TW: eating disorder/food/weight

I don't enjoy telling people what I do for a living. Calling myself a model makes me sound vain, makes it seem like I look at myself as this beautiful piece of art, which is not true. The only reason I started modelling at twenty was because an agency got in contact through my social media and asked if I'd be interested. I'd met them in their studio to discuss what becoming a model would entail, and I thought, well, it sounds decent. They dress me up and I pose, and I get paid for it. Why the hell not? 

But I don't like it when someone asks what I do. I don't like the way my parents talk about it when I see them. I don't like what it makes me look like: a man who cares more about his appearance than his own health. 

So when I was reading in a coffee shop this afternoon, sipping a large coffee and pondering over whether to risk a sandwich for a late lunch and  a stranger stopped by my table to say, "I'm sorry, I just have to tell you, you're absolutely gorgeous," I thought, oh, for the love of God, here we go. 

No, I'm not complaining about the fact that people find me pretty. I'm just saying, it makes them roll their eyes when they find out about my job. Like, of course he's a model. Of course he is. 

"Oh, thank you," I said, smiled. I was wearing makeup from the morning's shoot - an upmarket department store's billboard advert - since I had come straight from the studio, and realised maybe that was it. The highlighter and eyeliner, maybe that was why he said that. I lifted my eyes properly to him. "Say that next time you look in a mirror." 

His face broke into a grin and I thought, Jesus, maybe he's a model. 

See. That's how shallow I am. That's how shallow we all are. Not to generalise the entire population or anything. We see a pretty stranger and we think, yes, they must be a model. They couldn't possibly have any other interests outside of their appearance. 

"I love that book," he said. 

"I'm not sure about it yet." 

"How far are you into it?" 

I glanced down at the page numbers. "Eighty." 

"Trust me, it gets better the further you read. It's like a reality TV show. The more you watch the more entertaining it gets." 

"Don't get me started on reality TV," I said. "I hate how much of it I watch." 

"Oh, you and me both." 

"I go feral for the stupid love experiment ones." 

"Seriously, I can't stop." 

I shook my head and laughed. "Do you want to sit?" I asked, because I was so over thinking about whether it was okay to fucking eat or not and I had a lot to say about reality TV that no one would listen to because, Andy, it's all scripted bullshit. Yeah, so what? So fucking what, Lonny? Get over yourself. "If you're not busy or anything?" 

"I'm skiving off shopping with my sister," he explained as he pulled out the seat opposite and sat down. 

"Oh no." 

"She's driving me insane. All she talks about is star signs and crystals, and I just can't take it anymore." A dramatic sigh followed by a laugh. "Anyway, I'm Ambrose." 

"Andy." 

"Nice to meet you, Andy." 

"And you. Maybe you could tell me what happens in this book so I don't have to keep reading because I'm sorry, the writing style-" 

"Yeah, it's love-hate." 

I sipped my coffee. Coffee is not an adequate lunch. You'd think because I know this, I would do something about it. But the problem is, when you've got a week to lose six pounds or you lose a very well-paying job, you can hardly just not do it. A pound a day is not that fucking easy. 

"Ambrose," I said. "That's a very pretty name." 

"I'll let my parents know." 

"Please do." 

He smiled at me. Like me, he was wearing makeup: blusher and a slight amount of pink eyeshadow. A sharp, thick black liner wing. "Pink suits you." 

"What? Oh. Thank you. I was going to say, I'm jealous of your makeup skills." 

"Yeah, don't be. I didn't do this." See, now he's going to ask, well, who did? I should have just accepted the compliment and moved on. 

"You have a makeup artist?" 

"Multiple." 

"For your job, or..?" 

I hummed. Maybe it's my fault that I always end up in this conversation; I don't know when to shut up. "I do a lot of modelling. For brand ads and stuff. Mainly makeup brands, so they can't really let me do it on my own and risk it looking crap. You should see me doing makeup, it's horrendous." 

Ambrose leant back in his chair. I realised he didn't have a drink and wondered if I should offer to buy him one. "Can I be annoying for a second?" 

What the hell did that mean? "Oh, sure. Go for it." 

"Okay, well, I'm a painter. I do series where I capture one person in different environments and lighting scenarios. I've been looking for someone new, and I just figured, if you're a model, you're experienced in posing and being photographed and all that, so..." 

"You'll have to show me your work before I answer." 

"Oh, absolutely. I have pictures on my phone. One sec." 

While Ambrose took his phone from his pocket and began scrolling, I finished the rest of my coffee and let my eyes slide towards the food counter, recalled what I'd consumed already. I was hungry, but then wasn't that the point? I couldn't lose those six pounds by next week if I wasn't hungry.

Besides, it was only a week, then I could stop worrying about it. 

I should start a tally for the amount of times I said that to myself. 

"Alright, here. You can scroll." Passing his phone over the table, Ambrose sat back as I looked.

It wasn't what I had expected. Much more moody than the way he presented himself with his pink makeup and white shirt. He had incorporated roses into multiple of the paintings, had them tangled in hair and twisted around arms. 

"Oh, wow," I said. "These are stunning. Holy fuck." 

"Thank you so much." 

I scrolled until I reached a new series. A woman wearing a satin dress that clung to her body so that her stomach was visible. She was not slim, and that is not an insult by any measure. She was objectively beautiful and he had portrayed her wonderfully. I worried my eyes would fill with tears if I wasn't careful. I handed the phone back. "Who would I be to stop you from painting another masterpiece?" I asked. 

"So you'll let me paint you?" 

"Yes. Absolutely." 

"Oh, amazing!" 

"Tell me where and when and I'll be there."

We exchanged numbers and then his sister started to call him. Reluctantly, he left to meet her, and I decided it was too late into the afternoon to eat lunch. I ordered another coffee.