Fashioning Fat: Inside Plus-Size Modeling (5 page)

All these concerns aside, I knew that I needed to be a part of the action in order to understand both the subtle and blatant demands placed on these women. In this field where flesh is sold, the body is my primary form of evidence and starting point for this ethnographic investigation concerning identity and discipline. This fieldwork involved embracing the embodied skills of my subject.

As such, this personal account of the lived body “under construction” offers new direction in the developing field of carnal sociology, as developed by sociologist Loïc Wacquant. To illustrate, both Wacquant and feminist scholar and sociologist Kandi Stinson offer personal narratives to highlight the embodied experience of disciplining the body under the guidance of organizations centered on the body, whether undergoing strenuous physical training to fight in the boxing ring or containing the visceral shame of stepping on the scale at a weight-loss meeting.

In
Body and Soul: Notebooks of an Apprentice Boxer
, Wacquant makes the leap in methodological theorization and trains as a boxer at an urban gym on Chicago’s South Side to capture a form of discipline practiced within an African American community. Wacquant details how a boxer’s work extends past the confines of a gym. His level of sacrifice and bodily surveillance involves private matters, such as monitoring food intake, sleep, and sexual activity, and requires a collective teamwork from fellow boxers, coaches, and family members. The boxer becomes “inhabited by the game he inhabits.”
⁴²

In
Women and Dieting Culture: Inside a Commercial Weight Loss Group
, Stinson, by participating in an international, commercial weight-loss organization for two years as a paying member, examines how women continually construct meaning and experiences of weight loss amidst a backdrop of cultural prejudice against fatness. Essentially, Stinson attempts to understand what it means to try to lose weight by actively and publicly participating in a program that emphasizes lifestyle modification and individual willpower.

As ethnographic studies such as these demonstrate, the fluidity of idealized constructions of embodiment that emerges in ethnographic investigations requires acknowledgment of a body that we no longer view as an
object but as an event. In Kathy Davis’s argument on embodied subjectivity, bodies are not simply objects determined by culture but rather are situated in culture as part of the process of negotiating and re-negotiating self-identity. As individuals, we, our bodies, are vehicles of meaning.

Similarly, I took the perspective of the insider, going beyond the traditional ethnographic approach of observation to step into the role of my subject. I walked in a model’s shoes, from castings to photo shoots to the runway. In this approach, my body became a “tool for inquiry” and a “primary vector of knowledge” as I learned how to walk and pose and transformed from a woman into a fashion model. As this study of modeling shows, fashion places emphasis on what the body can do and what it looks like while doing it. Thus, a plus-size model engages in an aesthetic labor process that involves a high degree of self-surveillance and corporal discipline. It is this reflexive process of “becoming” that only an ethnographic method can capture.

I drew on the physical experience of the plus-size model as fashion professionals measured, clothed, styled, posed, and photographed me. I experienced the rejection and omnipresent gaze. For many of the women I would meet, they depended on this work to craft their own identities and bolster their self-esteem that had been beaten down by the social stigma of fat. I could relate to their surmounting pressures because I, too, had something important at stake—the completion of a successful research project. This common drive to succeed, irrespective of its roots, propelled me through the insecurity and objectification we experienced as models. I anchored my investigation in the concrete everyday life of a model in order to understand how they conceive of and operate within a system that, unfortunately, seeks to serve the interests of a client over that of a model. As a result, this is a visceral insider account that engages both the physical and mental nature of modeling.
⁴³

Armed with my “book” and stack of “comp cards,” I actively pursued modeling work in New York City, recognized as one of the world’s
leading fashion capitals and home to many leading designers and modeling agencies. Given its overall prominence in fashion, New York City is also home to many top plus-size modeling agencies. To capture the voices of plus-size models, I entered their unpredictable schedule of “go-sees,” castings, open calls, fittings, photo shots, and runway rehearsals.

For those unfamiliar with modeling jargon, at a go-see, a client, such as a fashion designer, magazine editor, or art director, requests to see a variety of models for an upcoming job opportunity. In contrast, at a casting, the client requests to meet a particular model. Agents and/or bookers arrange both go-sees and castings. In large agencies, agents are responsible for directing the overall career trajectory of the models, while bookers handle the day-to-day scheduling of models and billings details with clients. In small agencies, often there are no bookers—agents fulfill the responsibilities of a booker. At open calls, on the other hand, a client will see whomever shows up at the advertised time and place.

At these meetings, the model typically shows her “book,” or portfolio of pictures and tear sheets showing the work she has done, to the client. Depending on the nature of the modeling job (i.e., whether it is for print, runway, or trying on sample sizes for designers), the model may be measured and asked to pose for a few shots or demonstrate her runway walk. Before leaving, the model leaves the client her “comp card,” or 5×7-inch composite card with her headshot on the front and a series of body display shots on the back, which also lists her personal statistics (i.e., height, dress size, bust, waist, and hip measurements, shoe size, hair color, and eye color) and contact information of the agency representing the model.

Combining participant observation and interviews, I met working plus-size models while waiting at castings and jobs (also referred to as “bookings”) and kept detailed field notes. Due to the physical nature of modeling work, I was unable to record observations as they occurred in real time. I carried an inconspicuous, black leather journal with me to all my appointments, but I soon learned that modeling and writing are mutually exclusive activities. I found it a challenge to take notes while having makeup applied to my face or my hair curled, teased, and sprayed.
At the end of a casting session, fitting, or shoot, I retreated to a nearby coffee shop and wrote extensive field notes, relying upon my memory to reconstruct events and conversations.

While in a casting session or on the job, I was unable to conduct formal interviews with models due to the unpredictability of wait times to see clients. Instead, I engaged in informal conversation with them while we waited and then invited them to participate in an open-ended, semi-structured interview either after the casting or at a later scheduled date and time. We met over coffee at a local coffee shop and talked for, at times, close to two hours. In this manner, I gathered a snowball sample of thirty-five plus-size models (see
table 1.3
).
⁴⁴

The plus-size models interviewed for this study worked in a variety of areas. They worked in commercial and catalog print, promoting clothing and products on billboards, buses, magazines, and newspapers. Many worked in showrooms, promoting new fashion designs for clothing buyers at a department store or boutique, and on the runway during designer fashion shows or on-air telecasts for the local news and daytime programs. Twelve of the women worked as fit models. In fit modeling, a designer or clothing manufacturer hires a model to try on garments at various stages of production to determine the fit and appearance of the pieces on a live person. The models self-reported their sizes to me, which ranged from ten to twenty-two with an average size of sixteen. The women ranged in age from eighteen to thirty-four, with an average age of twenty-seven. These plus-size models were older and larger than average straight-size fashion models, who model between the ages of fourteen and twenty-four and normally retire from modeling by the time plus-size women start their own modeling careers. Modeling agencies routinely represented plus-size models as young as sixteen to more mature women in their forties and beyond. These older models generally worked in the areas of fit modeling. Of the thirty-five participants, seventeen identified as white, twelve as black, three as Latina, and three with a mixed-race/ethnic background. Most had some level of college education and worked outside the modeling industry in some capacity.

TABLE 1.3 Interviewee Characteristics of Plus-Size Models

As soon as I mentioned that I was a sociologist studying plus-size models, many of the women perked up and began disclosing their proverbial war stories. At first, some models did not believe that I was a sociologist, since appearance-wise, I seemed to fit in with the crowd. In a follow-up exchange, one model confessed, “I really thought you were joking for the first five minutes of our conversation.” More than a few models, upon hearing I was “really” a sociologist, would encourage me to start modeling full-time. A makeup artist at a runway show was convinced I was a professional since, in her words, I was “bea-u-ti-ful” and had a fierce walk. Naturally, all of this positive enforcement (which incidentally only came from fellow models or stylists and never from any of the agents who represented me) encouraged me to continue my research through periods when I was not booking work and agents stopped sending me out on castings.

While getting participants for interviews took nominal effort, fitting into a plus-size model crowd posed its challenges. Often I entered a casting and realized that the other plus-size models grossly outmatched me in terms of experience and amount of curves. Physically, at a size ten, I was at the “small” end of plus size. I assumed that my curves would grant me access into the community since my size was not too far off from plus size; instead, I often experienced the alienating effects, not of stigma but, something that I did not expect, “thin privilege.”

At one particular open casting call for a fledgling design firm that catered to a much edgier version of Ashley Stewart’s clientele, I was, in blatantly descriptive terms, the “token skinny white chick.” Coupling my “smaller” stature with the fact that I was racially and ethnically in the minority, my usual role as marginal insider shifted to that of an outsider amidst a roomful of glares from the other models. Even the two designers who were at the casting questioned my presence at the casting. One quizzed me, “What attracted you to this line? Which is your favorite item?” Having peeked at their website before arriving at the casting, I was able to fudge a response, but I knew I was not convincing. I sensed that they were trying to gauge my interest in their fashions since I was not
their intended audience, i.e., “trendy, urban plus-size women” who wear a size twelve or larger. My chosen outfit for the day—jeans and a plain blouse—was not a dramatic explosion of style. I did not represent their “eccentric, anti-ordinary” fashion. I was, in fact, too ordinary. Needless to say, I did not get that job.

Attending castings and open calls, I noticed racial differences in my fellow attendees. If I was at a casting arranged by my agency, most of the other models were white, with a few light-skinned African American and Latina models. At open casting calls, the reverse was true—the majority of models were African American and Latinas with a handful of white models. I could not figure out the basis for this trend until I visited several agencies. When interviewing agents at their offices, I observed their “boards,” i.e., shelves lined with the comp cards of the models the agency represented. These boards pointed toward the presence of multiple markets within the fashion industry, markets defined by size and divided by race.

It was not simply a model’s body size and shape that determined her ability to find representation with an agency, which in turn led to job opportunities. Her racial and ethnic status was also key to determining the quantity and quality of work available to her. High-profile modeling agencies, with access to high-status clients and generously paying jobs, preferred to work with models on the smaller size spectrum of “plus size.” They also happen to be predominantly white or light-skinned. This excluded the growing number of prospective African American and Latina models. So, these women and those who wore larger than a size sixteen settled for representation with less prestigious, boutique style agencies that had limited access to clients or, if not signed, attended one open casting to the next in search of work. This racial and size division explained the difference in types of models that attended my castings and open calls.

At these open casting calls where I was the minority, I grew accustomed to the stares and whispers from the other models; however, my token status ultimately served as an advantage. Given that several models
did not perceive me as their competition for the job, they were intrigued by my presence and agreed to participate in my study. In the company of these women, I was considered too thin. I had entered some sort of twilight zone where I went from “average” to “plus” to “small” in an afternoon.