The Cynical Career Counsellor Explains Your Future as a

Modelling Agent

Oh hi--I don't think I've seen you around before... Transfer student? I see. No, you'll have to put that little cigar away. Don't get me wrong, I'm not sexist--girls can smoke the same things boys can, I mean, I saw this picture of of Claudia Schiffer smoking a cuban one time and man, that was... Oh, sorry. No, it's the rules--nobody smokes in the school. That ashtray? Uhm, I take it outside during my break. Look, I don't have time to argue about the school's smoking policy so if you don't have anything else to talk... What's that? A modelling agent, huh?

I'll be honest with you--modelling agents are a dime a dozen. Most girls try to get started on some internet site, and hope the big city agencies might notice them. Those agencies come to town here once or twice a year and all the dreamers flock to them. You're stuck--if you stay around here you won't be able to find work for anyone you represent, and if you go to a major city you'll never make it trying to compete with all the established big players.

What's that? You've got an angle, huh? Well, maybe that's your only hope. What'll it be--something a little edgier like Suicide Girls, maybe? What? No, of course not--I just saw them on one of those CSI shows once. What's that smirk supposed to mean? Anyway, you'll find girls who don't fit the mainstream agencies--maybe the plus sizers or something, and... What? I can't do this if you keep interrupting. Yeah, of course my computer has the internet. Boys? All right, if it will get us through this quicker, go ahead.

You have to log in first--oh right, you're new. No password yet, huh? All right, here--okay, I'm logged in. Go ahead.

What's this? Hey--I can get fired for surfing to stuff like this. What--they're all 18? Some of them don't look like it. Hmm--this is a little creepy. Okay--that's enough--I don't need some IT geek coming after me for this. Anyway, I think I'm ready to give you the quick and dirty version, my friend.

You'll go to business college--learn the basics of contract law as it relates to talent representation, and then you'll go cajole your way into an internship at some agency--not in New York or L.A., but somewhere not so big league--St. Louis, maybe.

You'll specialize in recruitment. Other staffers sit in their offices waiting for prospects to walk in or email something, but you'll be cruising the emo coffee shops or offering smokes to the older denizens of local skate parks. Every chain smoking coffee house poet you sign is too naive to consult anyone about the contract you shove in front of them, and soon you manipulate them to trust you, and ultimately become completely dependent on your advice on everything from what to wear to when to phone their estranged parents for money.

Not all of them are cut out for the business--in fact, most of them aren't--so when you finish your internship and announce your intention to set up shop in Boston, the agency doesn't argue with the half dozen pretty boys who follow you there like brainwashed cultists.

You set up your agency on a shoestring, but as you continue to recruit, you eventually find a few diamonds among the pretty toys you collect and they start bringing in some cash. Ambigious sexuality eventually cycles back into vogue and you're poised to take full advantage--most suspect you have have more testosterone coursing through your veins than any of the foundlings you represent.

You don't age well--cigarillos give way to real cigars, and a bottle of scotch can be handily stored in your filing cabinet to help ease the pain of watching your pretty ones discover their attraction to each other and eventually realize indentured servitude as your harem of house boys is not worth the occasional tux shop flyer gigs you get them.

You, on the other hand, will die lonely of complications of your lungs, liver or psyche.

Hope you like it here.