A Model Student

By Paula Wagner Apfelbach '83

I rarely make promises, but I'll make this one: you will never mistake me for a model.

Even if I were thin enough and good-looking enough, isn't modeling kind of a "fluffy" profession, inhabited by narcissists? It's just part of the marketing machine that makes us feel so inadequate that we buy lots of stuff in order to salve our mediocrity, right? Yet if I truly believe that, then it's disturbing that I harbor a fantasy in which I don a gorgeous gown and a steely facade, and stride down a runway, certain that I am not only center stage, baby - I own the stage.

How strange, then, that I - steeped in this internal conflict - found myself recently in Florida, studying how to be a model.

The why of this was complicated, but the how was not: I'd taken a VocationVacation - a career exploration and experiential vacation in one.

The company that offered it - VocationVacations (www.vocationvacations.com) - is the brainchild of Madison native Brian Kurth '88. While undergoing some soul searching about his career back in 1999, he devised the idea of helping others to plumb their souls and explore new occupations by "test-driving their dream jobs." He then left his management position with a Fortune 500 telecom firm in Chicago, joined a Chicago dot-com, was laid off, and set out on a six-month, cross-country road trip, finishing 2003 working in sales and marketing for a wine distributor in Portland, Oregon - and loving it.

In the meantime, Kurth had been slowly crafting a business plan, and it was time to act: he moved to Portland from Chicago and launched VocationVacations in January 2004. Its offerings work like this: "vocationers" choose a career path to explore and pay a fee (95 percent of the trips cost under $1,200; transportation and lodging are not included) to spend one to three days working alongside a well-established mentor who has undergone rigorous evaluation. Mentors show the good, the bad, and the ugly about what it's really like to be, for example, a golf pro, alpaca rancher, private investigator, park ranger, shoe designer, TV producer, meteorologist, perfumer, or boat captain.

About 75 percent of vocationers are earnestly considering career changes, and this is a low-risk baby step in discerning whether their dreams match reality. The rest are satisfying curiosities, indulging fantasies, or merely having a blast with an alternative kind of vacation. And Kurth welcomes them all. His vision that "happiness and passion can and should be an integral part of what you do" speaks powerfully to Americans who are experiencing occupation ennui, dissatisfaction, and burnout.

Building on its original group of ten Oregon-based mentors, VocationVacations now has more than three hundred mentors, offering more than one hundred fifty vocation types, in thirty-five states. But the vacations, while growing in number, are just the beginning. The company is expanding to include a university travel affinity program, a new Web site, telechats, podcasts, a DVD, blog, workshops, YouTube videos, and Kurth's book, Test-Drive Your Dream Job: A Step-by-Step Guide to Finding and Creating the Work You Love. Written with Robin Simons, it hit stores in January, and Kurth promoted it through a nationwide tour.

When I met Kurth at his Madison book event, I asked if he could have imagined all of this just a few years ago. He modestly admitted that a 2001 vision statement had included a book, a magazine, and a TV show. (The latter came to life in 2006, but the project has since ended.) "You put it on paper," Kurth said, "and it happens - with a lot of hard work."

Just as Kurth found his calling in VocationVacations, he's delighted to tell stories of many other happy campers - and wedding planners and brewmasters and choreographers - who've faced their fears and followed their bliss. He derives great satisfaction from knowing that about 20 percent of the former vocationers he's heard from during the last two years are now in new jobs, in school to prepare for new careers, or otherwise in process.

David Ryan is one of them. He was an international banker who'd worked in numerous European and Asian countries, but in 2005, after seventeen years, he needed a change. He'd always loved dogs, but could he turn a passion into a viable career?

Ryan decided to explore the question through one VocationVacation with a dog-day-care owner, and another with a dog trainer. His mentors' openness in sharing the highs and lows of their businesses - as well as their network of contacts - helped Ryan to determine his preference for dog training, and he underwent intensive training himself.

When 2006 dawned, he was the owner of Beyond Dog Training in Rye, New Hampshire. "My experiences with VocationVacations let me dare to try out something I might never have tried otherwise," says Ryan. "Without a chance to walk for a few days in the shoes of people in pet-care businesses, I do not believe that I would have had the imagination or courage to actually make the leap I made."

Not long after Ryan opened his business, Jessica Caulfield took a retail-fashion-buyer VocationVacation in New York City. Her firsthand experiences meshed so well with her dream of such a career that she decided to open her own shop. During the next few months, Caulfield used the networking contacts and skills that she'd obtained to purchase inventory and open a women's clothing store, called Jessie James, in Hoboken, New Jersey. The shop was so successful that before it was even a year old, Caulfield opened a second location in Manhattan.

Not everyone who goes on a VocationVacation ends up in a new career, of course, but finding out what you don't want to do - the easy way - can prevent you from spending a lot of time, money, and effort learning that lesson the hard way.

Kathy Scopin Setter of Truckee, California, had observed so many "signs" throughout her adulthood pointing toward a career in the wine industry that when she considered a career change after twenty-five years in health care, owning a wine bar seemed obvious. During her VocationVacation, Scopin Setter had a "fabulous experience that imparted reality to her fantasy," but she determined that it just wasn't the right fit, and she's continuing to explore her passion, all the wiser for the experience.

As one of those vocationers who had mainly wished to indulge a fantasy, I emerged with a much greater understanding and respect for the modeling profession - as well as a wild ride on the self-esteem roller coaster.

My VocationVacation experience began by completing the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator and a work-preferences inventory (in which I chose virtually all of the wrong responses for being a model). Then I had a fascinating phone consultation with Dunwoody, Georgia-based life coach Leah Henderson, who was uncannily adept at getting to the heart of my internal conflict and soothing my self-doubt. I told her I'm no warthog, but I'm certainly no model either.

For starters, five-foot-three is too short, and forty-six is too old. I think unkind thoughts about my nose. I have bags under my eyes from three-plus decades of doing other things when I should have been sleeping, and despite my many post-childbirth years of slavish devotion to exercise, I still possess a "mother gut." On the plus side, though, I have dimples, naturally straight teeth, and sort of quirky, gray-blue eyes.

But insecure or not, ultimately it came time to leave. I armed myself with Henderson's reassuring advice to just relax and be present, packed my emotional baggage, and went to St. Petersburg, Florida, to spend two days with my mentor, Robin Kay.

When you find out that Kay is both a national-champion baton twirler and a veteran of Miss America competitions who paid her way through college entirely with pageant scholarships, you're right to assume that she's beautiful. Blonde and very thin, with a broad, winning smile and captivating, baby-blue eyes, she's just what you'd expect of a woman who honest-to-goodness makes her living as a model.

Is it any wonder that not since my wedding day had I been so concerned with my makeup as I was on that first morning? But I needn't have worried: when we met at a Starbucks, Kay gave me a big smile and a hug instead of a handshake. Over her creamy beverage (doesn't that have calories in it?!), my decaf, and the next several hours, she built a foundation for me to learn about the modeling profession.

As it turns out, it's not entirely about one's looks, but rather, about a look - which means that just about anyone can be a model. (Really!) One route is to skip modeling school and go to a photographer who creates composite (or "comp") cards. As a model's indispensable marketing tool, these full-color, half-sheet-sized cards include various shots that demonstrate the versatility of your look, along with your contact information and measurements.

Kay emphasized understanding which modeling niche is right for you based on your look. Women who are at least five-foot-eight, rail thin, and killer gorgeous - the fashion-model stereotype, in other words - may indeed be destined for haute-couture work and runway shows. But there's a surprisingly wide range of other jobs that fall under the modeling umbrella: actors in commercials, emcees, spokespeople, TV hosts, movie extras, voice-over talent, in-person product promoters, fake medical patients, parts models, trade-show product specialists and narrators, and perfectly proportioned "fit models."

One last category caught my ear in particular: there are no special weight, height, or beauty requirements for lifestyle (or commercial) models, who appear in print and broadcast ads as everyday people. (Aha!) They're just smiley folks who look as though they could live next door, which Kay proved by sharing lots of magazine ads that featured some mighty ordinary-looking people. After all, we concluded, someone has to play the distended abdomen in ads for bloat reducers, and the balding head in spots for hair-growth products.

After our coffee talk, Kay and I logged the first of many miles on the road - a slice of reality, as she does a lot of traveling to modeling agencies, casting calls, and bookings. Our destination was a home in a residential neighborhood, where we watched a two-minute infomercial being filmed. The star of the show was a Sonic Mop.

Even though no model was shown using the mop, the scene illustrated what goes into such a thing. There was a very large truck outside, with lights, cameras, props, technical equipment, and myriad cables strewn about the driveway and the dining room inside. Plus, about twelve (no lie) production professionals, all with their own expertise and roles to play, were on hand to capture this mop on film. And this, apparently, was a small shoot.

We had lunch at a mall, and I figured Kay would order a salad, but instead, I ordered the cliched salad, and she had a veggie burger and fries. As we ate, I learned much more about the business of modeling, which I hadn't expected to be so, well, businessy. But Kay explained that it takes a lot of hard work and professionalism to market yourself, and a lot of savvy and assertiveness to make that hard work profitable.

The mall gave us access to essential modeling tools: clothing and makeup. While browsing the racks at Sears, Kay pointed out what, and what not, to choose for casting calls, when models always wear their own clothes. (So much for the notion that there are free fashions to be had; they often provide their own outfits for bookings, as well.)

You're often on your own with makeup, too, which is why Kay took me to Dillard's (with men doing double-takes at her as we passed) to visit the MAC Cosmetics department - the home of "high-pigment" makeup that's often used in modeling and the theater. There I received a mini-makeover from a cosmetic artist named Todd, who seemed so wise and nonjudgmental that I poured my heart out to him about my facial flaws.

The very early wake-up call on my second day was painful, but not uncommon. It was time for my photo shoot - a start on shots for my comp card and a simulation of a print shoot - and we wanted to "capture the morning light." Kay and her colleague Beth Ball - a model (as Sigret Ball), makeup artist, and former new-talent coordinator for a local modeling agency - arrived at my hotel door, looking fresh and beautiful, to do my hair and makeup and to choose my clothing. I arrived at the door looking bleary-eyed.

Ball was at work on my hair - straightening and puffing it, and brushing my bangs in a direction they've not voluntarily moved since seventh grade - when photographer Brandy De Marzo arrived. She specializes in comp cards, was a model as a teen, and has a seven-year-old son who's already earned a hefty portion of his college fund by modeling.

Next Ball applied my makeup, using an understated lip color, but accentuating my eyes with dark gray liner above and below. Now, dark eyeliner is a foreign substance to me, so I felt like Alice Cooper (minus the blood), but I had to trust. Kay reassured me that this is common: you don't always understand why you're made up the way you are -it's just what the client wants.

First stop: the alcove of a bank building, where a speckled wall provided a nice contrast to my all-black outfit. The wind whipped around the space, uncoifing my hair at every opportunity, and each time, Ball leaped to fix it. My face itched, too, but no touching! I was to call "Makeup!" and Ball would blot.

In that alcove I discovered that I don't know how to smile correctly. I'd read that crinkly eyes convey earnestness when smiling, and I didn't understand De Marzo's requests to "brighten" them instead. Finally I figured it out: she wanted a big, genuine smile, but without squinting, crinkling my eyes, or raising my eyebrows. It's harder than it sounds.

The next stop was a lush, lovely garden behind a flamingo-colored hotel. But first, De Marzo stood guard outside the car window while I made a quick change from the black top to a periwinkle top while crouching down inside the front seat of the car. Apparently this is another common modeling scenario - not exactly the glamorous working conditions I was picturing.

Achieving De Marzo's photographic vision in the garden required standing in a bed of plants, contorting my shoulders, and engaging in odd arm folding, but once again, I trusted. Between continual adjustments to my hair, Kay and Ball brainstormed that, with my look, I could portray such roles as doctor, pharmacist, soccer mom, barista, golfer, or gardener. I am none of these, but as Kay said, modeling is all about acting.

Next we visited a modeling agency, where Kay dropped off her latest comp cards, and Ball shared her portfolio. The office was far from the ultra-posh space I was expecting, but I enjoyed the dozens of comp cards arrayed on the wall. That's where agency staff and clients can "walk the wall" to choose faces that fit their needs, and then contact them for casting calls.

Kay explained that because these casting calls are more like cattle calls sometimes, they can be taxing. Then one or more callbacks may be needed as clients narrow the field, which can mean lots of travel that leads nowhere. Once you get a booking, the working conditions can be taxing as well: long stints in heat or cold, long hours on your feet, long periods of tedium, and long weeks away from home.

Over lunch, I studied Kay's portfolio and simply listened as she, Ball, and De Marzo networked, swapped stories, and dished about the local modeling scene. (Hey, models are just like the rest of us!) They also divulged some uses for duct tape that are just too painful to repeat.

Parting as we had met - at a Starbucks - Kay used what she considers to be her de facto office to check messages on her PDA. She shared the pros and cons of the job opportunities that had come in and emphasized the importance of mobile technology in snaring work -the first person to buzz in often gets the casting call.

Then Kay gave me a CD, tied in a yellow ribbon, that she'd produced with a male colleague to answer the many inquiries they receive about how to break into the profession. But that was not her last gift, as I had one final request. I asked her to do that familiar runway walk that high-fashion models do - and she did, right there at the Starbucks. Out in the parking lot, I asked her to do it once more, just for grins.

Back home days later, I concluded my experience with a post-vacation coaching call with Leah Henderson, who was eager to know whether I was going to try modeling. I told her that I'd left my catty biases behind, and I'd learned that just about anyone can be a model, but it's often hard and unglamorous work.

But, she persisted, was I going to try it? Well, while you'll never mistake me for a model - never say never, either. The more satisfying outcome of my VocationVacation, I think, was completing my ride on the self-esteem roller coaster with the realization that I like myself pretty much just as I am. It's hard to ask for a better ending than that.

---

On Wisconsin Alumni News editor Paula Wagner Apfelbach '83 has also been a professional organizer for three years, but thought about becoming one for the preceding twenty. At that rate, you can do the math on when she'll become a model.