By Georgia Hammerson
I’ve found myself on a beautiful boat, excited. It’s the height of summer and it’s sweltering. I’ve been booked on a job, on the harbour and the creative team I’m working with, I’ve worked with on many-a shoot before. I’m pretty much getting paid to hang and cruise the waves with these friends, so I’m not too bummed out that I’m not at the beach.. #winning
At least that’s what I thought the case was, but, it wasn’t like that at all.
Call time is 5 AM we rock up to the wharf and get onto the boat, around that time they start the hair and make up. I had forgotten my lunch and snacks for the day – not the best move, but they’d told us food and drink would be provided so I wasn’t too stressed.
7:30 AM rolled around and the male model I was on the job with was already shooting, come 8.15 AM it was my turn. There was a coffee machine on the boat but no milk; lucky for me I drink long blacks religiously.
The clock hasn’t yet ticked 10 AM but my phone is telling me it’s already thirty five degrees. Oh, and I last ate at 4.30 AM. The sun is scorching everything as I’m lying on the boat deck; my bum is on fire and my eyes blinded from my bright surroundings. I’m desperate for some water, and I’ve only had three outfit changes with five more to go.
The only solace I’ve found so far is the stylist suggesting I wear a hat – it’s a flimsy crochet type thing of a hat dotted with holes, to say the least it provides me no shade.
Coming to my salvation, the makeup artist suggests I head in (to the shade) for a touch up as it appears my makeup is melting off. I get back onto the boat and guzzle a bottle of water. But a small 300ml bottle of course – I can’t look bloated for the shoot.
Eventually, we all sit down for a mini-break and bask in the shade. It appears the crew behind the brand have already jumped in to the ocean for a swim and seem to be enjoying themselves. What I wouldn’t give to plunge into the cool topaz water right now…
As my mind wanders off to thoughts of that ocean dip, I get interrupted – “Food’s here!“ someone cheers.
Scanning my eyes across to the table lunch is on, I see potato chips, flavoured corn chips, grainwaves, a few bananas and even muesli bars… I, no joke, look in disgust to the bags of food they’ve bought for said ‘lunch’. They must have caught the look on my face as well, as they make a crude joke about me being a model, “she wouldn’t eat it anyway”.
What the actual f**k.
This doesn’t even resemble lunch. They haven’t given me any food besides a black coffee this entire shoot and I’ve been here nearly six hours. GIVE ME SOME FUCKING REAL FOOD!!
In my defence, the stylist, photographer and make up artist all pull the same face.
After a much heated debate between the crew and my team directing the shoot, a less than competent crew member goes off to find a supermarket. Not before making a few sly comments, noticeably within my ear shot.
“…Fucking models…Fine I’ll get her some celery.”
After taking their sweet time, they arrive back handing me a nearly empty bag with some serious attitude and perhaps the greatest insult of all “Sorry babe… there was no celery, just carrot”.
Stunned, I didn’t know what to say. I don’t think I’ve ever been talked down so much in my entire life. I wasn’t being fussy, I wasn’t being rude, I wasn’t being a high-maintenance model; all I was asking for was some god damn real food.