Earlier this year I made an offhanded Facebook post about having missed my calling as an Instagram model. It was meant to be a bit funny because I've never embodied fashion, nor am I pretty by any conventional standards. I didn't belabor further, but it wasn't a complete joke. Rather, it was a wistful acknowledgment that even though I'm not some sort of beauty standard bearer or anything, there's something appealing about being confident enough in myself to allow a camera to capture my image. That somehow my lumpy, balding flesh could be made to capture a viewer's interest, rather than their gazes sliding from one side of me to the next without a stutter, as if I wasn't even there. As someone who's felt shame about my body for, frankly, most of my life, I've largely preferred being unnoticed.
But I noticed something interesting: Taylor Swift's appearance, always so immaculately presented to the media, is, to a large degree, the product of makeup, hair-do, and fashion. Not that she's ugly without (far from), but if she's in a crowd your eyes won't necessarily snap right to her the way they would if she was made up. OK, not a stunning realization. Anyone who's seen a paparazzi photo of a celebrity out jogging understands the difference between someone's natural appearance and how they look when made up. But for the first time I really internalized the fact that looking good—at least per societal aesthetics—is largely about effort and opportunity more than who we are when we stand in front of a mirror.
I guess some people spin that realization into an indictment: Celebrities are fake, makeup is a lie, etc, etc. But my takeaway is a bit different. I view it as more encouragement. I don't have to default to my normal appearance. I don't have to immediately pull out a shabby band t-shirt when I peer into my metaphorical closet. I'm not locked into a particular look just because it's always been my look. I'll never look like Taylor Swift, but that doesn't mean I can't look for ways to elevate. Last month I saw some fun t-shirts that were patterned and bought them instead of t-shirts with anime characters. I don't know that they're "stylish" per se, but they fit my vibe. I requested sweaters for Christmas instead of, like, hoodies. Neither thing means I'm only wearing those things, but they're something a little different than my usual attire and I've enjoyed shuffling them into my rotation.
But since that realization, I've been intrigued by the modeling and fashion world, something I've mostly ignored over the course of my life. Which is why, when picking my first book to read in over a year, I decided to look up one about modeling.
I knew Carol Alt's name before her book popped up as a recommendation when I did the ol' "books about fashion and modeling" Google search. Although I really only knew her name because I've been making my way through general Google searches for iconic models. I didn't—and still don't—know much of anything about her aside from that.
Or maybe I do. While This Year's Model is presented as a work of fiction, it feels like fiction that pulls pretty strongly from Alt's own experiences. Maybe not in specifics (although if you take a quick glance at her Wikipedia page, you'll see a few specific details that overlap), but in spirit at least.
Mac Croft is innocently working her weekend serving job at whatever passes for a nice restaurant in her small hometown. She's 18 years old, just graduated from high school, and trying to scrape some money (and a major scholarship) for college in the fall. But it's while waiting on a creepy stranger's table that she's offered a modeling gig. Of course she laughs it off, but he writes down a phone number and tells her to call tomorrow. And of course she doesn't call, except a few weeks later she does. Thus Mac tilts head first into the world of modeling, a girl-eat-girl grind as she tries to juggle her academic goals with the brusque reality of trying to get gigs. Not helping are her concerned parents, who apparently think modeling is some sort of satanic ritual. The person who does help is Jade, a girl she meets on her first go see. They strike quick and easy friendship, but is it possible to have friends in the modeling world?
This Year's Model feels like it was written by someone who isn't a professional writer. That can be taken as a slight, but it's not wrong, so I guess it's really only a slight if Alt thought she was writing, like, Pride and Prejudice or something.
While you can take some weird sentence fragmenting and wrong word choices as evidence, I'd argue they are more a sign that This Year's Model got poor editing, not that her mechanical skills are bad. In fact, by and large, Alt has a no-frills, solidly told prose style. Easy to read and understand what she's getting at.
Rather, the roughness of This Year's Model comes in the form of how information is conveyed to the reader, narrative arcs, and other logical flow issues that practiced writers smooth out. Or, more simply, knowing WHAT the reader needs to know and WHEN they need to know it. A lot of it boils down to Alt telling the reader stuff but not showing the reader. A good example is the romantic tensions between Mac and a male model from her agency. We know she's attracted to him because the text states as such at various places. However, we're not given a reason to care. It crops up from time to time in the text, but is otherwise out of sight, out of mind. When that emotional part of the story climaxes (which is honestly a side plot to the novel more than a driving factor on its own), it doesn't land right. As a reader I wasn't invested in her love life.
Even Mac and what she does falls victim to this information issue to some degree. On the one hand, Mac is written to be something of a self-insert character. Not a lot of details about her are given, even at the outset. We know basic age (ready for college), that she lives at home with parents, that she has siblings, but otherwise we're just kind of filling in the gaps, right? And maybe that's not an awful way of writing a character. This is, after all, a fantasy novel. Not in terms of swords and sorcery, but feeding that "I wish" part of anyone who has wanted to try out modeling. Allow those people to step into the protagonist's shoes and rollercoaster them through about six months worth of chaos. But the problem with a self-insert protagonist is when that character acts in a way that frustrates the reader. The hazy nature of the protagonist makes it hard to understand where that came from. "Why are they acting out of character?" we ask, forgetting that so little has been conveyed to us about them that we don't really know who they are or how they'd typically act.
But that haziness also feels like something that affects our ability to perceive modeling itself. In the early stages of the novel, Mac is, of course, a complete novice. You’d expect a strong learning curve. However, that’s not really communicated. The first thing Mac’s agency sends her to is a go-see. The novel kind of defines a “go-see,” although I never got a firm grasp on it; undefined or poorly defined jargon is pretty common in This Year’s Model. Anyway, I think a go-see is a photoshoot where models show up and may or may not be used. So you “go see” if they want to use you in the shoot. Maybe? Anyway, Mac shows up to the go-see, exchanges a few words with The People There and is rushed to makeup. Most of the chapter is then spent talking with one of the other models. Towards the end of the chapter Mac does, in fact, Do The Modeling. But she just kind of… does it? Like, when I look back on that chapter, there’s a wide gap between the sorts of things I’d expect a protagonist to note about a big first in their life and the things that actually get communicated. To the extent that, as a reader, I don’t think I learned anything about the actual process.
I think a big problem that kind of ties those two issues together is that Mac is written in the first person, but without much of an insightful glimpse into who she actually is. So it comes across more like a 3rd person novel that just so happens to use “I” and “me” instead of “she” and “her.” Which isn’t to say This Year’s Model is devoid of Mac’s thoughts and feelings, but it’s also not a fairly constant stream of inner monologuing that first person writing is typically trying to mimic.
The degree to which you notice these things will largely depend on why you picked up This Year’s Model in the first place. If you’re just looking for a breezy read set in the world of modeling and fashion? You’ll probably be fairly pleased. It’s not the most detailed of novels, but Alt does speak with authority, so it’s fairly believable. On the other hand, if you’re more interested in This Year’s Model to be not just authoritative, but detailed and instructive? Well, it’s not going to be that.
Obviously from my rating I’m more in the “breezy” camp, although would have loved to see more on the “detailed” end of things. I think it mostly boils down to Alt’s inexperience as a writer. I realize this (and its sequel, Model Incorporated) is over a decade old now, and if her bibliography is any indication she hasn’t written since. Which is a shame, and I’d love to see her try again–either with a good editor to steer her or with a co-writer to help guide things–because I think there’s room in the fictional (and non-fictional) world for non-cynical glimpses into modeling.