Or How Not To Take Things Personally

Music. Lights. Eyes. Smile. Turn. Turn again. Shoulders back. Straight ahead. Snap-snap-snap. Everyone is focused on me. Every move made, every picture shot is public and saved. Now my question is – will I be a super model to get my flaws forgiven?

It has now been six weeks and I am not new in my job any more. I am sometimes still mistaken for an eighteen-year old but I still enjoy it as a compliment. People generally know how I think – they are aware of the fact that I like it clean and clear, that I do not discuss matters that have already been decided, that I hate last-minute holiday-applications and that I cannot stand impoliteness. It is equally old news that I only wear black, white or pink, that I do not eat chocolate and that I am never late for meetings.

At the same time, inside, I am still trying to figure out how this show is run here. Whereas I never applied for a spotlight on catwalk this is exactly how I feel. Every decision made is like a newsflash on the first page, the reactions are only either full of scorn or praise. The whole world suddenly seems to be black or white. Rise or fall. Love or hate.

I guess I will need more time to reach an understanding of these people’s actions, motives and ways. After all, I can be mistaken for a teenie, but I am not, and I cannot simply recall what the world looked and felt like a dozen years ago with the hormons bubbling and breasts growing. So I am herewith taking this moment backstage, eating a brownie, sloaching against the kitchen counter, wearing a morning robe. I just realized I no longer need my flaws forgiven. After all, they are what people know me by.