Eurotrash in America
A day in the life of a male model.
by ALEX RYAN
PHOTO BY HEIDI SLIMANE
"People often ask if the life of a male model is analogous to the life of a rock star," remarks Ryan, co-proprietor of Madison-based Context Clothing. "I can say that I've seen S. [at work as well as] out in the wild, and he does not live at a slow pace."
S. is a student, a musician. S. is a model. Peers may describe him as “charismatic” and “cosmopolitan.” I know, from personal experience, that he is more than a little vain. He never attends class and enjoys a hedonistic, ethnically questionable lifestyle. To illustrate this, a record of the Turkish-born model's day, peppered with brand names and presented in an accessible syntax, can be found below. It is not meant to enlighten, entertain, or influence. It, like its subject, simply exists.
No sleep yet. Spent the whole night smoking, drinking, surfing the web, calling people, breaking unnecessary things in the apartment, etc. Urinate. Smoke a cigarette (Parliament Light). Check the Superfuture message board. Dig the new Corpus collection.
After much consideration, decide to eat breakfast – bowl of Miracle Whip & tuna. Wash it down w/ a Jack Daniels & Diet Coke. Music: Mogwai. Smoke a cigarette.
More Jack & Coke...
Drunk & out of Coke. Shower, don't wash hair. Need to keep it greasy. Dove Cool Moisture beauty bar (w/ cucumber & green tea) on rest of body. Dry off with shitty, old towels. Better off using bathroom curtains. Or toilet paper.
Then: unscented Old Spice deodorant. Trim mustache. Follow-up w/ Navida Extra Soothing Aftershave Balm.
Music: Crystal Castles.
More Jack. Bedroom: 19cm Dior Homme jeans, black. blue V-neck & asymmetrical hooded sweatshirt (both Apolis Acitivism). Ratty, almost-too-small leather jacket. White high-top Chuck Taylors. Juicy Couture sunglasses (ex- girlfriend’s).
Back to the bathroom: An application of American Crew fiber to the mane, just enough to keep it looking lowbrow. Eau de toilette (JOOP' by Roccoco).
Watch Nip/Tuck (Season 4, Episode 2). More cigarettes – use an old soda can (Diet Coke, what else?) as an ashtray.
Too drunk to drive to band practice. Call bassist.
Bassist arrives in old, piece-of-shit Honda.
Music: Les Savy Fav.
Stop at Context Clothing. Bump drunkenly into shoppers. Reek like whiskey. Ask Sam about some jeans for a friend (A.P.C. New Cures, size 27).
Last practice before drummer moves to San Diego. Have a couple Leine‘s Sunset Wheat brews. Shitty vox/guitar/synth. rocked the fuck out anyway.
Head back to apartment.
Music: At The Drive-In.
Music: Daft Punk.
Wake up on the kitchen floor. Confused. Eat some Triscuits & Cheese Whiz.
Call from friend about a party.
Arrive at said party. House is filled w/ dude man bros (DMBs) wearing American Eagle, etc. Have a gin (Tanqueray) & tonic (Schweppes). Light up a cigarette, pissing everyone off. One DMB says something about "killing his lungs" as he precedes to chug multiple Bud Lights, killing his brain cells.
Music: Who the fuck really cares?
Swipe the bottle of Tanqueray & some vodka (Smirnoff). Say something clever (or at least I thought it was), nonchalantly put cigarette out on the wood floor. Stumble home.
Incoming booty call. The kind you don't want to tell your friends about, but decide to anyway.
Music: Prefuse 73.
Continue to drink gin & tonics. Smoke. Booty call arrives.
Sloppy, drunken sex.
Finito. Politely ask "guest" to "get the fuck out." Guzzle stolen Smirnoff.
Head back out for a few last drinks. End up taking a few rolls at some dance party. Black out.
Wake up in a phonebooth. Some cabby asks what the fuck is going on. Get in his cab & tell him to "tuck me in" because "I've had a big day."
Music: Ted Nugent.