An Anthology

Stardust

Vanilla

Serene handed me the magazine and I looked at the article, again.

I'd already read the piece before coming to this meeting, but I glanced at it anyway. Again. Nothing had changed. The words were still the same. The journalist was critical, and I just had to take the harsh criticism because it came with the job.

Being thin-skinned was not an option.

Serene raised her eyebrows, watching me curiously, waiting for a response from me that didn't come. Anything. Anger. Frustration. Tears?

I gave her nothing.

"They think you're boring." She said after a while, folding her arms for effect, and I knew her well enough to know that she was more irritated with me and my lack of emotion than with the contents of the article.

The truth is I wasn't entirely bothered by it when I should have been. And she hated that.

I nodded, "Yes, I know, I read it." I watched her face, and I could see the frustration she was trying so hard to mask in her perfect features. Her sleek black hair swishing as she shook her head.

"And?"

"I don't know what you want me to say, Serene. I can't help what the media thinks."

"Ok." She moved to sit behind her desk where she had been when the meeting had initially started – then she had gotten up to pace when she became frustrated with me – and now she was back in the seat. "You want this don't you, Mckenna? The jobs, the fame? Is it what you want?"

Maybe.

I enjoyed the work immensely, but I was not certain about wanting the fame. I enjoyed my anonymity, but unfortunately without the fame I wouldn't get the bigger more important jobs that I wanted. They came hand in hand unfortunately, it was just how the industry worked. They wouldn't hand over a huge fashion campaign to a nameless face. It was too risky.

I understood the dilemma.

"I want to work. I enjoy the work." I replied.

"Right. But you see in this industry you won't get the jobs if you don't bring in the fans, the crowds, the money!  The headlines. These companies want to invest in someone who will rake in the big bucks."

"Yes, I know and I –"

"But that's not you. You're stunning, you're so beautiful, McKenna, and they all say it. But you're too cold, too vanilla –"

"You mean I'm bland."

She ignored me, "You're too... aloof. And the fans just don't connect with you, they can't relate, and it's the fans that build these brands. Do you see what I mean?"

"Yes. But I'm just not a social person, Serene. I try... but I'm just not..."

Serene had been my agent and publicist for five years now, and I was still amazed that the agency hadn't cut me off yet and left me to flounder.

Not yet anyway.

She always liked to remind me though, "I can't let such a face go. I'll make a star out of you one day, McKenna. Your face on one billboard in Times Square, in New York, and I'll die happy."

Five years later after I signed with them, and I am twenty years old now and not even close to stardom, not a spark.

I modeled – that was my actual job, and it was never too hard to book gigs with the not so big design houses. I wore the clothes, and I walked the runways and that was it. But although I was recognized occasionally on the street, I was not yet a household name.