Models?

After my shift this morning, I drove over to Trinoma do some shopping.  I have never been a fan of this activity.  Most of the time I buy a lot of things in bulk so I don’t have to shop frequently.  And when I say shop frequently I mean more than once every 2 or 3 years.  I got reminded that I really need to replenish my literally fading wardrobe when missing buttons (shirts or pants, take a wild guess) is becoming the norm rather than the exception.

As I was heading towards the Men’s section of Landmark, I was assaulted by The Ting Ting’s annoying “It’s Not My Name” song.  I also saw a lot of folks standing near the railings holding on to banisters looking down on something.  I thought some showbiz guy was having a show and singing, nay, lipsynching on the ground floor of the department store.

I don’t know what happened but I suddenly found myself standing near the same railings and looking down.  What I saw was a number of stick figures prancing on a make-shift runway.  I thought I was watching a shooting of Project Runway Philippine Edition, but then I thought the girls weren’t really attractive.  The number of attractive girls I noted I can count with one finger, the pinky.  And even then she was only approaching attractive.  Anyway, I realized after a while that those were actually models practicing for an afternoon show!  And because it was only a practice run, they weren’t properly made up.

After a lifetime of ogling models on Fashion TV, the lot I saw were like Amy Wineheart wannabes, just a stilleto short of rehab.  I understand that they need to be really skinny so they can carry whatever clothing they’re asked to wear, but when you see knees that are bigger than their legs…  Oh man, those ladies better not go near a mangy askal; for sure they’ll be missing a hipbone or two after such an encounter.

I may be overly pintasero here but I think the moment these ladies decided to go into that modelling stuff, there automatically exists a responsibility for them to always be at least decently yummy when they are in the public eye.  Michael Jordan believes this.  This is why even if he’s only going out of the locker room to walk to his car after a game, he makes sure that he puts on those Italian threads realizing that some fans may only have that one chance in their life to see him in the flesh so he makes that experience worthwhile.

The women I saw this morning weren’t what anyone with a mildly discerning brain would picture as a model, drug junkies perhaps but, but certainly not the image of a girl whose poster you would love to paste on your ceiling, directly above your bed, wedged between Heidi Klum and Laetitia Casta.

Models my foot.  If there was any base instinct that was awakened within me as I watched them do their business on the catwalk, it wasn’t anything closely resembling that word that rhymes with vex.  The first thought that raced through my head was bulalo.  Now figure that one out.