Memoirs of An Amateur model: The training (Part 2)

It was 6am. I had just woken up and seen my phone flashing, signalling I had a text message, so I picked it up to check.

Good evening, I'm pleased to inform you that you are amongst the finalists for Mr and Miss Daystar Nairobi. #VeryWellDone
Kindly avail yourself tomorrow for a briefing at Allen Open Space at 4p.m. Sleep well and congratulations once again. 


I thought I was dreaming as I read the text message a second time. The time stamp on the text read 11:35pm. That meant it'd been sent after I'd gone to bed. It said I was a finalist. But I'd been given information that said the opposite. And I trusted my source, not just because she's a close friend, but also because she was on the organizing committee. There was no reason for her to lie to me.

On the other hand, here was this text. And it was from someone who would have the authority to announce the finalists. I decided I'd just show up anyway and if it was a prank, well, they'd have gotten me.

As it turned out, it wasn't a practical joke. When I got the venue of our debrief, I saw one of the ladies who had auditioned us waiting there. Seeing her sort of confirmed everything, because I knew she was also a former model. It was no surprise then when she said that she would be our choreographer for the pageant.

Rehearsals

First matter of business was to be paired up. The first 'stranger' I spoke to on our de-brief was a freshman. We'd made small talk as we waited for the other models to show up and found out we'd both auditioned on a whim. So when our choreographer asked us to pair ourselves up, he and I automatically turned to each other. I was so glad I didn't have to go through the 'awkward phase' with my partner!

Our choreographer showed us how to walk, and we started on practise that same Monday. She gave us a run-down of the three categories we needed to dress up for: casual wear, dinner wear, traditional/African wear and creative wear. Everyone was stumped on what 'creative wear' meant.
"Just think of something creative," said our choreographer. She gave a hint though that was pretty helpful. She said we should think of things we like and translate that into an outfit. That's what led to my inspired outfit (which you'll see soon).

The intended date for the pageant had been set for Friday, the 5th of April, meaning we only had two weeks to prepare. For the first week, we worked hard at the choreography, learning how to turn, when to turn, which way to turn. If you were there here are the things you would have heard:

"Ladies, catwalk, catwalk!"
"Lift your legs!"

"What was that? Is that what I showed you?"

"Okay, let's do the intro again. Until we get it right."

That's how synchronised we were meant to look 

We had to learn four different kinds of choreography for the four different outfits. In the first week, we ladies were excused from wearing heels (thankfully!) so all we needed to worry about was getting the routine right! And by the time we were three days from the D-day, all 10 of us had the routines pat down. The models turned out to be a batch of fast learners, if I may say so ;)

I got so wrapped up in rehearsing the routines and perfecting my catwalk that my studies began to suffer. I simply could not concentrate on both! Especially not when I had to think about what to do with my hair, what outfits to get, the jewellery and shoes to go with the outfits....it was driving me insane. I even remember recording in my journal,

"I don't think I've ever second-guessed myself like I've done over the past couple of days because of Mr and Miss Daystar." 

You see, my style is pretty simple. I prefer my hair done up in braids because I find it more manageable that way. Also when it comes to dressing, I'll dress to the occasion but comfort always comes first.

By the first week of rehearsals, I knew I needed advice. I ran to one of my girlfriends, Mercy, the fashion expert and what she told me was what I was hoping not to hear.
     
"I think you should put a weave," she told me.

I've always been the kind of girl who swore I would never put on a weave. I'd even join my family in laughing at women with four-month old weaves, hitting their heads hard 'cause they couldn't scratch their itchy scalps.

But here was a pageant with 20,000 Kenya shs. and much more at stake. I needed to do all I could to win. When I mentioned to my mom and inner circle of friends that I was considering putting on a weave, they all opposed the suggestion strongly. I started getting frustrated because I didn't know who to listen to; my loved ones or the experts.

The other issue was my eyesight. I was the only model out of the other girls who wore spectacles and I knew that would work against me. But then again, my eyesight is so poor, I couldn't risk going on the runway without them. That meant doing something else I'd never tried before... wearing contact lenses.

I went to an optician who prescribed temporary lenses for me. Getting the lenses into my eyes took 3 gruelling hours at the end of which I was worn out from the frustration. And because my eyesight is so bad, there aren't any temporary lenses that cater to me. So I had to make do with what I had, squinting in the sun trying to get used to things in my eyes. These are the times you start wishing God made our eyes in such a way that they could accept some foreign objects! After 4 hours of trying not to rub my eyes and blinking furiously to get the dust out, I was at my wits end!

Just when I thought it could not possibly get any worse, a double disaster struck. The event was moved up a whole week. I was totally pissed off when I found out because my whole schedule had been fashioned around the pageant taking place that weekend. Now I had to re arrange everything all over again.
The ball of string unravelled further when my partner told me he was dropping out of the competition. He too had banked on the pageant being that weekend and had already made plans for the following weekend. I couldn't believe I'd have to create chemistry with a new partner and make sure our walk matched.

Fortunately enough, it all worked out. I spoke to my hairdresser and he assured me that I could still have my hair styled and maybe add pieces of the weave to give it body. That way, it would look more natural and I wouldn't feel as fake.

When the 13th of April arrived, I was ready for my transformation.

Transformation, here I am! 

For the last installment of 'Memoirs of An Amateur model' keep checking the blog!

Memoirs of an amateur model (Part 1)

"I'll never dharau a model again!"

I started making this statement in the first week of training. I said it repeatedly over the next two weeks, and even after the pageant was over. I still say it now when someone asks me how it was running for the position of Miss Daystar, because that was the biggest realization I had from the whole experience.

Thinking about it now, I almost agree with all the people who said, "I didn't think you could do something like that!" or "I never knew you were into that kind of thing." They're half-right. Not because I'm incapable in anyway of being in a beauty pageant. But because it honestly was something out of my comfort zone.

YOLO has quickly become a sort of mantra for me this year. You could call it being hasty, radical or even reckless, but like a close friend said to me recently, its like having an epiphany. One that lasts longer than a moment. And that's what it felt like when I walked into the auditions of Mr and Miss Daystar. I was panicking, asking myself what I was doing there, but at the same time I kept saying to myself, "Why not?"

For some reason, on the day of the audition, harldy anyone was lined up outside the specified room. In fact, I was the first person to audition. I started out feeling extremely nervous, trying to calm myself as I answered the questions thrown at me. Then they asked me to catwalk and I thought to myself smugly, "Hmm...this should be easy."
Before you start getting confused, I should probably explain that I was in a fashion show many years ago. It wasn't a competition. In fact, we were doing it as a favour for my aunty who needed to showcase some outfits. I could not have been older than 11 years.

And so my sister and I were unceremoniously recruited and although I can vaguely recall the experience, the 'catwalk' always stayed with me.

Sure enough, after our trainer demonstrated how I was meant to walk, I confidently stepped forward and swayed my hips to the beat. In that moment, I forgot I was nervous. I was having so much fun, I couldn't help but smile. And when I looked at the people seated behind the long, narrow table, I saw them smile too. For the first time since I'd walked in, by the way.

I had it!

Walking out of that room was easier than walking in. Although I still worried about whether my body passed all qualifications in its current state, I knew I had caught their attention.

And so the waiting began.

As Kenyans, I think we've all done enough waiting in this year to last us the rest of our lives. So you can imagine how impatient I was. They decided the turnout for the first audition wasn't good enough. So they held another audition, the next week. That meant I had to wait a whole week, and then another couple of days (don't remember the exact number now) to find out if I'd gone through. Luckily, my close friend was part of the organising team. She came with news. It wasn't good news.

"I'm sorry Sheena. You didn't go through," she told me.
"Why?" I asked. I was shocked. I thought I'd wowed them with my walk. Wasn't I beautiful enough? Was I too short? What was my disqualifier?

"They thought...they thought you did not portray confidence," said my friend. She looked like she did not want to be the one giving me the news. I didn't understand. How did they come to that conclusion?

"They said it was the way you were standing. With your arms held behind your back and in front of you," she told me.

Huh? I thought that portrayed humility. Or respect. I mean, I wasn't going to stand with my arms crossed. And it didn't feel right having them hanging by my sides. So I picked the next best thing. Turns out I was awfully wrong.

I was disappointed, sure. I pretended it didn't bother me. But it did. I kept thinking to myself, "Not confident enough? How could they think that?!" After a while though I just brushed it off. "At least I tried," I thought to myself.

A few days later,

I got a text that changed everything...