Confessions of a fashion show hopeful

Ladies, please bring a [sic] heels to walk in," said the email announcing auditions for Princeton's 4th Annual 'Service in Style' Fashion Show. Given that I twisted my ankle the last time I tried walking in heels (and I was sober), I'm not sure why I decided to try out. I — like the probable majority of the coiffed girls loitering around the Frist multipurpose room — did not truly do it for the good cause (this year all profits benefit Operation Smile), although I did appreciate the irony of beautiful people parading in fashionable clothes to benefit, as one of the fashion show organizers put it: "kids with harelips."

Instead, my official purpose was this: History is usually written by the winners, not the losers. On April 15, the 20 female and 15 male winners — picked from more than 70 hopefuls — will strut their stuff in professional and student-designed clothing. I was pretty sure I would not be one of them, and that my history would certainly not be told with flashing lights, blaring music and windblown hair. I officially declared that I would audition for the sake of writing this column. Unofficially, I just wanted an excuse to try out, get rejected, and then be able to say that I only did it in the name of a "journalistic experiment."

Given my assured rejection, I should have thrown on some sweats and put my hair in a ponytail. Then I could have had an excuse for the "Subject: Difficult Decision" email I received several days after my failed audition. Instead, auditions night rolled around and I found myself furtively "vogue"ing in the mirror as I did my hair and makeup — while wishing I owned a corset.

At auditions, I was first given a sheet with questions about my 'measurements' that I didn't feel like answering after my earlier Sunday brunch bingefest. Or at any other time, for that matter. One svelte girl rushed in and announced, "I just ate two pieces of pie and a tiramisu," looking forlornly at her washboard-flat stomach. I pledged to myself that I would never eat again.

Next, we learned our audition "walk": strut towards the judges, stop, do a "three-point turn" that allows you to throw one last sultry glance over your shoulder and walk back. The music clicked onto a techno-tribal beat as the first group went. As one male auditionee who prefers to remain anonymous later commented, "you could tell they had taken it seriously and practiced their walking." I hate to admit it, but so had I. Not that it helped.

All too soon it was my turn and I darted up to take my place in the trio of cat-walkers. As I strutted towards the judges, trying to obey their unhelpful commands to "relax," I had to force myself not to laugh, which I think left me with a pained grimace on my face. I completely fumbled my three-point turn and compensated by laughing out loud.

Just as quickly, it was over, and I was left wondering why I had put so much time into getting ready for a sure-lose situation that lasted for barely a minute. Regret gave way to over-analysis. What if I had added a sexy flourish at the end of my walk? Or had grown six inches? Or had not resisted the temptation to replace food with nicotine?

One of my fellow rejectees, Ery Shin '08, admitted: "I was so unprepared . . . I didn't know it was such a big thing." Like everything else at Princeton, even a modeling contest successfully dedicated to a good cause — last year the show cost $700 and made $10,000 — becomes a breeding ground for fierce competition. As Shin put it, "it makes people feel better (or worse) about themselves and that has nothing to do with charity."

I auditioned as a joke and knew that Dean Malkiel would eliminate quintiles before I would be accepted as a model. But rejection still hurts. Even the anonymous male, who maintained that fashion shows were not his type of thing, wistfully added that, "it would have been fun."

I know I can still participate in the fashion show in "another capacity," as the rejection email said. But let's face it: I wanted to be up there on the catwalk, not putting up posters around campus. Doing things for charity is all well and good, but in my case at least, narcissism wins the day. Cailey Hall is a sophomore from Los Angeles, Calif. She can be reached at schall@princeton.edu.