, saying “Hi” to the familiar faces, and silently cursing my awful fucking luck.

And then I bared myself (literally!) and sat on a stool to be recorded for posterity. Or perpetuity. Whatever.

The first 5 seconds were absolutely horrifying. I braced myself for the inevitable—

• They were going to point and laugh and snicker and sneer at my wide hips and tiny boobs.
• They were going to be embarrassed for me with all my imperfections.
• They were going to roll their eyes with boredom and sigh with resignation.
• They were going to groan with disappointment and demand a better model.

Guess what happened next?

They squinted and mulled and got to scribbling. And they looked up for short intervals, and then they scribbled some more.

That was all.

All eyes were on me, yet no one was watching. They were too busy drawing me to pay any attention to me.

Also: there was no time to form an opinion, let alone express one. They only had three hours to do the drawings they paid good money to sit there and do. Aside from being a new figure to work with, I was no better (or worse) than a bowl of fruit.

Best job ever. Stayed on for years.

Why this is important now

For me, making stuff is fun. Showing stuff around is difficult, even to friends, but I can do it. But putting stuff out into the world?

Kicks. My. Ass.

So I expected the release of my first ever ebook (remember the Shopping Carts Guide?) to have some kick, but I didn’t expect it to keep kicking for four months. Sorry about the delay.

I’ve been telling myself this whole time: Do the Linchpin thing: Ship it. Just get it done and get it out there. And that’s helped a little.

What’s helping a lot is remembering my first nude modeling gig and how dreadfully vulnerable those first five seconds were. And how the next three hours were no big deal. And how I enjoyed years of gigs after that. And how quickly the work became routine. And how I earned twice as much by simply doing what few dared to do.

And that no one laughed or sneered or groaned with disappointment. They were too busy to bother.

And that what happens next can be anticipated but not predicted.

And that what happens next doesn’t matter at all, while my approach to it and my responses to it matter a lot.

So.

All of that goes for you, too. Get your Thing out there where everyone can see it, k?

I don’t think it matters whether you put it out there, or kick it out there, or nudge it out there with your pinky toe. Just get it out.

You may feel vulnerable. And you totally are. But so is everyone else. It comes with the territory.

And I suspect the first five seconds will be absolutely horrifying, but at least if the criticism rolls in you’ll (probably) have all your clothes on.

.

p.s. Remind me I said all this if the Shopping Carts Guide isn’t released by June 1, k? Seriously.

Tagged as: bbb_radio

Photo credit: brooklyn